#i work more at the pharmacy than usual so I'm more tired

[larstudy]

I'm sorry if I'm not active here these day, there's was a lot going on and I didn't feel like posting :((

Things seem to settle down but it's been complicated :((

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 2

[prompt: mutual masturbation] male reader x jang wonyoung 4k words

If nothing else, Jang Wonyoung is a creature of habit.

Always orders her americano cold. Brown sugar and cinnamon cream cheese on her bagel. Walks three and a half steps behind her manager whenever they make their rounds: hair salon, corner pharmacy, the office, local record store. And for as long as she's been sharing your bed, she's insisted on that horrendous alarm clock from the late 90s that chirps the early-morning wakeup like a dying robot-parakeet.

All of it has worked for her so far, she’ll tell you. Which you find hard to argue with.

So - when she arrives home later than usual on an ordinary Thursday, she doubles down on routine. Where there's comfort in predictability. Coat on the third hook, boots below, fingers in her hair twisting to undo a messy bun, and a soft, delicate, "It's me," once she steps over the threshold.

“Hey,” you say to her, tilting your head. "You look, bedraggled."

"Well," and Wonyoung brushes aside the handful of her damp hair not stuck to her neck. There are faint marks just at her temple, in a faded half-circle, not unlike what would happen if your pillow wasn't comfortable. Or, you know. Some boyfriend that she's not supposed to have getting a hand tangled into all that long hair and pulling tight, like she tells him not to do. "That's probably true."

"Is it raining?"

"It was earlier." She eyes the spoonful of yogurt you're about to lick off, leaning back against the counter and tapping at the ceramic bowl. Frowns. "Is that one of the last blueberry ones. I take those for my lunch."

"I can always get more."

"Uh-huh." She drops her phone, keys, and spare change from her pockets into the large wicker bowl that lives near the end of the hall, by the closet and coat hooks. She has a sort of despondent energy about her when she comes into the kitchen. Less a look, more of a stance. A rub at her shoulder, this back and forth in her neck like she's working out a kink.

And because she looks tired and her hair is damp and she isn't busy kissing you right away, that's when you reach out. Let a finger slide across her skin, under her collar, pull aside the cotton.

"I'm going to go take a shower."

"Mind if I join you? You could use a hand." You end up holding hers in your own for a moment. Just, looking. "If you want."

There's something unidentifiable in her stare. She might have gone on believing nothing was different if not for the length of that pause - you, and the warmth from your body and the warmth of your hands on her shoulders, sliding into her neck, then-

She rises up on her toes and presses a light, almost shy kiss into your chin. And, well, if she had the strength to reach anywhere more than that, she'd let her fingertips find and curl around the smooth curve of your ear and say, very softly - barely audible - "take your clothes off. I'm already soaking wet. If you don't help, I'll run out of hot water before the conditioner's worked its way through."

But it's not for tonight; she's tired, wants it simple, maybe. Maybe wants to leave it for a better day.

"I just want to get cleaned up. It's been a long day."

"Fine by me." You point your spoon at her. "That's what it's for."

“Such a fucking gentleman," she murmurs, patting a palm at the front of your chest.

You smile first, playful - just this side of annoying - the exact thing she's kicking herself months later for having fallen for. And with another spoonful of yogurt, "you know me."

In your defense, Wonyoung has always had the cutest reaction to it. The quirk that she tries to keep from forming in the corner of her mouth, small and contained, like if you asked her about her day, she'd play it off. Let a sentence out with no punctuation. Which she often does: she's been fine, and that's the full length of her response.

But later, when she climbs into bed - when her face is in your hands and her lips are brushing past your cheek - when her hair smells like peach shampoo, and your chin is tucked into the nape of her neck, just the beginning of all the ways you plan to spoil her, you have to tease. Always, "I thought we weren't fucking until tomorrow, or was that a lie?"

A little bit of distance to keep your mind on track, and not thinking about her spread out under you, wide-eyes, and saying: yes.

You’re propped up against the headboard. You were reading, or watching tv. It doesn’t matter which when Wonyoung straddles your legs and drags her hand up your chest. Up and under her nightgown, the silky, thin, light blue material, until she has the collar cupped in her fist and her knees straddling your thigh. "Am I not allowed to change my mind?"

"No. Not allowed." Your breath catches. Because she is gorgeous, especially like this: tired, and pretty, and sweet, and thinking, deeply and meticulously and with great consideration, of climbing into your lap and asking if you'd help. If she'd be distracting enough - if she had the words to entice you into staying very close, without actually promising anything, because this, what she's wearing, how it's so tight to her form and how it is easily torn or bunched aside when she reaches down with both hands and starts to fiddle with the fabric at her waist, near her navel - is all entirely purposeful.

Wonyoung raises her eyebrow in question - silently: an exception, maybe, for me?

The way you're talking her up with both hands at the very smallest dip between her ribs and the bones jutting out above her hips, thumbs rubbing into the sensitive places along her thighs - pressing, a steady rhythm.

"Do you want it bad, princess?"

"Stop." Wonyoung wrinkles her nose at that and glares. But she knows better than anyone else. She lives in that contradiction, visible as it plays across her face when her back arcs and arches. When her breathing does this slow and deep in and out and you've leaned in with just enough pressure to make it feel good, in your kiss, a soft tug, a bite. A slow laving tongue leaving lazy patterns across her skin.

"Just want to make sure," you insist. Then, the question is being murmured against her chest. Then it's being whispered into the crook of her neck - which earns the single most content of sounds:

"A little, yeah, you ass."

"My mouth? My fingers? Or are you looking for something more... involved?"

"Maybe I'm looking," she says, pulling a curtain of glossy black hair back over her ear, "for you to figure that out."

"Aren’t you coy." You grab at her hair again - the second time today, for the second-worst of reasons. To tilt her head and gaze up at her like you're willing to live in the space beneath her. "We'd start slow?" you ask, and with a press of your open mouth against her collarbone, she brings her arms around you.

"Very slowly," Wonyoung says. She has one hand curling through bedsheets to feel if you're anywhere near as hard as she is wet. Her touch is fleeting, barely a whisper. "We don't have to rush it. Maybe we could do that thing."

You laugh out loud, and the vibration of it alone, coursing through your chest, your waist, up between her legs, has Wonyoung wanting. "That could mean anything at this point."

Wonyoung just looks down at you, fingernails grazing over your stomach, your chest, as she peels your shirt up over your head and tosses it aside the bed. And then, the idea, "get your phone."

"Hm. I'm going to say something that might come off as a little... something, but I mean it in the most respectful way." It's not a far reach, to where yours is charging on the nightstand. You're tapping in the passcode to your lockscreen when you spell it out for the girl in your lap: "you're low-key kind of a freak."

Wonyoung closes her eyes. Smiles. Her hair is spilling over one shoulder, some strewn across her chest, where she cups the underside of her breasts and sits her elbows into your shoulders and wriggles her ass a little lower in your lap. Until the tips of her hair are brushing the space below her belly-button, teasing-soft at the warm, pliant flesh.

"Pot." She bites into her lip, just slightly. "Meet kettle."

It doesn't take long to find what she's looking for; twitter's full of it. A video of her that'd gone viral. Or not quite viral, but circulated - bounced from account to account, thousands and thousands of hits - the shot by shot of the choreo that sees her bending over at the waist, touching her fingertips to the hem of a plaid-checked skirt, with this perfect posture, straight up through the hips to arch the back and lift and turn her shoulders at the right angle, so there's no mistake she's looking straight at the camera.

“You look good here,” you remark, scrolling a little further. She's grown so used to it that she doesn't even look.

Instead, it's her fingers that do the talking: moving a little faster. Touching a little deeper and harder over the gray cloth of her underwear. She runs a circle over the spot that has her rubbing her hips forward, breath shaky, back in your ear. "I always look good, don't I?"

"Obviously."

Her jaw falls into the crook of your neck. There's no escaping it: this heat, and she sighs. Mumbled and warm. This is the worst thing, she mutters - like you can't feel how incredibly hard it's getting to see her touch herself and act all shy, so the words are half-concentrating on her own breath, the other half focused, hazy. In her face. In her chest.

So, again. Wonyoung swallows a sigh. Breathes and runs her touch along the edges. That spot and where the wet has started to soak through the fabric, her thighs rubbing and sliding and finding new pressure.

“Here’s a particularly nasty one," you tell her.

Wonyoung turns her mouth into your neck, lips leaving these kisses while she presses down her fingers and rides. Hard, heavy strokes where her hand moves quicker with a sharp huff to her inhale. You click open another thread - another snapshot of that tight little ass of hers, the smooth skin over the dip of her hips, and the long curve of her back-

"Read it."

And with the music all distorted and choppy through tinny phone speakers, you say: "some guy can't decide if he'd like to spank you or pull your hair."

"Uh-huh." You feel her chin dig in where it's placed itself, over the flat of your shoulder.

"Then there's an awful lot here about how much the commenter wants to rail you. They get pretty vulgar." You look up from the screen and raise an eyebrow, the words coming into place, "Wonyoung has grown up so well," and the next part is so easy, "this little cocktease has been begging me to drain my balls for her for too long. I have to fucking oblige."

"God." She slips a finger into her panties to rub at her pussy - you know because the contact is audible, wet - and she drags a palm up and down, pressing in hard. Her lips part over a shaky punched out breath - this hot, wet puff of air - when she drags her mouth over the smooth skin of your collarbone. Where she feels at liberty to bite a hickey into the taut line of your neck, and draw her mouth, open and hot, up into your jaw. "Cocktease, huh?"

"Always the impression you leave." And with one, long, indulgent swipe, and a pinch on the wet material that's plastered itself, sheer and transparent and a beautiful outline to your cock, you glance to see Wonyoung smiling. That one that's all cheekbones. All teeth. All sort of sly.

"Can you," and there's not even an attempt, not even a sliver of an ounce of thought toward trying to hide the ache in her voice.

(You're there before she has to ask.)

“The concept of ‘Baddie’ does suit her, I think,” you start to read, “no one would believe it, but Wonyoung is the perfect little slut. Grade A baddie. Capital 'b'. She keeps teasing us with that tight, toned body and her slutty expressions. Someone’s ruining her on the regular. Not a doubt in my mind. A piece of ass that fine doesn’t go a week without it.”

"I do like when they talk about you," Wonyoung purrs out, and her hand slips down your chest. A touch, always warm and heavy and searching and all your fault lands right at your waist. On the bone that juts out at her thumb and forefinger. Which is exactly where she'd start palming you over your underwear, but with something close and confident in her eye, this mischievous idea taking shape in her gaze. You can't deny it: she has something dangerous in store.

"About how they think I am."

And when you place your hand back at her hairline, trailing her neck, her shoulder, Wonyoung sighs. From the top of her chest.

"What else does it say?" She breathes out a desperate exhale. This low-slung sort of groan. She looks hungry, and so unafraid to be. Eyes all smoldering. Hips all wriggling. Pushing a rhythm with those desperate grinds over your leg. The mess, in the softest sense, of her mouth, panting against the smooth line of your jaw. And voice, hoarse, murmuring something about: "how are they planning to ruin me?"

"Princess, you-"

Wonyoung angles her hips just that inch. A moan, just at the barest amount of friction, barely a grind, her soaked pussy rubbing against the flesh of your upper thigh, that feels like an earthquake hitting your throat. That makes your eyes flutter closed for just one second and groan, your whole chest singing for her.

You swallow hard. "How can anyone go on calling this innocent-"

Wonyoung’s fingers slip past the elastic, your cock springing free against her thigh and bobbing gently. "Play along," she tells you, this hint of command, and maybe a tease - playful and familiar. "I don't want to be the only one ruining their underwear." She smiles like she has plans, and it's downright infuriating in the best way.

“In the song, she even calls herself a ‘pretty little risky baddie’ and means that whatever happens, happens. She’s announcing that she’s not on birth control and that she knows all she’s good for is getting fucked and used and bred like a toy.”

“And?” she asks, the fingers between her legs fluttering out tiny circles of respite - moving fast, faster - 

It takes more than a couple seconds, because your breath halts in your throat the moment your fist finds the blood pulsing through your cock, joining her in slow, full-length, smooth motions, watching, always. Seeing her, all the way: with every slow and steady roll of her hips that moves her slick-covered-panties along your skin. The expression in the hooded eyes, this flash of her pink tongue and the way it curls over the seam of her plush-soft lip. That subtle shift in the arch of her back and the clenching muscle up her arm and leg-

Watching is where you find yourself at: all the way, everywhere. The tremble in the flex of her spine to the sound she makes from her throat at the same time. When Wonyoung moves closer. How you breathe, ragged, but eager. You're both all nerves, the damp heat building up the soft and quiet parts of the both of you and neither of you are bothered about the sweat sticking the shirt to her skin - this wet heat, a daze, a smell in the air that has Wonyoung rocking and rotating on your lap.

"I would start," you continue reading, paraphrasing slightly the unhinged words of someone typing one-handed, and your voice comes out odd, thick. "-start with my cock forced into that little throat, she'd look so perfect with her eyes watering while she gags on my cum, the filthy sounds she would be making. She'd beg for more like the slutty princess she is-"

Wonyoung shifts her weight, and lets out this moan.

"-I'm not convinced Wonyoung would even be satiated by being railed in her pretty little pussy until she's crying. Wouldn't be enough if she only choked on it while cum dripped down her chin, leaving those little dollops along the edges, slipping and glazing on her tongue. Probably wants the messiest, hottest load. No condom. Lying flat. Clenching. Could you imagine, bare? Wanting to be used for real, want us filling her so badly she'd barely even be able to move, or think, or process anything except how much of an overstimulated slut she would be: helpless. Soaking."

And you look at her as you stroke - the same tempo. Pre-cum leaking from the flushed head. Making a show of it. Watching her lips drop into something slack-jawed. This isn't even the filthiest thought she's ever heard - the roughest fantasy brought to life she's ever imagined - and yet.

"They go on for a long time about breeding you."

Wonyoung manages this incoherent half-word - a word of want, more of the kind of fucking she'd be receiving with her knees and palms to a mattress, her throat dry and face sticky with cum and tears and sweat. You know her body and what she likes, and this:

"-I would fuck her while she screams, her fingers tearing at the bedsheets and her vision so blurry and brain all fogged over, only able to respond in pained moans and deep-seated need-"

Her throat bobs.

You don't need to turn the phone over to find the end. Wonyoung lets it fall faceup onto the bedspread as she pulls your wrist toward the heat between her legs, all messy and slick. "Touch me," she's murmuring, guiding your hand lower until you have the thin strip of fabric tenting just off her lips and you press a digit inside, another - until Wonyoung clenches all around you - until she brings her wet fingers to your own ache, the hot length of your cock, pumping up and down, a stroke. Until she licks them, and places her forehead into the center of your collarbone, mumbling this broken, "Just... put-your-fucking-hands-" and her next breath, like a sharp and sudden wind.

When she’s this worked up, it doesn't take long: Wonyoung arches, slow and sinful, her shoulders curving down to present her chest, to make her small breasts and pert, hardened nipples visible even through the cotton of her shirt, her lips falling open - you slip two fingers to the base, then three. Plunging them in quick and ruthless, Wonyoung bucking into the heel of your hand, fucking her pussy on you so her thighs are slick, squelch after squelch-

“Fuck,” she whispers, this long note of exasperation, right into your cheek, and the intensity and urgency has her fucking her hips up to meet the thrust of your fingers, working her cunt like it's made for pleasure alone, and your cock-

The base of your throat burns. “Yeah,” you tell her, “just like that. Jerk that cock just like that, Wonyoung.”

Both of you are there, cumming into each other's hands, in the dimmed lights of your bedroom, heaving short, wet, sinful breaths into each other's mouths, because it's become one: her eyes and yours, blown wide. Her thighs shaking, your hips stuttering.

You roll and curl and spread your digits, holding Wonyoung's ass into her strokes. Tug the strap aside to hook a thumb in and press into her hot skin and warm muscle, driving further, deeper. Harder and firmer - pressing down, fast and vicious until she's making a series of sounds, whine-like and so soft.

"With me," she chokes out, swallowing down on the noise that falls out of her chest as fingers continue to slide around you like a vice. Her palm on you with so much pressure. "Fuck. I want you to cum."

It hits you - at first, not even particularly surprising, the rush of blood through your head.

"I wanna see it," she demands in a small, not particularly loud voice, so shy and small as the backs of her feet scramble for a hold on the mattress and she comes so hard - again, a sigh. "-feel your cum all over my knuckles, baby, cum on my-"

As to whether you or Wonyoung release first, tension coiled like a spring - well, it's anyone's guess.

"Wony-" Your mouth is open, eyes clenched tight, when Wonyoung bites a kiss down on your lip. All-consuming is the only way to describe the kind of desperation in her noises. It's everything, the sound and feeling, her wanting, her needing. All that wet heat - your stomach tightening, then slack, muscles stiffened up and falling loose as your grip becomes too tight, too heavy around the girl whose fist you're fucking and jerking and riding through this white-hot-blinding-orgasm, her wrist buckling to let you use her.

It's all that cum, lathering Wonyoung's palm, the space between her fingers, wrist and your shaft, slipping, easy. A whole puddle.

It's a few, careful strokes of her thumb and she's holding you up through that oversensitive high, forcing all that cum onto her belly, the hem of her nightshirt, all sorts of slick and messy. "Fuck, shit-" your hand still over her hot cunt, while hers just lays her weight over you, her lithe, slender body landing like it had lost any preference for form, for structure.

"Ugh," Wonyoung finally manages to get out.

"God." You collapse, leaning into the headboard behind you. With Wonyoung wrapped over your chest. Into your arm. Around your waist and mouth buried somewhere into the sweep of your neck: exhausted, entirely.

When she comes around, she does, however, make it an effort to use her tongue. Teasing along your jaw. A slip. And that makes you wonder.

"Messy," she says, wiping the back of her hand on your thigh, because where else should the proof end up.

"Ah."

She bites in, then tugs - lips on yours, until you lean up and wrap around the middle of her back, down into her hair and her hips. Because this part of her has never had a preference: to be treated either with the kind of affection and reverence afforded to an object of worship, or manhandled like someone, someone, no doubt has their fingers on her the instant she turns her ass this way or that.

"I could," she says, eyes unfocused and foggy - licking over the swell of her lip, "use a hand cleaning this up."

"Shower?"

“Mhmm.” Wonyoung slides her long legs off you, and in a look that's all too intentional, turns to move away and slip her nightshirt up, and-

Oh.

Right over her head. Then she tosses it aside like it's nothing. Wears the same sort of look that someone who hadn't had your fingers buried between their legs might. "Or, a bath sounds nice, if I’m allowed to change my mind."

"Say less, princess."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wicked Games 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Guilt. You can't deny it any longer. Your stomach is chaos. Everything you eat threatens to come back up or churns like cement. 

Something happened. Something you can't remember but you know what it was. Yet it isn't just that mistake that eats away at you. It's the one keeping you awake. The one draining you of energy and money alike. Your marriage. 

Stupid is an understatement. You didn't think any of this through. It's catching up to you. You didn't just fuck around because you’re angry. No, you're unhappy. 

But you did fuck around. For all you can say about Barrett, he didn't do that. It's over but you just don't know how to end it. He doesn't either. 

Tonight? You say that every day but you find an excuse not to do it. You're tired, you have to make dinner, you'll do it tomorrow when he isn't in a mood. 

That night you delay the inevitable with a trip to the pharmacy. You need something for your stomach. Once you get it under control, you'll be able to think. 

You grab the cheapest anti-nauseant on the shelf and read it over. May cause drowsiness. Well, what doesn't make you tired? 

"Got a bug?" The deep timbre scares you for more than its abruptness. It's familiar. Your vision flickers like a strobe light as you look over. 

It's him. Again. Captain America. What are the odds? 

"Ate something, I think," you murmur. 

He watches you. It's like he's waiting for something. You stare back. 

"Anyway..." you glance around him. "Sorry, if I'm in your way." 

You take a step back to clear the view of the shelf. 

"Nah, this stuff doesn't affect me. Can't remember the last time I had a stomach ache," he scoffs and turns. He grips the edge of a shelf as he faces you. "You never texted back." 

You flinch and flutter your lashes. "Texted?" 

He grins and puts his hand across his chest and drags it down. He laughs, "we had a good night, didn't we?" 

"Huh, I don't know what you're talking about." 

"Really, you don't? 'Cause I can hear your heart racing." 

You blink and look around, "really I don't--" 

"I'm sure that works with your husband. You two did look awfully happy at the grocery store. I could see the disgust crawling all over you," he snickers. 

"Excuse me, I don't know you. So please, go away." 

He clucks and stands straight. He drops his arms and frames his hips, "is that how you talk to your Captain? You're not how I remember you. You were a lot... nicer." 

"Shut up. That didn't happen." 

"Keep telling yourself that," he shrugs. 

"I-- I can't remember..." you whisper. Your voice cracks, "please, I don't remember." 

You look up at him with teary eyes. It was him? Of all people you had a drunken one-night stand with Steve Fucking Rogers. This can't be real. 

"I remember," he steps closer. "I can't forget." 

"No, please, I'm married. Alright? It was a mistake. Just a drunken night." 

"Not for me," he insists. His earnestness makes you shudder. 

"Look, I'm flattered but my life is complicated enough  alright? I'm sorry but I'm sure you can find someone else, Cap. Someone who isn't twenty shades of fucked." 

You shake the box of tablets and cringe. You turn and sweep away. You head to the checkout and go to one of the self-service machines. 

He surprises you as he puts his hand on the plastic divider and looms over you. You focus on scanning the pills and paying. 

"Look, Cap, I'm sorry I didn't reply." You slip your card out of your wallet.

"You ran out. I came back to an empty apartment." He juts a leg out as he leans on the divider. 

"Sure, but I woke up in a stranger's bed, all alone. I was a bit freaked out." 

"I went to get breakfast," he says. 

"Did you not notice the ring on my finger?" The machine blares in rejection of your card. You curse under your breath and try again. 

"You didn't seem to," he retorts. 

You swallow as your card is rejected again. You toss the pills on the little ledge next to the till and huff. "It happened and I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye but I got enough going on." 

He sucks in through his nose and lets it out slowly. You turn away and he snarls, "I can hear the other heartbeat too, you know?" 

You stop short. What the fuck is he talking about? You gather what pride you have left and set your chin high. You march out without looking back. 

Other heartbeat? 

The nausea, the exhaustion, the aversion to the candle in your bathroom. No. It makes sense but it can't be true. 

You can't handle anything else. You just can't. You can't afford a pregnancy test, let alone a baby. 

[mistydeyes]

a sick day visit

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summary: You prided yourself on not getting sick. Even as a child, you bragged about your perfect attendance. However, the day has finally come and you’re in bed with a sore throat and swollen lymph nodes. Noting your absence, the 141 decides to pay you a visit.

pairing: 141 x pharmacist!Reader

if you want to read some other interactions with our lovely pharmacist -> pharmacist!reader tag

warnings: swearing, medical terminology/descriptions of illness

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Healthcare professionals never get sick. They just don't. That's why when you woke up with a sore throat, swollen and painful lymph nodes, and a headache, you silently cursed everything in the universe. The last few days you were more tired than usual but nothing out of the ordinary. You were supposed to report to the pharmacy at 07:00 hours but you knew you weren't going to make it there. You groggily grabbed your phone and made a few phone calls. Eventually, after an hour, you were able to get one of your civilian pharmacist colleagues to fill in for you. "Thanks, Dr. Stewart, I already notified security and the techs that you'll be coming in today," you hoarsely croaked out and hung up the phone.

Once everything was in order, you put a plain shirt and pants on and bundled yourself in a blanket. You knew that you should go visit the doctor to find out what was wrong. You brushed your teeth to have a semblance of normalcy but to put it politely, you looked like hell. Before you left, you made sure to find a medical mask, just in case whatever you had was contagious. You slipped on some shoes and exited your quarters to the medical wing.

As you walked, you ignored the bewildered looks of the soldiers as they passed. Some gave you a quick, "Good morning, Captain," and you weakly gave them a wave. Eventually, you could see Captain Price emerge from an adjoining hallway and he locked eyes with you. "Captain L/N, heard you were missing from the pharmacy today," he said and you moved to the side of the hallway to allow others to walk. "Hi John, just feeling under the weather, should be back tomorrow," you said softly. You could see the pity in his eyes as you used your elbow to cough. "Just let me know if you need anything, I'll personally have the 141 deliver anything," he said kindly and allowed you to continue to the doctor.

Despite being a pharmacist, you hated going to the doctor. Something about the sterility of the environment made you uneasy. "Ah Captain, funny seeing you here," the doctor commented as she entered. You smiled, she was one of your better friends in this department and you relaxed upon seeing her. "Definitely don't want to under these circumstances," you replied and she motioned for you to take off your mask so she could begin examining you. As soon as you opened your mouth, you could tell she knew what was wrong with you.

"What is it?" you asked and she dialed a number on the medical wing's phone. "Oh love, I think you have mononucleosis. I'm going to run some blood work and have a test done but it's pretty certain," she spoke and you were surprised. "Isn't that only spread through direct contact or saliva?" you asked. It was a silly question as mononucleosis was also known as the kissing disease but you wanted extra confirmation. "It can be or it can be spread by sharing utensils or drinks," she said and you internally facepalmed. You silently regretted going out for drinks with your techs and trying everyone's drinks. "It usually takes about 1-2 months to show symptoms," she continued, "there is no treatment, only rest, liquids, and paracetamol."

After two hours of waiting for your results with the phlebotomist, your doctor's suspicions were confirmed. "Sorry Captain," the phlebotomist said and sent you back to your room with a bottle of paracetamol and some Liquid IV. As you changed into pajamas, you made sure to notify your staff of your diagnosis and promised you'd be back at work as soon as your fever broke. Having nothing else to do, you settled back into bed and grabbed a book for the long days of recovery ahead.

You were almost finished with your book when you heard a knock on your door. "Coming," you called and put an Army sweatshirt on before opening it. At the door were four men who you immediately recognized as the 141. You almost laughed when you saw them all wearing matching balaclavas with a skeleton painted on them. Better safe than sorry, I guess. "What are you guys doing here?" you asked as you held the door partially open. "Heard our favorite pharmacist was sick so we brought you some things," Gaz smiled at you and you noticed a small bag of goodies in Soap's hands. "What you got anyways?" Soap asked as he handed you the bag. "Don't laugh but I have mono," you said and everyone took a step back. "I promise I'm not contagious but no kissing and sharing drinks for me for a little while," you joked and you could see everyone take a deep breath. You invited them inside your room to continue the conversation.

As they walked into your room they admired the decor. Unlike some other officers, the base was your permanent housing arrangement. You decided to make it as much of a home as possible. This included bringing in carpets for the cold tile floors, a bookshelf filled with pharmacy textbooks and novels in various languages, and other little trinkets. You even had a few pictures of your favorite people including your proud parents. You sat on the bed and the men cozied themselves on the carpet and your small loveseat. You allowed everyone a moment to settle as you could see them eye your decor. Everyone seemed to find something that peaked their interest. Simon studied your posters of famous art pieces, Gaz tried to figure out the locations of the postcards from your uni pharmacy friends, and Soap was intensely looking at the colorful pillows that adorned your bed. "Quite a setup you have here," Price commented as he thumbed through your Russian copy of Wuthering Heights. "Might as well make this place a home," you smiled and pulled a blanket around yourself.

"Do you know how you got it?" Ghost spoke up suddenly. "Well it might have been my fault but it was probably when I took my techs to a pub off-base," you sheepishly answered. "It was stupid but we all thought it would be a great idea to share drinks," you continued. "I thought it was the kissing disease," Gaz commented as you finished your story. You laughed lightly before responding. "That's one of the easiest ways to get it but anything with saliva contact spreads it," you began, "Plus there's no significant other I would have to worry about, Sergeant" Suspiciously, they all smiled and you couldn't understand why they were so invested in your love life.

"Anyways how have you been?" you asked and Price was the first one to speak up. "Back again for a while but we still miss your patient care in the pharmacy," he replied and everyone nodded their heads in response. "Your friend doesn't know what they're doin," Soap pitched in, "he just gives us our prescriptions without even a hello." Your smile faltered slightly, you were upset to hear this is how he treated your patients. "I'll be back soon, I promise," you responded. After a lull of silence, you yawned as today's events had tired you out. "You should open the bag," Ghost mentioned and you suddenly remembered the gift they put together.

You grabbed the small brown bag that sat next to you and poured its contents out on your duvet. Inside, they had put some snacks from the vending machine, bags of tea, and a crudely drawn picture of what looked like the members of the 141. "Oh thank you all," you gasped and went to pick up the drawing. "Why this though?" you asked and saw four figures carrying a comically sized pill bottle to what looked like you with a mask and blanket. "What I thought it was funny," Soap said defensively and you smiled. "I'll be sure to frame this one," you said before setting it back down. Despite being cold-hearted soldiers, they did some nice things sometimes. Eventually after some more light conversation, they could tell you needed some rest and saw themselves out. "Thanks again for stopping by," you called as they exited. "Anytime," Price said before he closed your room's door.

As they walked down the hall, you could hear their conversation through the thin wall. "You see that picture of them from uni?" you heard Gaz ask. "Ye the one next to the bookshelf, right?" Soap responded. "Didn't know that wearing a bathing suit with a pharmacy coat was part of the uniform," you heard Gaz say and your eyes shot to the aforementioned photo. You stood there, two other friends from pharmacy school, on the beaches of Cornwall only wearing a bathing suit and your white coat. Next time you invite someone over, you'll be sure to hide that photo.

[scary-grace]

#61 for man door hand hook car door

Hi Scarlett! Thank you so much for the prompt from this list (I'm still taking these!). This one took me a bit but I hope you like it! No quirks AU, fluff, sickfic, totally not inspired by anything happening in real life. 2.3k words.

61) “I’ll pick it up after work.”

Your phone rings while you’re on your lunch break, and you pick it up without looking. “Hey, this is –”

“Kill me.”

It’s your boyfriend. Your boyfriend never calls – only texts, because he needs to edit himself before he sends anything. “Hey, Tomura. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” Tomura’s usually raspy voice sounds distinctly nasal. “I was mouth-breathing on you all night. How did you not smother me?”

“Would you have smothered me?”

“No,” Tomura groans. “It wouldn’t be any different than your snoring.”

“I don’t snore!”

“Yes, you do. I like it. It’s cheaper than buying a white-noise machine.” Tomura coughs. It sounds like he’s making an effort not to cough into the phone, but it’s not much of one. “This sucks.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “I’m really sorry. You wouldn’t have gotten it if I hadn’t made us go to that party.”

“Yeah, maybe not.” Tomura coughs again. “But we agreed. Rules are rules.”

You knew when you and Tomura started dating that he wasn’t much for parties, but he was also able to admit that the occasional party is necessary, and you used one of the three parties you’re allowed to drag him to per year on bringing him to your friend’s engagement party. Said engagement party got a little messy. A little rowdy. A little drink-sharey, which you’re pretty sure is what got Tomura – during some horrible round of mystery cocktail hot potato, he somehow got stuck finishing almost every drink. You helped him out with most of them, but your immune system is bombproof. If one of you was going to get sick, it was always going to be him.

He went to work yesterday, but stayed home today. He was worse this morning than he was last night. “Rules are rules, but I still feel bad,” you say. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Come home and kill me.”

“Other than that,” you say, and Tomura grumbles. “Seriously. Is there something?”

It’s quiet for a second. “Yeah,” Tomura admits. “If you’re not going to kill me –”

“I’m not.”

“Can you grab my stupid prescription? I went to the urgent care and they sent it to the wrong pharmacy.” Tomura’s coughing gets louder, then softer, while you try to avoid saying something dumb out of sheer shock that he’d go to the doctor at all. “It’s far away and I’m tired. Can you grab it?”

“Which pharmacy?” You put your phone on speaker and look up the address. “That’s on the other side of the city. How did they mess it up that bad?”

“Maybe I said it wrong. I forgot my address for a second when I was checking in,” Tomura mumbles. “It sucked in there. It took forever to get seen because there were a bunch of kids ahead of me with marbles stuck up their noses.”

“With – what?”

“Marbles. Up their noses. At a sleepover. It was a dare,” Tomura says. You can hear just how pissed he is about it – or how pissed he would be, if he wasn’t too fatigued to be pissed. “I don’t know why they got to be seen first. My breathing was more obstructed than theirs.”

You try to imagine this – your sick, crabby boyfriend sharing a waiting room with a birthday party’s worth of kids with marbles jammed up their nostrils. It’s hard to picture. “Did you have to wait a while?”

“It felt like a while,” Tomura says. “Wish you’d been there. It would have sucked less.”

If he’d told you he was going, you’d probably have taken off work to go with him. “I wish I’d been there, too,” you say. You lean back against the wall. “I’ll pick it up after work. Is there anything else you need?”

“A cyanide capsule.”

“I don’t think they sell those at the convenience store,” you say. Tomura grumbles again, and you pause for a moment. “Promise me something. Before you kill yourself, at least let me go on a quest to far distant lands to retrieve the cure.”

“I asked you to get the antibiotics, didn’t I?” Tomura’s voice is muffled. “Problem solved.”

“Not just this time. Any time, Tomura,” you say. You and he have had this conversation before, and you’ve gotten better at talking about it. You know his jokes about killing himself are jokes, but you also know they’re a habit, and it’s not a good habit to be in. “Always give me a shot at the quest first.”

“Yeah.” Tomura’s voice is quieter. “You’re busy, right? Go do something or they’ll make you stay later.”

You don’t want to get off the phone, but you do need to eat. And then you need to race through the rest of your work for the day – or do you? Either way, you need to get off the phone. You check the address for the pharmacy one more time. “Okay. I have to go. Just try to rest.”

“I should have gotten you sick, too.” Tomura sounds incredibly mopey, which is what you’d be, if you had the symptoms he’s having. “Then you’d have to stay home with me.”

“Okay, but if I was sick, who would take care of you?”

“Me.”

“You’re also sick.”

“Shit.” Tomura’s hitting his head against the pillow. You can tell by the rustling. “I’m hanging up before I say anything else stupid. Love you.”

“I love you, too,” you say. You hang up the phone. Then you go back inside to talk to your boss.

_________________________________________________________

Tomura shouldn’t have gone to the stupid urgent care. He got the prescription, sure, but it came at the cost of an hour in a packed waiting room, three separate lectures about getting a primary care provider, a cotton swab down the back of his throat to check for strep even though he doesn’t have a sore throat, and a bunch of questions that weren’t even sort of relevant to why he was there. It sapped all his energy and probably exposed him to twenty more diseases than he already has, and he didn’t even get the antibiotics. He had to ask you to get them, and that means it’ll be even longer before you get home.

Tomura’s not an idiot. He knows you don’t have some kind of magical healing powers that can make his headache and cough and congestion go away just by touching him, but he feels better when you’re here, no matter what you’re doing, no matter what’s wrong with him. Tomura’s not an idiot, but he’s also not naïve. He knows he was shooting for the moon when he slid into your DMs. He never expected it to work.

And part of him is still convinced it hasn’t worked, even though you’ve been together for two years and living together for one. It’s not his low self-esteem telling him you’re too good for him – it’s observable fact. You’re smart and hardworking but sneaky about it, so you never have to do more work than you have to, and you’re pretty and cute but you’re also hot, which are things that should go together but don’t go together in real life, and Tomura knows that whenever people look at the two of you together they’re asking themselves the same question. What are you doing? What are you doing with him?

Tomura asks himself that same question every week or so. He still hasn’t worked it out. But he has a feeling it has to do with the fact that he’s able to pull his weight, which he hasn’t been doing since Sunday morning, when he woke up the morning after your stupid friend’s engagement party with an itch in the back of his throat. And then he piled on by making you pick up his prescription. You must be pissed. So what if you didn’t sound pissed on the phone? You must be. Tomura would – no, Tomura wouldn’t. He likes when he can do stuff for you, because it makes you happy, and he wants you to be happy, because he loves you. What is he thinking?

Nothing that makes any sense, so he should probably stop. Tomura brushes the piles of wadded-up tissues into the wastebasket by the bed, then curls up under the blankets on your side. He should get some sleep. It’s just past noon. You’re not going to be home until six. Maybe he’ll feel a little better on the other side of a six-hour nap.

Tomura falls asleep facing your digital alarm clock, so when he hears the apartment door unlock itself and opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is the time. It’s not six. It’s two. Why are you home so early? He can tell that you’re trying to be quiet as you take off your shoes. Maybe you’re trying not to wake him, but he’s already awake. He should let you know

“You –” Tomura starts, then coughs. His voice still sounds like shit, so he coughs again, which turns into a coughing fit, and by then you’re in the doorway. He peers at you through eyes that feel blurrier than they should. “You came back early.”

“I really shouldn’t have gone in at all today,” you say. “When I told my boss your symptoms, she sent me home. Apparently I could be contagious.”

You’re smirking a little bit. Tomura has a feeling you did more than just tell your boss his symptoms, but he doesn’t give a shit. You’re home. “I got your prescription,” you continue, shaking a paper bag, “and I got frozen yogurt instead of a probiotic so you don’t have to take an extra pill. I also got fancy tissues – and ingredients for real ramen if you want that and instant ramen if you don’t – and –”

All of that was one bag. Tomura recognizes the other one instantly – it’s from his favorite game store. “What did you do?”

“New headset,” you say. “You keep saying the one you have hurts your head. If it hurts your head on a regular basis, it probably hurts it even more now – and I know the one you want, so I figured I’d get it. In case you felt like gaming at all.”

Tomura should probably say something. Thank you would probably be a good start, but all he can do is stare at you and cough a little bit. You don’t seem worried about it. You duck out of the bedroom, then come back with a glass of water, a cup of frozen yogurt, and a spoon. You set the antibiotics down next to it and head over to the closet to change out of your work clothes.

Tomura tries to pay attention to the frozen yogurt – using a spoon feels like it requires all of his concentration right now – but he can’t stop glancing over at you. You look good in your work clothes, but Tomura likes it best when you’re comfortable, because you always look good to him and when you’re comfortable you don’t waste time worrying about it. It doesn’t hurt that most of your comfortable clothes were Tomura’s clothes at some point. The pajamas you settle on are half-yours, half-his. Your shorts, which Tomura likes because the elastic waistband is easier to get through than a drawstring is, and his shirt, which he likes because you stole it from him within the first month the two of you were dating and never gave it back.

It takes a spoonful of yogurt nearly sliding off the spoon and into his lap for Tomura to remember what he’s supposed to be doing. He shovels in a few more bites of yogurt, then downs the pill and flops back on the bed, just as you get into bed on what’s usually his side. “You stole my spot,” you say. “What’s that about?”

“Your side is better.”

“That’s not what you said when we moved in,” you point out. “You talked a lot of shit about my side being the worst one.”

“It is. Usually.” Tomura doesn’t want to admit this. He feels like a dumbass. “It smells like you.”

You look surprised. “You can smell stuff right now?”

“Only on one side,” Tomura says, and you laugh. You come closer, too, settling down in bed next to him, and wrapping your arms carefully around him. “You sure you want to do this? What if you get sick?”

“You’ll be done being sick by the time I get it, if I get it,” you say. You kiss Tomura’s cheek, then test his forehead with the back of your hand before brushing his hair out of his face. “I don’t think I will. But if I do get it, then you can take care of me.”

Tomura thinks he could do that. He wouldn’t be as good at it as you are, but you’re giving him a really good tutorial right now. He’s paying attention. Sort of. “I’d say I’m looking forward to it, but you’d have to get sick, so I’m not. Because I don’t want you to be sick. But I would take care of you. I want to, but I don’t want to have to, if that makes sense. It doesn’t make sense. I just – fuck.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You’re smiling at him. “Just get some rest. I could use a nap, too.”

“Yeah.” Tomura wants to talk to you more, wants to hear how your day was going before he ruined it, but now that you’re here, all he wants is to sleep. He sleeps better when you’re here. “Okay.”

The coughing’s not as bad when he isn’t trying to talk. Tomura closes his eyes and slumps against you. “Love you,” he mumbles, and he stays awake just long enough to hear you say it back.

[kaliforniahigh]

Fic request idea? You and Noah have happily been together for a few years. Your next anniversary happens while he's on tour so you secretly coordinate a plan with Matt to surprise Noah in whatever city they're in. After you get to the hotel, you look for Noah. You find him outside by the pool area talking to a pretty girl in a bikini. The girl puts her arm around him and takes a selfie. She keeps her hand on him way too long and gets a flirty look on her face. You've seen other fans interact with Noah and are always unbothered but now you've never felt so jealous and sick to your stomach, so you go back to your room. What you didn't see was Noah politely remove the girl's hand and turn her down. After a brief nap, you still feel really sick and emotional (more so than usual) and Noah doesn't know you're there yet so you debate if you should just go home. You can fill in the next parts but include lots of angst, avoiding each other, avoiding calls/texts, reader still feeling sick, talking about that misunderstanding. It all ends with you telling Noah "I'm pregnant".

I love dad omens :((( Thank you the request. I hope you like it! Hopefully I didn't stray too much from what you wanted.

Warnings: pregnancy, vomiting, reader is insecure, jealousy, a little bit of angst, happy ending. I think that's it. Noah is ecstatic about being a dad.

WC: 4k (I haven't proofread this yet!)

Requests are closed for now.

Eight years was a big milestone. It's been eight years since you've been dating the love of your life. Spending anniversaries apart wasn't anything unsual for you two. Noah was on tour for the most part of the year, and chances are he would be somewhere far away when the day of your anniversary arrived.

This year was no different, he was all the way on the east coast, while you stayed in your California home. But something felt different this time around.

It was no secret you and Noah had a very active sex life, that became even more active whenever he was about to leave for tour. However, you were both very careful every time. He always wore a condom, since you couldn't be on the pill due to health reasons.

A few weeks after he left, you started to feel the first symptoms. At work, you noticed you needed to use the bathroom so frequently, you sworn you were in the bathroom every fifteen minutes to pee.

You felt more tired than usual, almost being late for work a couple of times, since you couldn't open your eyes long enough to get up from the bed.

At first, you thought your immunity might be too low or that you needed to take some vitamins. But when the nausea and vomiting started, it got you more concerned. You decided to check your app to see when was the last time you have gotten your period.

You suspicions were confirmed when you saw that you didn't get your period at all this month. Running to the pharmacy, you thought that buying a pregnancy test was your best option until you could get a consult with your doctor.

While you were cruising the isles, you thought about Noah and how he would feel about this - if the test came out positive. You've been together for a long time, and you've discussed having a family many times over the years. Getting married and having kids were on your agenda, but not for right now.

You were both under 30 and he was so busy with the band, you could see the problem in trying to raise a baby when he was so far away for months on end.

You lived in a different state than the rest of your family, so having a support system here in California would be so difficult. You would be on maternity leave, sure, but at some point you would have to go back to work, and who would take care of your baby then? You didn't want to put them in daycare so early.

Your mind was running with a million thoughts, as you grabbed two Clearblue tests and ran to the checkout line. The cashier noticed your uneasiness and didn't attempt to make any small talk.

Now, you were sat on the toilet as you eyed both tests, gathering the courage to take them, because once you did, the situation would become very real.

You wished Noah was here with you. You didn't care if would freak out or stay calm, you just needed someone to do this with you. You debated calling him, but decided against it. You wouldn't tell him a life-altering information with him on the other side of the country.

You had no other choice, so you took your pants and underwear off to pee on the stick that would probably change your life forever. You watched the countdown on the stick with a bated breath. You looked away, not being able to look at it as it did it's thing.

You gnawed at your nails, biting them and even drawing some blood in the process, legs bouncing incessantly. After a few minutes, you grabbed the test again and looked at the little display.

Pregnant.

Tears welled in your eyes as you put the test back on the counter. Crying was the best response you could conjure up right now, so that's what you did. You sat on the bathroom toilet and cried your eyes out, sobs racking through your body as it became difficult for you to breath.

After minutes of this, your body began to feel exhausted and you seemed to be running out of tears. You tried to breath more evenly now, standing up from the toilet, you washed you face and blew your nose. Not being able to do much else with how emotionally exhausted you were, you decided to just go to bed and sleep this off. Tomorrow was Saturday, so you had the whole day to think about this.

You went under the covers and grabbed your phone, looking at some pictures of baby Noah that he has sent you over the years, a little smile playing on your lips at the sight of him so cute and so small.

You wished for your baby to have his eyes, his beautiful voice and kind heart. You wondered if they would have his dark, straight hair or your light and slightly wavy one. You wanted them to inherit his height so you could get them in some kind of sport, maybe basketball or volleyball. Or maybe their dad would teach them how to play an instrument and they would be in a band as well.

Your heart felt a little lighter at all the scenarios you were conjuring up in your mind. Your eyes felt heavy from all the crying and soon you were plugging your phone to charge on the bed side table, cuddling up to Noah's blanket, drifting off to sleep thinking about the little human you were growing inside of you.

The next day, you texted Matt and started to organize a surprise for Noah on tour. You knew they had a two day break next week, so you would use those days to surprise him and tell the - hopefully good - news.

You spent the week getting your bags ready and the house organized before you left. You even took the time to run to the store and pick up a baby onesie that said "rad like dad" on the front, along with a box for you to put it inside with the pregnancy test you kept.

You thought about scheduling a doctor's appointment before traveling, but you wanted Noah to be there with you, and since tour was wrapping up not too long after you visited, you decided to wait.

Even though you felt like he would be happy with the fact that you were going to have a baby, you still needed to be prepared to talk about your options if needed.

As you sat on the plane, thousands of feet up in the air, you willed the discomfort in your stomach away. You knew that the possibility of you feeling sick on the flight was real, but you would avoid it as much as you could. You rubbed your still flat belly, a silent way to tell your baby to settle down, as you closed your eyes and tried to nap.

The next time you opened your eyes, there was only an hour until you touched down. You coordinated everything with Matt. You had your room you would be staying in to get everything ready for your surprise. It wasn't much, you just planned on leaving the box with the onesie and pregnancy test inside on the bed for him to see when he came into the room.

It was a nice hotel, with a big pool according to what you saw online, and you totally intended on taking advantage of that, soaking in the sun and playing in the water.

After you landed, there was an Uber waiting to take you back to the hotel, Matt assured you they all went out for lunch, so there was no chance of you running into Noah in the middle of the hotel lobby.

Checking in, you took your bags up to your room, taking a few clothes out and hanging them inside the closet. You put your toiletries in the bathroom and took your airplane clothes off in order to take a warm shower and change into some new clothes.

You were drying your hair when your phone pinged with a succesion of text messages.

Noah: Hi, my sweet love. The boys and I went out for lunch and now we're sitting by the pool.

This is the life.

Wish you were here with me. I love you so much.

You smiled the biggest smile of probably the entire week. He had that effect on you every time.

You: Hi, baby! Enjoy the pool for me. Can't wait to see you again! I love you more <3

You replied and decided that a trip downstairs to the pool was in order.

You grabbed the box, onesie and pregnancy test you brought with you and set everything on the bed. You were glad you haven't messed up the bed yet by yanking the covers off, this way everything looked more put together.

You put on your bikini and before you put on one of Noah's shirts over your body, you looked at yourself in the mirror. The thought of having a baby didn't terrify you as much anymore, and you actually pictured yourself sporting a beautiful baby bump, a sign of the love you and Noah shared.

Snapping out of your reverie, you grabbed some sunscreen and your sunglasses and made your way to the pool area. You staked the place out first, trying to sneak up on him.

You saw him in the distance, along with Jolly and Folio. He was taking pictures with a couple of fans and you didn't think much of it, until you observed a little and saw that he seemed awfully comfortable with these barely clothed girls.

You were never jealous, you actually thought the pictures he took with fans were cute most of the time, and he was always respectful, mindful of his hand placement and avoiding getting too close. There were actually a few pictures out there of him doing the hover hand, not wanting to touch another girl's waist.

But this time, not only was his arm wrapped around her middle, his hand was clutching her waist, her body sticking to his, boobs - covered only by the thin cloth of her bikini top - smushed on his chest. You looked at his face for any sign of discomfort, but he was sporting a grin on his lips.

The girl wraps her arm around his torso as the other girl behind the cellphone snaps the picture. As they were separating, she took the opportunity to take his hand in hers, and you saw a look on her face that only another girl would recognize.

It was a look of hunger and she was blatantly flirting with him. His grin never faltered and you were left wondering why in the hell were his hand still holding hers.

You didn't stay to see the rest of their interation, a wave of nausea hitting you and you were sure if you didn't run back to the elevator you would throw up all over the place.

As soon as you entered your hotel room, you barely had the time to close the door behind you and ran to the bathroom, spilling all of the contents in your stomach into the toilet. You threw up until there was nothing left to come out, and you wondered if it was the pregnancy making you feel sick or if it was what you just witnessed.

Either way, you sat on the bathroom floor, all the energy and excitement leaving your body, as well as the confidence you build up about having this baby.

Noah was young, he toured the entire world and met so many new faces. What if one day he decided you weren't enough for him anymore and he needed someone new, someone more exciting. You didn't want to ruin the rest of his life by tying him to you because of your baby. You knew relationships like that always became bitter and hateful.

Your phone buzzed next to you on the bathroom counter and you saw it was a text from Matt.

Matty: We're by the pool. Noah went up to his room, do you want to surprise him there?

You sighed. That was your plan, but it all completely fell apart just minutes ago.

You: I don't feel so good. I think it was the flight.

Matty: I have some medicine in my room, do you want me to drop it off at yours?

You debated on what to tell him. It all felt so painful having to deal with all of this on your own. Maybe talking to someone would do you some good. Matt was always good at giving advice, and he knew Noah as well as you did, maybe he could shine some light in your situation.

You: ok, I need to talk to you, though, it's kind of serious.

Matty: oh shit, I'll be there in 5.

You only had time to brush your teeth before there was a knock on your door. You left the bathroom to answer it and sure enough, Matt was standing on the other side,

"I realized I didn't ask what you were feeling, so I grabbed the whole medicine bag", he held up a bag with a red cross on the front. You could always trust Matt with medicine, he always carried all sorts of things with him.

"It's ok, come on in", you stepped inside and he followed after you. You weren't actually gonna take anything, since you didn't know what you could and couldn't take due to your pregnancy.

"Hmmm", you heard Matt hesitate, before saying "Y/N, am I meant to see this?", you looked over at him and saw him poiting to the surprise on the bed. You have completely forgotten you placed it there before leaving to go to the pool.

"I was about to tell you about that, actually", you sat down on the bed and put your face in your hands.

"This is good, right? We're happy about this?", he questioned as he dragged one of the chairs in the room to sit in front of you.

"We were happy about this, until maybe fifteen minutes ago"

"What happened fifteen minutes ago?", he asked you, noticing the crestfallen look on your face.

"I went down to the pool area to surprise Noah, and I saw him taking pictures with those girls, and I don't know, I felt this monster grow inside of me and I just couldn't take it", you gave him the short version.

"Those girls were very pushy. What did you see?"

"I saw him very happy to be touching the body of a woman who is almost half naked beside him. His face wasn't exactly sad", you rolled your eyes, the images flashing back in your mind.

"Y/N, you only saw half of it, I swear that is not what happened", he told you and you gave him a look for him to keep going. "Ok, so we were sitting on the chairs by the pool, when these two girls approached us and asked for pictures. We said ok, because this happens all the time. They took pictures with everyone and Noah was the last one. He was standing next to her, both of his arms were placed in front of him, and he wasn't touching her at all", he really looked at you when saying this, and you nodded to show him you understood.

"But I guess she wasn't good with that, she grabbed his hand out of nowhere, and forcefully placed it on her waist. He was so shocked, he didn't know what to do. Her friend snapped the first picture and I guess she wasn't happy with that either, because she told him he needed to smile. So she told her friend to take another one. He didn't even share a word with her, because he honestly didn't know what to say or how to act in that situation"

You thought of every other fan interation you've seen him have. He was an introvert and sometimes didn't know how to react to things, specially when fans are involved. You suddently felt angry, not at him, but at the girl coming at him like that.

Was she even a fan? Or did she only want a picture to boast about meeting Noah? And the nerve she had, telling him to smile?

"He went up to his room after the interation, he was very overwhelmed", Matt finished his explanation.

"He must be feeling so bad", you thought out loud.

"He was just uncomfortable, you know how he is about his privacy and personal space", he observed.

"I know. I feel so bad for jumping to conclusions", you sighed out loud.

"Hey, don't feel sorry. You have a whole other thing going on here", he pointed to the pregnancy test.

"About that, I might need your help once again", you told him, a little nervous tilt on your voice.

"Sure, just tell me what to do"

So you told him to text Noah, telling him to come to room 305 - your room - and meet him there.

Matt left with a hug and a good luck, and you paced around the room, thinking about how these next minutes would play out.

A knock on the door came not too long after, you looked in the mirror, realizing you haven't changed out of Noah's shirt from earlier. But you hurried to answer the door anyways.

"Did you change your...", his voice trailed as soon as he saw you standing on the other side of the door. Jaw going slack and eyes widening in surprise.

"Surprise?", you said, opening your arms for him.

"Are you real?" he said in disbelief.

"Hug me and find out", it took him a few seconds for him to snap into action, crashing into your arms and hugging you tight.

"I can't believe you're here, oh my god", he said, hands roaming everywhere and touching every piece of you he could. You parted for a second and looked him in the eye.

"Yeah, I am", you giggled at little at his shocked expression.

"How did you do this?" he asked, taking your face in his hands. Neither one of you caring you were still standing on your door.

"I had a little help from Matt"

"Remind me to thank him later", he gave you a peck on the lips, both of you smiling into the kiss. "Get in that room, I have nothing to do for the rest of the day"

You stopped him from trying to walk you backward into the room.

"I actually have a surprise for you. I need you to close your eyes", you told him, a sheepish look taking over your face.

"Hmm, a surprise? I love that", he wiggled his eyebrows. You laughed and slapped him lightly in the chest.

"It's nothing like that, silly. Now close your eyes", he did as he was told, a smile still lingering on his face. You closed the door behind you and led him to stand in front of the bed.

You stood to his side, wanting to see his every reaction to this information, as you told him to open his eyes.

A million thoughts raced on his head, the first thing he saw was the onesie, "rad like dad" written on it, next was the pregnancy test and he has to lean a little closer to read "pregnant" written on the little display.

"You're pregnant?", he asked, looking at you. His mouth was agape and his eyes were even wider than before.

"Yeah"

"We're having a baby?"

"Yeah"

His hand flew to his mouth, attempting to cover his shocked expression, muttering "oh my god" to himself over and over again. You wouldn't lie, you were starting to freak out a little bit. A few seconds passed before something snapped in him. He gathered you up in his arms, your feet almost lifting from the floor.

"I'm going to be a dad? You're gonna make me a dad?" he asked, face buried in your hair.

"Yeah, you're gonna be a dad", you said, stroking his hair. His body shook a little and you could tell he was crying. You let him have his moment, so you just hugged him and stroked his hair softly. After a few minutes, he parted from you, with eyes glossy and cheeks wet with tears, but his smile was so big, it could light up a whole room.

"You make me the happiest man on this planet, I can't even believe this is real", he still held you close to his body. You suddently felt crazy for ever overthinking this.

"I'm not gonna lie, I was pretty nervous when I found out", you admitted, his smile fell a little at this.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you. I can imagine finding out you're pregnant by yourself was pretty scary", his hand stroked your cheeks.

"It's ok, you're here now, that's all that matters"

"Take your shirt off", he told you, taking hold of the bottom of your - his - shirt.

"Noah, I don't know about this. I haven't been to a doctor's appointment yet" you said, unsure if you should be doing this.

"I don't mean it like that. Just take your shirt off, please?", you did like he wanted, as he kneeled in front of you.

He splayed both of his hands on your belly and started talking to your baby.

"Hi, sweet girl, this is your dada", he started, and you could die happily in this moment. "I'm so excited to meet you, but it's gonna take a while until we get to do that. Until then, you'll stay warm and healthy in your mommy's belly", he tapped your belly twice to get his point across. Tears welled in your eyes at the sight before you. You have everything you could have possibly wanted in the world.

"Daddy loves you so much already, you're going to be a spoiled little girl when you come to the other side. And you're gonna have the most amazing and beautiful mommy in the world", he looked up at you, to see tears streaming down your face. He got up to kiss them away. "How do you feel about getting married with a baby bump?", he asked you, and you sobbed even harder.

"It sounds really nice", you crashed on his arms, and he moved the both of you to lay on the bed, carefully placing the onesie and pregnancy test on the bed side table.

He cuddled you closer, hand stroking your belly nonstop, a habit he would develop during your pregancy, along with talking and singing to your bump. When you calmed down a little, he got up to turn off the lights and grab the remote, turning the TV on and getting back on the bed, pulling the cover over the both of you.

"Thank you for being the most amazing man on the planet. I honestly wouldn't know what to do without you", you told him, he thanked you with a kiss on the lips.

"The band is taking a break after this tour, and there is no questioning about it. I wanna be there for you through everything. I wanna help decorate her nursery and go to every doctor's appointment", he told with determination.

"You keeping calling the baby a girl", you giggled as you pointed it out.

"I just know it's a girl", he started to draw swirls with his finger over your belly.

"Well, she's gonna be the biggest daddy's girl", you laid your head down on his chest, his soothing movements making you sleepy.

"Damn right she is"

You were about to fall asleep when you felt his body tighten underneath you.

"Oh my god, baby, I had the weirdest fan interation today, I need to tell you about it", you could hear the frustration and annoyance in his voice. You laughed at it.

"Tell me all about it"

[star-writr]

Fever Dreams

Hello!! Just a short drabble while i work on my requests. enjoy!!

Homunyxch wasn't an interesting planet. On any normal occasion, the Doctor would've just set his course for somewhere else without even stepping off the TARDIS. That time, however, had been the first time he had ended up there since beginning his travels with you, and you had insisted. Against all expectations, trouble had followed you and the Doctor on the rocky shores of Homunyxch, giving you another day of adventures. Once back on the spaceship, though, you'd started to feel quite sick.

Stranded on the seat next to the console, your hands gripping the leather in an attempt to focus only on tightening their grip rather than the headache which was slowly making the veins on your forehead bigger and your blood circulation faster, you could faintly hear the Doctor express his satisfaction with the most recent events. You would've loved to listen to him ramble, but you were covered in sweat and your legs were killing you.

"Doctor," you called, your voice a whisper, staring at the floor. It only took a few moments for the Time Lord to make his way over to the seat, kneeling down in front of you and cupping your cheeks. He was calling your name, you realized, but not in time for you to answer; your eyelids fluttered shut, and you lost your senses, precipitating into the Doctor's arms.

You woke up in what seemed like an ocean of blankets and pillows. Even under all that you felt like you were freezing. Your palms and forehead were sweaty, and yet you couldn't help but shiver.

"Doctor?" you called faintly from under the blankets. Soon enough, rapid footsteps approached the bed, and the Doctor's messy hair and worried look suddenly came into sight.

"I'm right here", he whispered, sitting next to you. His hand rested on your forehead for a couple of seconds, and the Time Lord furrowed his brow. He was clearly worried.

You were still very confused. "What's happening?" you asked.

The Doctor forced a light smile on his face to reassure you. "It's all right, sweetheart, it's only fever. You're going to be fine."

"Alien fever?"

"I'm afraid so," he muttered, "but nothing you can't handle. Do you feel like sitting up for me?"

Your body ached and you couldn't feel your fingers, but nonetheless you managed to get up. Now your back was resting against the pillows and you were holding onto the Doctor's sleeve. "You're doing very good", he remarked. "It probably feels exhausting, doesn't it?"

You nodded. Just sitting upright felt way more tiring than usual. The Doctor gently stroked your cheek. "I made you some broth. It should help warm you up." You noticed the fuming bowl on the nightstand.

"What kind of broth?" you questioned him, suspicious. The Doctor had the tendency to give you stuff to eat without explaining it was alien.

"Chicken. From Earth. I didn't even make it, I bought it. Right now we're parked in Rome, next to a pharmacy and across from a convenience store."

You smiled. "We're in Italy? Really?"

"When you get better we can have a look around," he replied, "but it's best if you recover first. Come on, eat up."

The Doctor handed you the bowl and in a few minutes you managed to gulp down every last drop of the broth. It was hot and warmed you up, just like the Doctor had said it would.

"There we go. Good, isn't it?" the Time Lord spoke, putting the bowl back on the nightstand. You nodded. The Doctor planted a kiss on your forehead. "Get back under the covers, you need to rest." You did as he told you, grateful for his company. He stroked your hair, gently and consistently, and you closed your eyes. Everything ached, but at least the Doctor was by your side.

The day went by in a haze. Once a while you could feel the Doctor putting a wet towel over your eyes, and fragments of his stories whispered from time to time. He also laid next to you throughout the night, and you tugged on his sleeve every time you came back to your senses for a few seconds, just to see if he was still there. He never left your side. If he had to, he would press his lips on your forehead and tell you he was going to "be back in a mo", but you didn't even notice his absence since he wouldn't spend more than a minute outside your room, doing whatever it was he needed to do.

Some time passed, and luckily your temperature got lower and lower. Slowly but surely, you even managed to get up from the bed and take a long, warm shower. The Doctor was so worried that he even suggested he went in with you, and even if you told him to piss off, you found it very sweet of him. "If you feel dizzy, scream really loud. Try not to slip, sweetheart. Also, I'll wash your clothes when you're done. Are you sure you don't want to eat first?" he rambled, but you told him off and had the most ordinary shower of your life. He almost hugged you when you got out, but your bare shoulders and death stare made him settle for a relieved smile in your direction.

You got your PJs back on and, soon enough, fell asleep once again. Even if you were recovering, that shower had exhausted you. The Doctor, having come inside the room to check in on you, smiled at your sleepy face and laid down next to you. Still asleep, your arms found their way over to his figure, your fingers clinging on to his clothes, and remained motionless. The only movement was your chests rising and falling, and the Time Lord's lips bending into a content grin.

When you woke up, an hour and a half later, the Doctor's hand was striking your head. Lazily, your eyelids lifted enough to let you see the Time Lord smiling at you.

"You alright?" he asked, in a murmur.

You nodded, then yawned, making him chuckle. "I wanna go to Rome," you pouted.

"You're not ready yet." The Doctor hugged you. "We don't want to make it worse, now, do we?"

"No..." you grumbled. The Doctor kissed your head. "Good", he said. "Are you hungry?"

"Not really."

"Okay. But I'm still going to make you something in a while. You can't recover on an empty stomach." His voice was low and made you want to spend forever with him, right there, laying together on a million pillows.

"Doctor?"

"Yes?"

You pecked him on the lips, grabbing him by the collar. He didn't protest.

"Thank you," you whispered, breathlessly, still very close to his face. "For everything you do for me."

He grinned. "Anytime, sweetheart." You chuckled at his words, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

This was his paradise, he thought.

[familyvideostevie]

A top gun anon (again - hi I’m obsessed).

If you’re taking rooster requests I’ll probably love ANYTHING you write but like, sick fic rooster? Or idk even cocky enemies-to-lovers rooster is the vibe.

But seriously, anything. 💕

hi! thank you for being so patient, i know you sent this ages ago! i went with bradley taking care of you when you're sick <3 | fem!reader, sick fic, fluff, 1.2k

"Did you feel sick when you woke up?" Bradley's voice is crackly over the phone. Reception on the base is touch and go, so you're lucky to have gotten through to him at all.

"No," you mutter. "Well, not really. Not enough to do anything about it."

It's mostly true. When your boyfriend had gotten up at his usual 4am hour for a run before heading to work to teach cocky young aviators how to fly million-dollar hunks of metal, you'd felt fine. Tired, obviously, but used to accepting his kiss goodbye and going back to sleep. The faint ache at your temple hadn't registered until you'd woken up only an hour later, the sun barely in the sky, to a full-blown headache. And after that came chills, nausea, and a low fever. 

"Do you want me to come home early?" Bradley asks. You pull your phone away from your face and squint at it. It's only 1pm and you know he's meant to teach until at least 5. But you're feeling pretty sorry for yourself in your nest of blankets and your growing pile of tissues and you want him to hold you.

"No need," you say. You can handle a few more hours. "I called to ask you to pick up some stuff on your way home though, if you don't mind."

He scoffs and you can practically hear the exasperated raise of his eyebrows. "If I don't mind. That fever really has messed with your head, huh?" There's a shuffling sound, like he's moving the phone to his other ear. "I'll get all the good stuff," he tells you. "Top shelf flu medicine and soup and Gatorade and anything else you want. Any special requests?"

You shut your eyes and feel the bridge of your nose start to sting. You've been together long enough that it shouldn't get to you -- the ease of Bradley's love. The way he does things above and beyond for you from the simplest of tasks to big romantic gestures. It makes your heart constrict in your chest and you want more than anything to hold him right now. 

"No," you say thickly. "Just you, Bradley." He sighs over the phone. It sounds like longing. 

"Okay, sweetheart," he says, voice softer. "You took something, right? Like, Tylenol, or --"

"Yeah," you tell him, sniffling a little and hoping he doesn't hear it. "Yeah, I'm in bed under like, every blanket in the house and I took some with a piece of toast about an hour ago."

Someone calls Bradley's callsign in the background. He ignores it. "Go to sleep or something and I'll be home when you wake up, yeah?" You hear Rooster! again.

"Get back to work, Lieutenant," you whisper. He laughs. "Love you," you add.

"Love you back," he says immediately. "Get some rest, sick girl."

You do as he says, curling under the blankets and doing your best to doze. It seems to work, since your eyes pop open who knows how long later to the sound of the front door closing. You blink blearily and feel your head pounding, still. You're hot instead of cold which means your fever hasn't budged and you feel disgusting. Maybe Bradley will draw you a bath if you ask. 

Speaking of -- either you're being robbed or your boyfriend is home. The covers seem to have eaten your phone but you fish it out and check the time -- only 3pm. You've only been asleep for a little while and he's home way too early, so you roll yourself out of bed with a groan, taking a blanket with you even though you're sweating a little. 

Bradley is in the kitchen unloading two stuffed bags, his back to you. You watch him pull out soups from your favorite deli, far too many bottles of your favorite flavor of Gatorade, and an entire pharmacy's worth of cold and flu meds.

"Did you buy the whole store?" you say, voice scratchy from sleep. You sound sick to your own ears. Your boyfriend whips around and his shoulders loosen at the sight of you, though his brows are drawn tight with concern. 

"Should you be out of bed?" he scolds, though his arms reach for you as he does. "C'mere." You shuffle into his space and he gently rests one hand on your cheek and presses the back of the other to your forehead. "Still hot," he mutters.

"I'm always hot," you tease, though it comes out halfhearted as you're hit with another round of shivers. Bradley smirks but his brows don't unfurl. "You're home early."

He strokes the skin below your eye before turning back to the counter to put his purchases away. He doesn't have to be in uniform to teach, but he wore it today, so he must have had some meetings. Even in your sick state, you admire how handsome he is. "Couldn't leave you home sick all alone, could I?" he says. You amble over to the kitchen stools and plop into one before you fall over. Your head is still pounding.

"You could have," you tell him. He leaves out one Gatorade, a dose of cold and flu medicine, and a container of soup.

"I'll rephrase," he says. "I missed you and I wanted to come home to take care of you." The bridge of your nose starts to burn again. You close your eyes. It feels silly to be so overwhelmed but you can't help it. Everything hurts and you're feeling sorry for yourself and you have the most perfect man in the world ready and willing to take care of you. It's basic, expected behavior from someone who loves you but it never ceases to feel like a miracle. 

"I'm glad you're home," you whisper. You hear Bradley walk towards you, feel him slide next to your stool. You open your eyes to find him close, looking at you with tenderness and fondness and concern all wrapped in one. "I feel like shit," you say, laughing a little wetly. 

"My poor baby," Bradley sighs. You twist in your seat and reach for him, blanketed arms winding around his waist as he pulls you to him, face pressed into his chest and his arms looping around your shoulders. He strokes your hair and you cringe to think about how it's kind of dirty. But you don't linger on it and instead breathe him in -- he smells like oil, desert wind, and cologne. He smells like home.

"Here's what I'm thinking," he says. "I run you a bath and you soak while the soup heats up and I change the sheets and then we get some meds and liquids in you. And then we can get in bed and watch a movie, or something."

"Okay," you say into his shirt. You pull away to look up at him. "That sounds nice." Bradley smiles at you and cups your cheek, bringing his face down for a kiss. You press a palm to his mouth. "You'll get sick," you chide.

He kisses your hand before drawing it away. "I've got an immune system of steel. And if I do, you'll just take care of me." It's not a question, it's not a joke. It's just a fact and you both know it. You take care of each other. 

"Okay," you say softly, before pressing your lips to his. It's a chaste kiss but it's a familiar one. It's I'm here, I'm home. It's you're safe, you're going to be okay. It's I love you.

"Bath," Bradley mumbles against your mouth. "Let's go, sick girl."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, masterlist here!

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Hi there!! I absolutely adore your work. Can you please write an Eddie Munson x GN! Reader where the reader is sick so Eddie spends the day taking care of them? Thanks!

Oh I needed this one, love. Thank you for requesting!

Send me request here! Currently writing for Eddie Munson. I write for a variety of reader inserts (male, female, gender neutral, POC too).

Feel free to look through my masterlist here!

_______________

It starts with a scratch in the back of your throat. You feel like when you're leaving school one day. You had a small tickle in the back of your throat the whole day and then by the time you leave that day it's much worse. You have to clear your throat after almost every sentence speak.

You're in the passenger seat of the van, trying to clear your throat and noticing just a slight haze like you're tired. You're not even sure what it might be, maybe it's just a long day. You hadn't sleep all that great the day before. You woke up every couple of hours--once in a sweat--and maybe that's all catching up to you. Eddie reaches over and takes hold of your knee. "You're sure you're okay?"

Your nod is slow in return. "I think. Don't know."

Eddie hums, brushing the back of his hand over your forehead. He can't feel a definitive fever just yet. But he's worried that you've started to pale just a hair. "Are your parents home?"

You and Eddie only lived a few trailers down from each other. Your dad recently lost his job and was spending most days trying to find work. Your mother on the other hand was picking up all the shifts she could, leaving you to the house most of the time.

"I'm staying over," Eddie declares, turning the keys over in the ignition.

"I'm sure it's nothing a Tylenol can't handle."

"It's final," he hums in return, pulling out of the parking space. You don't really have it in you to fight. You're realizing now just how tired you are. Maybe it's more than just the exhaustion of the night before. Eddie takes the two of you in the opposite direction of Forest Hills. You find yourself, instead, in front of the pharmacy.

It's quick. Eddie kisses your forehead and tells you he's only going to be gone a moment. By the time you have enough energy to check the time again, only five or so minutes have passed and Eddie is stepping out of the store with a bagful of items. You don't even get to look at what Eddie's got before he's handing you a bottle of water and some pills. "In case there's a fever," he whispers to you, gently coaxing you to take the meds.

"If I'm sick sick, you shouldn't stay over unless you want to get sick too."

Eddie laughs. "Babes, I've got the immune system of a horse. Stronger than the conservatism that plagues this town."

"That's pretty damn strong," you giggle, sipping at the water again. It's cold and feels good even if you shiver just a little.

The rest of the drive back to your house, you spent on the verge of almost sleeping. The bumps in the road jolt you awake. Eddie's forgone the usually clash of drums and guitars opting to crack his window and letting the wind's whistle be the only sound. You're thankful for the quiet though you do miss Eddie's radio blaring something.

"We're here," Eddie says softly, helping you down from the van. He all but carries into the house. It's quiet, as you suspect. On the fridge you spot the note the your mother most likely left, letting you know she's gone and when she'll be back. She won't be back for longer than it takes her to shower and sleep. You're thankful that you've gotten closer to Eddie. He gives you rides to and from school, which sometimes means you end up sucked into the Hellfire shenanigans because he is your ride. But it's a nice way to fill the evening. It's just the right amount of noise that fills the void.

"Think you can shower?" Eddie asks, geting your back onto the desk chair and the bag with meds onto the desk itself.

"I think." Your head's not as fuzzy thanks to the water, but your limbs are starting to get heavier.

"I'll help as I can," Eddie tacks on noticing some of your hesitation. It's not hard to get the water running. He faces the corner to give you privacy as you strip, but he stays close by in case you need him. When you call out from behind the shower itself, Eddie swiftly collects your dirty clothes and spots your laundry bin to put them into.

Your shower isn't long. It's mostly the necessities so you don't feel so gross crawling into your bed. When you're done, towel wrapped around yourself and trudge yourself to your room. There you spot your py's already on the bed. You change with ease and by the time you're done, Eddie returns with a bowl of soup.

"You spoil me my good sir," you laugh taking the bowl.

"Anything for you my liege. I'm going to run to my place for a quick change of clothes and then I'll be right back. You'll be okay?"

All you can do is nod at Eddie's question around your spoonful. Eddie pauses at the door of your room watching you curled up on the bed, soup in your hands. You don't look like you've succumb to the sickness just yet and Eddie's worried when it does ht you full force it's going to hit hard.

He resolves it'll be quick. So quick--he think as he literally jobs the three houses back to his place. He swipes his toothbrush, a change of clothes, pj's and a few tapes. He forgets anything it's not like he's far, so he carries himself back down the steps and jogs back to your place.

The night passes with relative ease. You take some more Tylenol before you sleep and manage to sleep like the dead. But when you wake, you feel how heavy and achey your body is. You are officially sick and there's no hiding it. You sneeze and just barely get a tissue to catch the snot before it flies onto the comforter.

"Oh the sirens they call for me," Eddie mumbles. "They told me I would die like this."

"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you," you croak out.

"Don't be." Eddie's quick to dig back into the bag on the desk for the meds he got yesterday. He promises a chaser of orange juice and you sigh before giving into the demand. The medicine isn't that bad, you just like to put on the dramatics for Eddie.

You get some more water into your system and then snuggle back under the sheets. Eddie climbs onto the bed next to you, over the sheets. He opens his arms and you use his torso as a pillow. He rubs along your back. On your night stand is a copy of a book you're reading. He picks it up without thought, finding the page you've dogged ear.

His voice is melodic as he reads. You know Eddie has literally never read before now a sentence of this book, but he falls into the narrative with ease. You listen for as long as you can before the tiredness takes you back under. Eddie pauses when he feels how deeply you are breathing against him. He dog ears the page. "Just rest. I got you."

[my-thoughts-make-me-a-slut]

How do taxes work again? (Naughty or Nice #2: Sexting) 

I know I said that this one was gonna be a sweet story about decorating for Christmas with Loki, but I got a little far ahead of myself and wrote this story the other night. I can't get it out of my head and I've reread it about 50 times now and each time it gives me butterflies. This one is shorter than the last few stories have been.

Summary: After the Blip, the reader is living in a newly restored pharmacy in Midtown Manhattan and Loki is working with Valkyrie in New Asgard. For Christmas, the reader bought Loki a cell phone to communicate better while being far from each other. After a few weeks, Loki gets quite a few surprising messages from the reader early one morning.

Warnings: Sexting, descriptions of masturbation (M&F)

Bing, Bing.

I picked up this block-shaped object that (Y/N) had told me was a 'cell phone'. It was a new gift for Winter Solstice a few weeks ago but I still hadn't quite gotten the hang of it yet, she said it was for us to communicate more easily while she was in New York and I was in New Asgard. I picked it up from my cherry oak wood desk and read the message she had sent me. It was early here, but practically the middle of the night where she was. She must have been lonely.

'Hi, love. I miss you a lot right now, you've been on my mind all day.' I smiled reading her sweet message.

'I miss you too, darling. I'm sorry I can't be there with you right now.' I sent back, putting it back down on my desk, face up with the message still open. I picked up some tax documents, something that was becoming very trivial to me.

Bing.

I picked back up the phone.

'What are you doing right now? I'm sure you're probably very busy.' Even though these simple words were on this little screen, still she was adorable. It was like I could hear her saying these things to me, right now.

'Indeed, I still don't quite understand this concept of "taxes"' I sent back with a smile. My thoughts lingering to her laying in bed with her familiar, cuddled up under the sheets. It was still quite cold in New York, and since the Blip, her services were needed there more than ever before. Her powers were growing by the day, and she had become one of the most powerful witches in the world.

'Well, I had quite a long day, so many people came through the shop today, it was quite draining.' She replied.

'Oh no, I'm sorry. Do you need anything?' I asked, feeling bad for her.

'No, I'm fine, really. I was just considering taking a hot bath, like the ones you used to run for me in Asgard.'

"Fuck," Then my mind was flooded with those images of us together. The way we would bathe together, how soft her skin felt against mine as I ran my hands over her body. How warm our bodies would get when we were close, and the steamy kisses that followed.

'You know I'd do it for you right now if I could,' I sent back, trying to hide my embarrassment at what I was thinking.

'I know, that's alright, lover.'

Then she sent a photo of herself, standing in front of the bathroom mirror. I saw her reflection looking into the camera, smiling. She was wearing her usual silk robe and had her hair up in a ponytail. She looked absolutely beautiful, and a little tired.

'Oh, there's my sweet angel.' I typed it out hitting send.

Immediately another message came through,

'I was just thinking about the last time you were here. How you had me bent over this counter, fucking me hard. You made me cum so hard that night.'

My mouth fell open as she sent another photo through, this time she was naked and had her back to the mirror yet it was arched slightly. Her head was turned to the side to look over at the phone in her hand, her perfect jaw and shoulders lined up. Her ass rested barely against the marbled countertop. I couldn't believe she had just sent this to me.

'Indeed, I remember that night well also. I love watching you cum around me, knowing I am the one making you feel that good.' I responded immediately, unable to wait any longer.

I opened the photo and zoomed in on her body, the display on the screen making it look extra sexy. I could see every detail of her back and ass. How I wished I could be there with her right now.

'I wish I was under your desk right now, with my lips wrapped around your cock. I know this must be driving you insane.' She sent back.

The blood rushed to my dick and I dropped one hand to my pants to adjust the zipper's position before they became too tight against it.

'You always drive me crazy, darling. I can't help myself when you're like this.' I replied.

'I bet you're hard right now. So naughty, you're supposed to be working my King, am I distracting you?'

Then another picture, this time she was laying on the bed, her bottom lip between her teeth, and her free hand pinching the nipple of her left breast. Her eyes looked right at the camera as if she could see me through it.

'Gods, you're killing me. I want you so bad right now.' I typed back.

She didn't respond for a moment, and then I saw her next message, 'My cunt is begging for you to fill it, Loki.'

That sent me over the edge, and I was quickly pushing my chair back from the desk and crossing the room to lock the door. The last thing I wanted was for Valkyrie to walk in and see the depraved action I was about to perform.

Bing.

I returned to my chair, picking my phone up from the desk, and this time, there was a video. I loosened the button and zipper of my dress pants, and pulled my cock from my briefs, before hitting play on the video.

She had propped up the phone on her bedside table, and I could see the way her body was laying diagonally across her bed. With a pillow behind her head and her legs bent at the knees, showing off her pussy to the camera.

"This is for you, my love." She said.

Her fingers reached down and parted her folds, exposing her glistening pink cunt to the lens. My mouth watered at the sight.

"Are you going to watch me?" She asked out loud, knowing I absolutely could not take my eyes away from this sight.

Her fingers dipped into her wet slit, and I watched as she slowly started rubbing her clit.

"Yes, baby. I'm watching you." I said out loud, my fist tight around my cock.

I watched as (Y/N)'s eyes closed and her fingers sped up their movements inside her. I could tell she was getting close to climax.

"I've been thinking about you all day, how badly I want you, need you," She said, her voice thick with lust.

Then she began to moan, and her hips bucked into the air. I knew she was close to cumming, and I was dying to see it.

My hand worked quickly the only thought running through my mind was this wicked video that I knew would haunt my already torturous waking dreams of her.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck!' She cried out, her body jerking and shaking, her back arching off the bed, but her fingers continued to work against her clit. Her moans rang in my ears, and I felt myself building toward an orgasm of my own.

'Oh, Gods, Loki! Fuck yes, oh!' She screamed.

And then she exploded, and so did I. I shot my load into my hand, attempting to save my shirt from becoming soiled, and I collapsed back into my chair.

I heard her laugh, and then I saw her face appear on the screen. She was still lying on the bed, her hair a mess, and her eyes sparkling with mischief as the video ended.

I caught my breath and took a second to clean myself up before I buckled my pants back on, and adjusted my attire. Smoothing my hair back I heard my phone ringing, I picked it up, accepted the call, and held it to my ear.

"So, how was your first experience with sexting, love?" I heard (Y/N)'s sultry voice and the sound of water running in the background.

My breathing was still heavy, "Fuck, darling. I could have made a mess all over my office."

I heard her laugh, sweet and melodic, "Next time you're here I'll have to show you what FaceTime is, I'd love to see you spill yourself all over that gorgeous desk of yours."

I groaned, and she laughed again, "Now, don't you go ruining my fantasy, I'm sure you'll do much more than just that."

I chuckled, "I’m sure I will."

"Miss you, Loki," The sweet break in her voice had my heart pounding in my chest.

"I miss you more, love. I promise to make it up to you soon, okay?"

I heard her make one of my favorite noises, a half laugh, and a half huff, "I'll hold you to it."

"You better get back to your bath, I don't want to hear about how it overfilled again because you got distracted," I said in a more serious tone.

"Yes sir," She responded sweetly.

"My queen, I love you, thank you for earlier, get some good rest and I promise I'll be back out there to see you as soon as I can sneak away," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

There was a pause, and then I heard her say, "I love you too, Loki. Have a wonderful day, my king."

I hung up the phone and stood from my chair, walking to the door. I opened it and stepped out into the hallway, "Val, I think you need to explain how taxes work to me again!"

[larstudy]

I'm done with my exams (it's been a few days but I was SOOOOOO tired I couldn't post), so I'm officially on my summer break!!

I'll take a few days to rest and after that I'll keep that blog as a journal to keep me accountable to do things during holidays (like there is so much things I want to do and I FINALLY have the time!!!!)

I'll work a lot more at the pharmacy than usual but I'll try to still make posts :))

Idk I it would interest you if, on the days I'm working, I just write here some anecdotes about my day/things I learned or idk I'm not sure yet

[delusionaid]

@avaere sent: "Quit the fussing, Doctor Baizhu! I'm fine!"

But if he had been fine, maybe his coworkers wouldn't have forced him to Bubu pharmacy and wouldn't have ensured that Gaming was within the walls of the place before leaving him behind.

Stubborn to the bone, Gaming's spirits remained high despite holding a hand around a hurting wrist. "It was just a crate that didn't wanna listen, so I tired shoving it harder than usual but when I did my hand slipped and upon slipping - well, long story short, I'm fine but my friends down at the agency was getting all worked up when my skin started to bruise; I probably just need something to cool it down with!"

If Baizhu took every person coming to his pharmacy who claimed not to be ill or injured by their word he'd be out of patients soon. It's a noble thing to talk down one's pain to save others from worry or trouble, rejecting the attention a display of humility, but from a doctor's perspective it would be favorable if patients sometimes were a little more selfish. He won't force treatment on those who refuse it but he's not above insisting up to a certain point - especially when it concerns ailments that can easily grow worse when left untreated. "Friends who worry about you are good friends. They've done you a great service by bringing you here for a check up. If you're not concerned, let me have a look for their peace of mind at least, won't you?"

Patiently he holds out his own hand, waiting for Gaming to release his wrist and offer it for closer inspection. It's visibly swollen, a fresh red bruise coloring a sizeable part of the area. "A crate, you say?" Baizhu says calmly and leans over to open a drawer on his right, while letting Gaming's arm rest on his palm, careful not to add pressure onto the injured part. From the drawer he produces a pair of tweezers and after offering Gaming an encouraging smile he leads them to the candle on the desk and holds them into the flame. "It doesn't look too bad, you were lucky; but I see a few splinters stuck in your skin. I'll have to remove them before I can clean your wound, or else it will get infected." Taking the tweezers away from the flame Baizhu flicks his wrist a few times and then waits for it to cool down, all the while leaning closer to Gaming's arm to make sure there's nothing he missed.

"You must avoid heavy lifting or any activities that put pressure on your wrist for a few days - at least until the swelling has gone down. That will be possible, right?" Once the tweezers have cooled off enough Baizhu brings them close to Gaming's arm, carefully pinching the biggest splinter and pulling it out seemingly without effort. "Do let me know if it hurts."

[bobateaboo]

I'm a sucker for "you're a human taken in by Nightmare's gang" plots, so I made my own little rendition

you can also read it here on ao3!

You hissed. How long had you been trying to do this yourself? Too long. Fuck. 

You’d gotten more comfortable here in the castle, after waking up in the dungeons. From what you’d heard, the king of negativity himself didn’t often take in humans, but you got to be the first and only odd one out.

Lucky you.

All in all, it… wasn’t that bad, actually. The gang were annoying, really annoying, but oddly enough, kind in their own ways. Horror had made a habit of making you breakfast, Killer’s pranks were getting less malicious by the day, and they had even made a stop at some kind of multiversal pharmacy to get your meds, after realizing that some of the twitchiness and blazing anxiety wasn’t just from being kidnapped.

Which is what got you to your current problem. Every Tuesday you took your T shot, and you’re terrified of needles.

You cursed, staring down at where the needle had hovered over your thigh for the past 30 minutes. Your skin was riddled with dots where you’d started to pierce through and then chickened out at the first prick of pain. At this point, you were halfway to a stick and poke tattoo.

This was bullshit. You’d been doing this every week for how long now, and you still couldn’t work up the guts to do it yourself. At home, you usually got one of your roommates to do it.

Maybe you should just wait for Cross to get back from his mission. But no, the whole reason you were here was because you’d been waiting for hours and he was just taking too damn long. You could get one of the murder time trio to do it, but Dust and Horror’s hands shook and Killer was still a bit too eager to stab you.

Fuck it.

Sweeping all of your stuff into your arms, you marched out of your room and through the castle halls. You grunt, kicking open the door to Nightmare’s study so you don’t have to put any of your nice, sterilized equipment on the castle floors. You only realize once his head whips towards your direction that you forgot to knock. Whoops.

“Get out.”

 Your king, everyone, eloquent as always. Well, too bad, he was at least going to hear you out before you left.

“I need your help.”

Nightmare blinked, taken off guard by that. To say you were usually wary around the guardian was an understatement, you were terrified of him. Out of all of the gang, you’d been avoiding his ire the most religiously.

But now, you were tired and irritated and just wanted to get this done with, so you dropped your kit onto his desk, an alcohol pad skidding slightly away from the pile.

“Have you ever given someone an injection?” You asked, brandishing the needle. “You know, like, for medicine?”

Nightmare stared at you blankly. Seriously? In all his thousands of years of life, the king of darkness himself had never given someone a shot. You sighed, massaging your brow.

“Fine, I can walk you through it, I just- I can’t do this on my own.”

The king looked more than confused as you occupied one of his armchairs, taking an alcohol wipe and pulling up your shorts to start cleaning the injection site. “What in the world do you need an injection for?”

“Mind your business.” It wasn’t that you thought he’d be a dick about it, but people could get weird after finding out you were trans. Like they were so startled at the idea you had a vagina they were worried it would bite them. You snorted dryly at the thought.

Nightmare furrowed his brow, looking at the needle. “This isn’t one of those human addictions, is it?”

“Oh my- No. It’s just medicine, boss, I need to take it every week to stay healthy.” It wasn’t a lie, it was just a different kind of medicine than most would expect.

Assured that he wasn’t enabling any heroin use, Nightmare nodded, kneeling next to you. “What would you like me to do?”

“I’m going to pinch up a pocket of fat from my leg, and you’re going to put the needle in. Quickly. Then you press down the plunger, count to five once it’s all out, and remove it,” You explained, tossing away the alcohol wipe and pinching your thigh.

Nightmare nodded once more, reaching for your leg. You couldn’t help it, you flinched. The king looked up at you, raising a brow bone.

“Sorry,” You looked away, sheepish. “It’s just- nerve wracking, having someone stab you.”

The king chuckled, having a tentacle rise up to pat you gently on the head. “It’s no matter, I understand that humans can be quite nervous creatures. Would you like me to count to three?”

You rolled your eyes slightly, despite nodding. Of course, Nightmare had been doing “research” on proper human care since you got here. Dork. You turned your head away so you didn’t have to see the needle, taking a deep breath. “Y-yeah. Please. Okay, one, tw- Bitch-!”

Nightmare chuckled, pressing down the plunger. He was probably drinking up your frustration like vintage wine. Asshole. “Your anticipation was only worsening the anxiety. Now, I’m meant to count to five, correct?”

“Y-yeah. Properly this time,” You muttered, salty but also thankful, in a weird way. Out loud, you counted to five, before Nightmare removed the needle, neatly setting it aside.

He frowned, looking at your leg. “You’re bleeding.”

“Yeppp, that’s why I carry band aids,” You mutter, reaching for the stuff you left on his desk. Do you want the space themed bandages, or the ocean ones? Choices, Choices.

You snap your head down as you feel Nightmare’s phalanges on your thigh, brows knit together. “There’s clear liquid coming out of the wound. Does that mean the medicine is leaking out?”

Despite yourself, you chuckle softly, using another alcohol wipe to sweep away the blood. “No, those are just white blood cells. They cluster around the injection site so nothing nasty can get in past them.”

Nightmare looked fascinated, no doubt adding this to his knowledge of strange human inner workings. You popped a band aid over the site - you decided to go with the space ones after all - humming as you capped the needle and dropped it into your sharps container. Nightmare poked through your kit of supplies, no doubt fascinated by this new development of medical knowledge, tilting his head as he picked up the vial you drew liquid from.

“Human?”

“Mm?”

“Why are you injecting yourself with the human male sex hormone?”

You froze, halfway to closing your container. “Uh,” You said eloquently. “Human reasons.”

Something in Nightmare’s gaze softened, and he nodded, putting down the vial. “I see. You’ll have to tell me about them sometime.”

You capped the container, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah, maybe.”

Nightmare hummed, helping you pack away all of your things. “You know, I’ve occupied many physical forms in my time.”

It took you a moment to process the meaning behind his words, snapping to look at him. “Wait, you mean you- ??”

The king chuckled, throwing away the alcohol wipes. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

“Did you have boobs ???”

Nightmare barked a laugh, throwing his head back. You stared at him with wide eyes, enamored by this concept.

“You gotta show me,” you insisted, making him laugh harder.

“I have to do nothing of the sort.”

“Boss,”

“Horror is calling you for lunch, human. Get out of my office.”

Mind still blown from your revelation, you nodded, scooping everything back into your arms. Nightmare sat down at his desk, sliding papers in front of him as he chuckled.

“Can I see after lunch??”

“I can’t hear you, I’m doing paperwork.”

Sticking your tongue out at him, you bid his command and left his office, feeling slightly more at home than when you entered.

[thespacesay]

it's official. I have fucking COVID. I hate customers. my sinus pressure is through the roof. I can literally feel it through my whole face and my ears. i'm pretty much cycling between restless sleep, and trying desperately to entertain myself through a persistent headache and earache.

nurse call line said she's worried my symptoms could easily promote a sinus infection, but we determined that based on the amount of time I've had symptoms, I might qualify for Paxlovid and my PCP's care team will discuss that with me tomorrow, but for the time being I should utilize Tylenol if my fever spikes or 'if I have body aches' (haha funny one, they're worse than normal but i'm resting so...) and take, and I quote, "Sudafed from behind the pharmacy counter, none of that off the shelf stuff", or Afrin.

I was once again advised to use a Neti pot, though it was in a different term I currently cannot recall due to Headache and Tired and Brain Fog. I don't know what about them specifically bugs me as a concept so much, but I gotta admit, they just freak me out. I don't find much in terms of science that does more than shrug and say "just keep 'em clean and use distilled or boiled water!" to support that ick. And yet.

It's irritating to catch COVID a second time as someone who never stopped masking, wears appropriate masks, keeps fully up to date on vaccines and boosters, and isn't particularly social. The first time was family exposure, and fairly "The risk I took was calculated, but man am I bad at math". I didn't do my best, though I did what I could for the situation (complicated!). This time... all I can say is either I caught it from an asymptomatic coworker, from a symptomatic coworker but with an unusually long incubation period, or a customer. My coworkers aren't great about masking, but if they're symptomatic they usually will at least use a baggy blue + stick away from me.

Customers, on the other hand. Bro stop digging hair out of your mouth and then handing me your cash. Stop licking your fingers to separate your cash. Stop covering your child's sneeze with a hand and then using the same hand to hand me cash. Stop sneezing and coughing in my face. I primarily work register because I make us damn good tips due to my fawning nature, but I only have so much time to wash my hands between cash orders.

[therivergirl]

So, I was alone at the office today when one older patient appears, This guy needed some medical equipment yesterday and, due to a miscommunication, my mentor wrote him the order for the wrong thing. Thing is, the specialist who recommended this piece of equipment wrote the note really, really unclear. Like, sure, I don't need a note to be 100% grammatically correct but this was on another level.

The patient went to the pharmacy, and the pharmacist was confused, so the patient came back to the office today.

The thing is, this patient is the only one with this piece of equipment. Usually, when I encounter something I don't know, I go to another patient's record, see how it was done there, and do the same thing. Even worse, I never actually fully wrote an order for a piece of medical equipment. If it's something patients need repeatedly, I can just copy the used order and change the date. I never had to fill in the full form from the ground up.

So, the patient enters, hands me his paperwork and is like "there, the guy I spoke to at the pharmacy gave me that number. So you can call him to clear things up!"

Now, on any other day, I'd probably ask him to come in the next day but the weekend is coming up and I don't want to leave the poor man without his medical equipment for three days.

So, despite my utter hatred for phone calls, I dialled the number, got the pharmacy, and the lady told me to wait for her coworker because he was the one speaking with my patient. When he answered I was so relieved because I GOT TO TALK WITH THE KINDEST, MOST PATIENT PHARMACIST EVER!!!

He was very understanding about both me (a young, fresh-faced, inexperienced doctor) and my patient's (a slightly frustrated man in his 80s) utter confusion and helped me through the process of ordering the correct medical equipment and cancelling the wrong order. (Granted, the pharmacy sounded fairly young himself so he was probably very recently in my boots, but still.)

And to top it all off this patient, when I ended the call and told him his order was in smiled and said "And people dare say young doctors don't know how to work! You see! You did it! Better than she! (my mentor)"

So yeah, while a 15-minute conversation was tiring, it was also a very gratifying experience because I managed to dig myself out of this situation myself. Ok, the pharmacist helped, but I'm the one who called. I didn't wait for my mentor or called her in to help, I did The Hard ThingTM and came out swinging!

(Yes, I know that it's ridiculous that The Hard ThingTM for me is just some administrative nonsense and a phone call but honestly, the non-medical side of medicine scares me much more than the medical side.)

[the-old-man-has-the-phonebox]

Vent

I hate my NP.

If I had the spoons, I'd find someone else.

I saw her for the first time since July after she magically couldn't get me in for a month despite me needing my meds changed immediately and then rescheduled me *again*. It turns out the email with the telehealth link isn't automated and she sent it to me not a few days before like she usually does, but TWO MINUTES AFTER THE APPOINTMENT WAS SUPPOSED TO START.

She had a med student shadowing her, too. Good fucking luck to her, I don't know how the fuck she's even practicing at this point. I should've said I didn't want her to sit in, but I've always been a fucking doormat and that's all I ever will be.

She had no real sympathy when I told her about my broken foot. I feel bad because I, an autistic person, of *all* people should understand not adhering to social cues, but Jesus Christ— a little sympathy from anyone in my life would be fucking amazing!!! Like, a little more than "sorry to hear that" from her would've been really nice.

She even forgot it multiple times. She also forgot another thing I've been asking of her for MONTHS that I had to once again remind her about.

"So is there a pharmacy near campus you want me to send your refills to?"

"Umm... like I said earlier, I'm not at school. I'm at home and will be indefinitely. I can't really walk on my own right now, let alone live alone in my dorm. Just send it to my usual one."

"oh."

Anyway, I'm starting new meds. Again. I'm trying an NSRI for the first time because she thinks the serotonin part of SSRIs is what gives me nausea issues with new pills (I've been going to her for over half a decade. Did it seriously take that long to think "hmm, maybe SSRIs aren't the answer?"?!?!?)

She made a cheeky comment about "Hopefully next time will be our last meeting for a while because these pills will work and I won't need to come back so often :)".

Ma'am. I think about not being alive multiple times a day every goddamn day. We've discussed this thoroughly, in fact.

To reiterate: as an autistic person who misses social cues like it's my job, I shouldn't be the one to pass judgment. But *god fucking dammit*, you're the PROFESSIONAL here!!! Do your fucking job!!!!! Give a single solitary shit about my life and my existence!!!!!!!! fuck!!!!!!!!!!

Hell, I could probably do her job better because at least I can fucking mask!

I didn't even bother asking her about a PPD (Paranoid Personality Disorder) evaluation.

I'm so fucking tired. My mental health has taken an absolute nosedive since I broke my foot and I'm stuck either in bed or on the couch all day every day, and I didn't think it could even *get* any worse than what it was pre-break.

Not even my own fucking doctor cares enough to give a shit about me. My family doesn't really, either.

I'm so tired. I don't want to keep doing this anymore. Fuck.

How the fuck is she a functioning human being? How can she be considered an employable adult when I'M NOT?!? How the fuck has she kept this job?!?!? Why the fuck do abled (to my knowledge) people get to be so fucking incompetent, but if I managed to secure a job and asked for accommodations, I'M THE ONE OUT OF THE TWO OF US GETTING FIRED????