sicktember day 1: “It’s the middle of the night, why are you up?”
when you wake up in the middle of the night with a miserable cold, you do your best not to bother your exhausted girlfriend…but nothing gets past Caitlyn.
tags: commander caitlyn, protective caitlyn, fem sick!reader, tooth-rotting fluff (1.4k)
sicktember masterlist
Note: Sicktember, let’s goo! Super excited. Thank you so much to my lovely beta Mew for the help on this fic and others! 🧡
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By some minor miracle, you manage to slip out of bed without waking your girlfriend.
This is no small feat – Caitlyn sleeps frustratingly lightly, always roused at the slightest noise or shift of the bed. Her light sleep comes in handy on the rare occasion you have a nightmare or there’s a strange noise in the night. She’ll wake instantly, always calm and collected, her voice warm and her touch gentle. She always knows how to soothe you back to sleep, how to hold you in just the right way so that all your worries slip away.
But tonight, even her comforting presence can’t help you fall back asleep. Your whole body feels both too hot and too cold at the same time. Your cheeks are flushed, but the cool breeze drifting through the cracked window is raising goosebumps on your skin. Your throat is burning terribly as well, and there’s a relentless pounding somewhere between your sinuses and your eyes.
You can’t say you’re entirely surprised. You had gone to bed with a nagging prickle in your throat, even though you steadfastly ignored it. You thought maybe a good night’s rest might save you from the impending illness, but apparently you had no such luck.
Even though you’ve woken up miserable and feeling like death warmed up, you still don’t want to wake Caitlyn. You slip out of bed and tiptoe to the bathroom. Caitlyn already has enough on her plate as Commander – she doesn’t need to be worrying over you and a silly cold.
In the bathroom, you take a spoonful of the cold tonic you keep in the medicine cabinet. It tastes of unpleasantly sickly-sweet cherries, so you rinse your mouth out afterward with some water. The tonic should help the fever you no-doubt have, and maybe soothe your throat as well. You give an experimental swallow, then grimace. Your throat still feels like you gargled knives.
Knowing you won’t get any sleep like this, you tiptoe out of your bedroom suite and down the hall, shivering a little at the change in temperature. It’s cooler out here, the expansive hallways of the Kiramman House dim and empty, almost a little creepy. You never really like wandering the massive estate alone at night, but tonight the prospect of a hot cup of tea is enough to lure you out of the bedroom.
You shiver again when you bare feet touch the cool tile of the kitchen. Maybe you should have thought to put on some socks or even a sweater, but you hope that tea will warm you up at least. You fill the tea kettle and put it on to warm, then pull a mug out of the cupboard. You lean back against the counter, letting out a small sigh. All your limbs feel leaden and too heavy, and all you really want to do is lay back down. You’re very much looking forward to climbing back into bed next to your warm girlfriend after you’ve had your tea.
You close your eyes, listening to the low rumble of the water starting to boil, but then they snap back open when you hear a familiar swish of silk.
Caitlyn sweeps into the room, looking unusually soft in the way that only you get to see, her navy hair falling in soft, slightly messy waves to her shoulder. No makeup, no uniform. Just her thin silk nightgown and a matching robe on top. She’s so beautiful and you still can’t believe she’s yours. Your heart flutters the way it always does when you see her.
“Darling? What are you doing up? It’s the middle of the night,” Caitlyn frowns, concern softening her deep blue eyes. She comes over to you, cupping your cheek so she can brush a tender kiss to your forehead. She pulls back, frown deepening, and gives a quiet hum of disapproval.
“Oh, lovely…” she sighs, resting the back of one of her elegant hands against your cheek, her touch soothingly cool against your skin. “You’re warm.”
“I’m fine,” you say quickly, but your voice is shot. Your words come out croaky and gravelly, doing nothing to reassure your girlfriend.
“Sweetheart,” Caitlyn murmurs, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Why didn’t you wake me? I could have made you tea. You need to be in bed with this fever.”
“You have enough on your plate,” you say softly, turning away from her searching gaze when the tea kettle starts to whistle. You turn the stove off, then choose a teabag from the little box on the counter. But as you lift the kettle and start to pour the hot water, your hands shake unsteadily. Caitlyn notices immediately, laying a hand on your arm to still your movements.
“Sit. Please, darling.” Caitlyn takes the kettle from you, setting it aside. Then she wraps an arm around your waist and guides you to a kitchen chair before you can manage a protest. “I’ll handle the tea. Here.” She slips out of her robe, draping it over your shoulders in one smooth movement.
“Honey, you’ll freeze,” you protest, trying to hand it back to her. She just shakes her head, her eyes firm.
“You’re feverish and shivering, my love. You’re wearing that until I get you back in bed.” Caitlyn softly strokes your hair, her touch endlessly gentle.
You sigh softly, which turns into a small cough. This is exactly what you didn’t want to do – wake your girlfriend and keep her from sleeping. Even though your heart is warm at Caitlyn’s gentle concern, you can’t help feeling like she’s giving you more than you’re worth. You’ll be fine alone. You’ve done it before.
Maybe Caitlyn can read the tension in your face, or maybe it’s just that uncanny knack she has for always picking up when something’s wrong. In either case, it isn’t long before she’s placing a steaming mug of chamomile tea on the table in front of you and pulling up a chair next to you, swiftly wrapping you up in a warm embrace. She holds you close, kissing the top of your head, her arms a comforting warmth around you.
When you pull apart, Caitlyn puts her hand to your cheek, brushing her thumb over the sensitive skin under your eye. Her expression is soft and full of concern.
“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well, love?” Caitlyn asks quietly, a gentle crease between her eyebrows. She’s patient as she waits for you to answer. In the quiet of the night like this, silvery moonlight casting shadows on the pale skin of her exposed shoulders, she looks nothing like the leader of a nation on the brink of war. She’s just your girlfriend, waiting to listen, waiting to help.
“You need your sleep.” You sigh again, your gaze dipping to the purplish circles under Caitlyn’s eyes. “You have too much to worry about already.”
“Darling,” Caitlyn touches her fingertips to your chin, tilting your face up slightly so that she can brush her lips to yours in a chaste kiss. “I want you to wake me if you’re not well. It worries me more when you don’t. It’s my job to look after you.”
“I can look after myself,” you protest, glancing away. “You shouldn’t have to take care of me, not with everything else going on.”
“Love,” Caitlyn’s voice is as soft as silk. She waits for you to meet her eyes before she continues. “You are my first priority. You come before work, Piltover – all of it. I always want to know how you’re feeling, especially if you’re ill. Taking care of you…sometimes it’s the only thing that feels right in this chaotic world we live in.” She kisses your forehead again, her lips soft and warm against your skin. “You are never too much, understand?”
You sniffle, nodding. There’s a stinging in your eyes that has nothing to do with your cold and everything to do with the woman in front of you. “I love you.”
“Good. I love you too,” Caitlyn smiles softly, then picks up your mug of still-warm tea. “You can drink this in bed, darling, but I want you nice and bundled up. You’re shaking like a leaf.”
You let her lead you from the kitchen with a protective hand on your back. You know she’s going to spend the next few days fussing over you and your cold, but you can’t quite muster up a protest. Instead, you feel endlessly loved.
Comin' at y'all with more sketches inspired by @side-shuffling-hyperfixations ' Sicktember fics. :)
Day 4 - Pneumonia - TMNT 2012
I have said it once and I shall say it again-- SPLINTER IS THE HARDEST THING TO DRAW ON FRIGGIN PLANET EARTH. ~-~ His ears- the markings- his skinny hands that are both square and slender aaaAAAAAAA
Anyways-- I present my interpretation of what this scene looked like with Splinter caring for a sickly Mikey as all the bros try to help in their own way. (Some being more helpful than others XD). It was quite a delight to draw all the bros as lil toddlers ~^^~ SO CUTE.
Day 5 - Worst Possible Timing - TMNT 1987
Guys-- being totally real with y'all on this-- I had to look up and watch SO MANY 1987 episodes to find the right refs for this. XD WORTH IT!
(Because there's no color you can't tell, but on the left is Raphael and on the right is Leonardo.)
Day 6 - The Boy Who Cried Sick - TMNT 1987
For this one I decided to jazz it up a bit and add line art and some color! This one also took way the frick too many references to get right. XD But it turned out about how I imagined it would. :)
That's all I got so far! I shall return with more once there's more to return with~ And as always, please go and check out this talented author's page!
Summary: The stomach bug had passed but Hongjoong still doesn’t feel great. Jongho takes care of him.
CW: mentions of emeto, mentions of fainting
Sickie: Hongjoong
Caretaker: Jongho
“Hyung, do you want me to heat up the porridge Wooyoungie-hyung made?”, Jongho asked, popping into the living room with a concerned face.
Hongjoong, pale and exhausted on the couch, shook his head. “No, thank you, Jjongie. I don’t want to eat.”
Jongho sighed and stepped closer, sitting on the low TV table across from Hongjoong. He loved little rebellions like that, ever since they didn’t live under Seonghwa’s terror regime of cleanliness and order anymore. “You should though. I know you still don’t feel great but you haven’t really eaten in days.”
“I know”, Hongjoong replied. “I just … I don’t feel like eating yet. I’m sorry. I know you are worried.”
It had been nearly a week since Hongjoong had come down with a bad case of the stomach flu. While the vomiting had passed four days ago, their captain very much wasn’t well yet. He still didn’t have an appetite and his hands were shaky. Most of his day was spent sleeping, restful, yes, but apparently not enough to bring him back onto track completely. And he was bored enough to be annoyed at everybody but not well enough to actually do more than lie around.
“Damn right I am”, Jongho said. “You haven’t yet eaten today. It’s nearly 3pm. This is not how you get better. You’re dehydrated, malnourished and have low blood sugar. You’ll just feel worse if you keep not eating.”
Hongjoong nodded, pulling his feet up onto the couch. “I still feel like throwing up just seeing food.”
“Yeah, but you haven’t puked in four days, hyung. It’s pretty safe to say the bug has passed. You’re just running on empty and that’s why you feel bad. You don’t even have to eat much, okay? I’ll make half the porridge, just add some extra sugar, and you eat as much as you can.”
“I … alright. Fine.”
⌛
Five minutes later Jongho sat beside Hongjoong on the couch, holding out a tablet packed with a half-full bowl of porridge, ginger tea and a glass of water. With shaking hands Hongjoong placed it onto his lap, balancing it carefully.
“I can’t believe my maknae is bossing me around”, he mumbled.
Jongho grinned. “I won’t tell ATINY as long as I get bragging rights to Seonghwa-hyung for the rest of my life.”
“You’re a menace.”
“You’re welcome. After all, I am taking care of your ass.” Jongho sounded way too pleased with himself.
“Oh, shut up.”
“It’s eat up”, Jongho shot back.
“Eat up, hyung.”
“Fine”, Jongho said, laughing. “If that gets you to eat, I guess I can call you hyung.”
“Now, say it cutely.”
“Eat, hyung.” Jongho’s voice was in that no-nonsense style he could so amazingly portray.
Hongjoong took a tentative bite. It was hot and slightly too sweet - the added sugar Jongho had threatened with - but it went down easier than he had thought. The past days his stomach had been in such tight knots he had barely even wanted to drink. But now it felt okay-ish.
His stomach didn’t immediately tie itself into knots like he had feared. Nor did the sharp cramping come back. Actually, it felt soothing. Gently warming him from the inside.
“Okay?”, Jongho asked.
“Okay”, Hongjoong echoed, eating another spoonful.
“You don’t have to eat up”, Jongho said, “just eat what you can.”
“Hm.”
⌛
For a while they sat in companionable silence, the only sound the clicking of the spoon against the bowl. Hongjoong’s hands stopped shaking so much. His stomach felt less angry, less annoyed with him. He actually felt close to human for a few minutes. He was too proud to admit that maybe Jongho had been right but he’d have to subtly thank him later when he was actually back at 100%. Maybe a really really nice vocal line plus high note?
Of course it was too good to be true. After a few more moments everything seemed to crash into Hongjoong again. His stomach felt weird, churning. His head swam. His fingers trembled so hard he nearly lost his grip on the bowl.
“Hyung?”, Jongho asked worriedly, grabbing the bowl and the spoon before they could be dropped. “What’s wrong? You’re really white.”
Hongjoong’s vision tunneled. Crossed. Faded into a slight blackness.
“I’m dizzy”, he mumbled. He could hear himself slurring.
Hongjoong could barely see Jongho through his fading vision, everything blurry. His head ached and his stomach felt seasick. The room suddenly felt far away, twisting from him like a fast moving and tilting camera in a music video. But he trusted his maknae. Vaguely, slightly detached, he felt Jongho push his upper body down flat onto the couch. Hongjoong could feel his eyes roll back at the motion and he gagged slightly. He didn’t quite hear what Jongho said but it sounded suspiciously like “Don’t you dare throw up!”. His head felt so so heavy.
Hongjoong did feel a bit better when he felt Jongho lift his legs onto the height of the couch and then higher into Jongho’s lap. A warm hand patted his ankle, the touch comforting. For a while, Hongjoong for the life of him couldn’t tell how long it was, he just floated. His head ached slightly and he didn’t feel like moving but it was comfortable enough.
⌛
He opened his eyes to find Jongho looking down at him with a worried frown. “You back with me, hyung?”
Hongjoong groaned and ran a hand over his face. “Yeah”, he mumbled. “I think so. Did I pass out?”
“No. You just weren’t really there.”
For a moment he only concentrated on Jongho’s touch, the vocalist still gently patting his ankle. It was actually pretty nice. Even if he normally wasn’t that big a fan of touch.
“What happened?”, he finally asked. “I didn’t eat for days and was fine and now I did eat and everything is off? The hell did you put into this porridge?”
Jongho laughed softly. “First of all: You nearly passed out three days ago before Seonghwa-hyung made you sit down. Second: You’ve had low blood sugar for days. Now it suddenly went up. That can affect the blood pressure and we know your body isn’t skilled in that area anyways.”
“Thanks for the reminder.”
“You’re welcome, hyung.” Jongho’s voice sounded a mix of teasing and relieved. “How about you just take a nap now? You’re due for one anyways. And you ate, so you will feel much better than earlier when you …”
“Due for a nap?”, Hongjoong interrupted him, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head. “I’m not a toddler!”
“You’re right. You’ve napped more than a toddler the past few days. You’re a baby. Baby-hyung.” Jongho now sounded suspiciously like he was having the time of his life.
“I’ll kill you.”
“I’m too cute.”
“I swear to God, one day ATINY will catch on that you aren’t truly maknae on top but rather an overgrown baby tyrannizing us and totally faking your personality for them.”
“Well, you are the ones getting tyrannized by your maknae so who is actually the loser?” Jongho was grinning now.
“I hate you so much right now”, Hongjoong growled, swallowing all the fondness that tried to slip into his tone.
“You love me.”
“That’s the problem.”
Hongjoong closed his eyes, exhausted but content, falling asleep to the rhythm of Jongho patting him.
Caregiver(s): ATEEZ (mainly Hongjoong and Seonghwa)
Word Count: 1,612
Notes: Oh my gosh, life has been INSANE lately. I have had so little time and energy to be creative... it's draining living like this, and I HOPE I can get back to a better balance soon. This one's for my anon who requested a sick maknae during travel 😊
Coordinating travel for eight idols, plus managers, plus styling teams, plus every other person necessary to make an overseas music video shoot possible was no easy feat. Sure, Hongjoong didn’t have to do the worst of it, but management always looped him in, and, in all fairness, he wanted to be looped in. He was the captain - whatever headache the managers were dealing with, he wanted to be aware and help if he could.
And things had gone so, so smooth this time around, Hongjoong just knew the other shoe was going to drop at any moment.
What he didn’t expect was that shoe coming in the form of Jongho stumbling out of his room the day of their flight, eyes glazed, face unnaturally flushed, asking, "Hyung, I think I have a fever. Do I feel warm to you?”
Hongjoong didn’t need to press his hand against Jongho’s blazing skin to know the answer to that question (but he did for the maknae’s benefit).
This was, undeniably, worst case scenario.
“Yeah, that’s a fever,” Hongjoong muttered nervously, removing his hand from Jongho’s forehead just to press it against the younger man’s cheek. “When did this start, love?”
“Just… just now?” Jongho replied, biting his lip. “I felt okay when I went to bed but… hyung, I feel so weird.” His voice turned into a petulant whine at the end, a timber so unlike Jongho that Hongjoong felt his heart snap into pieces. This was bad. This was really bad.
“Tell me more, baby,” Hongjoong said, his voice low, soothing. He grasped Jongho by the shoulders, keeping his grip light.
Jongho’s unfocused eyes tried to hold Hongjoong’s as he spoke. “I feel dizzy, like… like I’m… like the world is water? But like… hard water? Sticky… water? But not wet, though?” Hongjoong would have laughed in any other scenario, but right now, the stream of consciousness his youngest brother was babbling only made his heart race faster. “I feel so dizzy and hot, and thinking is hard and… and… and…” Jongho sighed, head hanging forward so drastically, Hongjoong was scared he’d passed out. But, thankfully, he hadn’t, head rearing up a heartbeat later. “And I don’t feel good.”
Hongjoong nodded, resisting the urge to scream at the universe for this middle finger. “It’s okay, baby bear. Why don’t we lay you back down, and I’ll go ask a manager what to do, yeah?” As Jongho allowed himself to be lead back to bed, something he’d maybe done thrice in the years Hongjoong had known him, the captain could barely contain the panic creeping through his veins. This was not the time for a member to fall dangerously ill, especially not his reliable Jongho. But Hongjoong couldn’t fall apart - his maknae needed him, his team needed him. So Hongjoong swallowed his anxiety and called their manager as soon as Jongho was out of his grasp.
*
“This is cruel,” Mingi hissed against Hongjoong’s ear as the team huddled together at the entrance to the jetway.
“You think I don’t know that?” the captain snapped back. He immediately took a sharp breath through his nose. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong.”
“No, you’re right,” Mingi conceded. “I know you know. And I know you’re pissed. Just wanted you to know we’re all in agreement.” The rapper’s face was taut with anger, and Hongjoong couldn’t begrudge him the right to complain. He just wished there was something, anything he could do to help the situation.
When Hongjoong had told management about Jongho’s sudden illness, their favorite manager had immediately gone to the next level, seeking some sort of lenience or alternative to account for their maknae’s ailment. But he’d been denied. Point blank. No discussion. The shoot couldn’t be delayed, or moved. Jongho had to be on that plane, so help them, or someone was getting fired.
Mercifully, yet also worryingly, Jongho hadn’t developed any other symptoms besides the wickedly high fever and its natural accompaniments: dizziness, aching muscles, lack of appetite, increased clinginess. He’d been passed around between members from dorm to van to airport, slumped on shoulders with arms clasped supportively around his waist to keep him upright. The staff has done an absolutely brilliant job minimizing their time in the public eye, and had Yunho had worked actual magic keeping Jongho upright in a way that looked more like shyness from the cameras rather than illness-fueled exhaustion. Once in the airport, all facades fell away, though. Sure, Jongho would drink water when told, but had mostly refused to eat, claiming he just wasn’t hungry.
Worst of all, though, Jongho hardly complained. When Hongjoong had broken the bad news, the maknae had simply nodded his head and stood up to get ready to leave. Naturally, he’d lost his balance and toppled right back onto the bed, and Wooyoung had hurried to finish packing for him before Jongho could attempt again.
Currently, Jongho was sat between San (pillow of the moment) and Seonghwa (because of course). Even from a distance, it was obvious the maknae was more than just tired. Mingi had been exactly right: this was cruel.
If Hongjoong had thought it was heartbreaking getting Jongho to the airport, he was woefully unprepared for what transpired on the plane itself. Getting settled was a breeze; upon fastening his seatbelt, Jongho immediately passed out. Seonghwa took the seat next to him, no questions asked about switches, it was known. Things were calm as the plane loaded.
But upon takeoff, when the craft began to bump and the altitude rapidly shifted, Jongho abruptly shot awake with a near-soundless scream of pain. Holding his head, the maknae collapsed forward. Seonghwa, thrown of guard, tried to ascertain the cause of the problem; he grasped the maknae’s shoulders, rubbed at his back, asked in the sweetest but most urgent of whispers what was going on. Despite Seonghwa’s efforts to stave off attention, Hongjoong noticed, as did Yeosang next to him. So did Yunho and Mingi, peering around from the seat ahead of them as much as possible with their seatbelts in place. Even Wooyoung peeked back from the seat diagonally in front of the eldest/youngest duo, catching San’s attention next to him. Seonghwa shot a fearful glance at Hongjoong before contorting himself as low as possible within the possibilities of his safety restraint, trying to peek at Jongho’s face.
“Baby bear, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong,” Seonghwa said, gentle yet firm.
“Hurts.” Jongho tapped at his temples as his face screwed up in pain.
“Head hurts. Scale of one to ten?”
“Twenty.”
“Okay. Can you sit up with me?”
“No.”
Seonghwa gently pushed at Jongho’s shoulders as the makenae weakly tried to resist being moved. “Yes, love. Hunching over like that makes the pressure in your head worse.” Now upright, Jongho didn’t seem convinced, tears suddenly rolling down his cheeks as he kept his hands clasped over his ears. Hongjoong heard Wooyoung and San make tandem sounds of sympathy, felt Yeosang grab his hand. This was so far from normal, for all of them.
“Here, take this.” Yunho’s hand reached through the seats, dropping a packet into Seonghwa’s palm. The eldest’s eyebrows knit together in confusion at the hand warmer. “I know it’s probably silly, but maybe the heat will help relieve some of the pressure?”
“Where did you get that?” Mingi asked incredulously as Seonghwa shook the packet.
Yunho pointed to his coat. “Had it in my pocket, and found it earlier during security. Figured it might come in handy for something, but didn’t realize it be useful so soon.”
As Seonghwa pressed the activated pack to Jongho’s forehead, the maknae’s hands instantly fell to his lap, the tension leaking out of his shoulders. Seonghwa sighed in relief as Jongho melted against his shoulder.
“Thank you, hyung,” Jongho mumbled. Yunho beamed.
“Seriously, Yunho, I think you just saved the day,” Hongjoong added, causing the dancer’s smile to grow even brighter.
The rest of the flight passed with little incident. Jongho never truly fell back asleep, waking in fits and starts, shifting from Seonghwa’s shoulder to the plane wall and back, unable to truly get comfortable enough to fall into unconsciousness. Seonghwa noted that he never felt any cooler either - that fever was holding its own, despite the medication they pushed like clockwork. The headache seemed to have stuck around too, though far less intense than the ascent earlier. And Jongho was miraculously fine during the descent. It was a small mercy.
From there, the members were back to taking turns guiding their maknae through the airport to the van and into the hotel, Jongho following along listlessly, all his energy going into staying on his feet. Everyone was subdued, quiet, worried when they arrived at the hotel, unwilling to partake in their usual shenanigans.
While sitting on the edge of the bed opposite their now sleeping Jongho, Seonghwa perched next to him, Hongjoong did his best to be professional when explaining the need for a rest day to their manager over the phone, who also did his best to be professional communicating the situation to the company. It took telling them Jongho’s temperature had gone up nearly two degrees, sitting at a worrisome 39.8, for them to agree to delay at least his scenes and those for the full group. It was a small victory.
And that victory swiftly crumbled into defeat when Hongjoong woke to a texted image of a 39.2 thermometer reading from Seonghwa with the words, Another man down.
Hongjoong sighed, rubbing a hand down his face as he texted back, who??
