like i said i have fever

Peep is a hearing aid. It is still getting used to this, because it used to be a regular dragon. And now it is a full-time employed hearing aid dragon, all two inches of it, perched on its sorcerer’s ear.

The sorcerer is named Vigil, which is short for Vigilante. Peep tried to point out to its hapless human that being named after their secret identity is a terrible way of keeping it a secret, but Vigil continues to be named Vigil. (It is ridiculous, in Peep’s eyes, how often its good advice goes ignored.) Vigil’s often-changing gender was another surprise to get used to, since dragons don’t tend to have genders.

“What’s a gender for?” Peep had questioned Vigil on its first day of work as it tried to find the best position to stay hidden behind her ear, while holding onto her piercings for balance.

Vigil hummed thoughtfully before answering, “Decoration, I suppose.”

That might have been a joke, but Peep wasn’t sure.

But being genderfluid was a feature of Vigil, not a problem. No, it was the vigilante thing that was the problem. Every night after the labs had been shut up for the day the other apprentice sorcerers would head off to eat dinner together, or watch some shark jousting at the Oceania, or do other normal activities like flying. Meanwhile, Vigil would murmur a few words under their breath to shield their face with a spell, tuck the lab’s resident firekeeping dragon into their sleeve, and go out to foil evil.

It was a terrible hobby, which Vigil would know if they ever took Peep’s advice.

The root of the problem, Peep had decided, was that Vigil was so caught up with how they could that they never considered whether they should. Yes, Peep’s human was remarkably clever, anyone could see that. Vigil didn’t let the fact that they were only an apprentice sorcerer get in their way— they dyed their hair to look like it had been turned blue by frequent exposure to magic, had Peep sit behind their ear to make the quiet world more understandable, and coaxed the lab’s firekeeping dragon to stay in their sleeve and breathe fire on command. With their face hidden, Vigil passed admirably for a fully grown sorcerer.

But they weren’t one, and that was going to get them in trouble one day if Peep didn’t figure out a way to help them.

“You’re going to get hurt,” Peep informed Vigil as he piled boxes into his arms.

“What are you talking about?” Vigil muttered, balancing the pile with precision. “Nothing in the back room is dangerous.” He sidestepped another apprentice coming into the storage room and emerged behind the counter.

“Not in the back room. You’re going to get hurt while out foiling evil if you keep it up. This woman says thank you and keep the change, and the rude guy next to her is trying to get your attention by snapping.”

Vigil dropped the change into the floating tip jar and turned to the man.

Shifts at the lab’s storefront, where anyone could purchase potion ingredients and charms prepared by the apprentices in the labs, were Peep’s busiest times as a hearing aid. Vigil could hear well enough if it was one well-enunciated person alone speaking, but the chaos of the labs, with everyone talking at once, meant he relied on Peep the most.

“He wants one mud-repelling charm,” Peep reported as the man talked, “and make it quick because he’s an asshole, or because he got mud on his very expensive shoes, something like that.”

Vigil made his thoughtful face while listening, one of the many ways he filled the pauses before he could respond in situations like these. “Sorry, we’re out of those. Can I get you anything else?”

The man did not want anything else.

“He said a bad word at you,” Peep said virtuously, because it considered cursing very terrible unless it was done by someone it approved of.

“I could tell,” Vigil muttered, watching the man storm out.

Peep itself was watching someone else enter the store— a rather short knight-in-training in a very unfashionable cap. Peep considered itself an expert on fashion, as well as on poetry and Vigil’s safety. It was because of its expertise on that latter subject that it noticed the knight-in-training. It watched them go right to the shelves of magical candy on the other side of the room, and approved.

“This little kid at the counter wants ingrediants for a stink potion,” Peep repeated absentmindedly as it mulled over the newcomer, and Vigil went back into the storeroom.

He mumbled the ingredients to himself as he found them on the shelves. “Glass eggs, spider eyes—”

“Gross,” Peep commented. “You need friends.”

“—black-spotted mushrooms. Friends would make this less gross how?”

“They wouldn’t. But they might keep you out of trouble.”

“And that’s exactly why I don’t need any. I like trouble.” Vigil went back to the counter and put the ingredients in the girl’s basket.

Peep took the opportunity to notice the knight-in-training again (they were still examining the candies) before turning back to its duties as a hearing aid.“She says thanks, and also that you need friends.”

“Quit it,” Vigil hissed, and greeted a regular customer who signed their request for a fever-reducing charm.

Peep quitted it for all of ten seconds before Vigil was searching the dusty back corners where the healing charms were stored. “You’re only a baby sorcerer, you can’t go around foiling evil all by yourself. Eventually evil will foil back.”

Vigil objected strongly to being called a baby sorcerer. “I hired a hearing aid, not a babysitter.”

“Wrong,” shouted Peep, who loved being right. “You hired a dragon, and a dragon always knows best.”

“Dragons also always live with several nest-mates, which you don’t have, so you’re one to talk about needing friends.” Vigil snatched a fever charm from where it had fallen on the floor with more violence than necessary and straightened up. There was a guilty pause. Dragons are excellent at telling when pauses are guilty. “I mean…” Vigil said quietly.

“Everyone needs friends,” Peep said, trying not to sound like it was going to cry. Unfortunately, dragons are as terrible at not sounding emotional as they are excellent at discerning guilty pauses.

Vigil stroked the tiny ridges of Peep’s back with one finger. “Hey, I didn’t mean that.” His voice was soft.

“I could have nest-mates if I wanted,” Peep said, still sniffling. Dragons’ lying abilities fall squarely between their skills at recognizing guilty pauses and not sounding emotional.

“Of course you could,” Vigil soothed. “You’re the best dragon I know.”

“Including Crackle?” Peep asked, wanting to be sure. “Crackle isn’t even that great of a firekeeper. I’m much better at being a hearing aid than it is at making fire.” Crackle had three nest-mates and its very own nesting hallow in the chimney over the lab’s fireplace, and was very conceited about it in Peep’s opinion.

Vigil abstained from passing judgement on Crackle. “You’re the best hearing aid a sorcerer could have. I’m sorry for what I said.”

Peep blew its nose on a lock of blue hair. “Ok.”

Vigil winced but didn’t comment on that. At the counter he gave the customer the fever charm and they exchanged a few words in sign language that Peep didn’t need to aid in, giving it time to search the room again for the knight-in-training, who was now carrying over a jar of blue candies to purchase. They looked at the apprentices behind the counter, all busy— and their eyes slid right over Vigil’s face without recognition.

Peep frowned to itself. They would never recognize Vigil as the hero who had saved them the other night on their own, not when Vigil had hid his face so well. Clearly, Peep had to intervene, for Vigil’s own good.

Pushing Vigil’s hair aside, Peep stretched itself out as far as it could without falling off his ear, and flapped its green wings urgently. The knight-in-training, not looking, didn’t notice. Humans were oblivious.

Peep flapped its wings some more, and puffed out some violet smoke. On the other side of the counter, the knight-in-training’s eyes flicked to the fading puff of violet in surprise, and followed it down to the tiny green dragon preening with victory, and then to the sorcerer it was perched on.

“You!” Kit shouted.

Peep quickly returned to its hearing aid position. “That knight person over there says ‘you!’ very loudly,” it told Vigil.

“Fuck,” Vigil whispered, trying to avoid the knight’s glare. “That’s the squire I helped the other night! How did they recognize me?”

“Big mystery,” Peep said unhelpfully.

The knight-in-training pushed their way closer to Vigil’s section of the counter, not to be ignored. “You’re that vigilante!”

“They say you’re a vigilante, and probably good friend material.” Peep gave the knight-in-training a wave. They waved back.

Vigil batted at his ear. “Stop that, stop being friendly! I’m a masked vigilante, people aren’t supposed to know who I am.”

The knight-in-training raised an eyebrow, looking at Vigil’s name tag. “In that case, why is your name literally the first half of the word vigilante? Doesn’t seem very masked to me.”

Peep crowed victoriously. “New friend! Can we keep them?”

the other stories about these characters can be found in my tag here. thanks for reading!

Sweeter Than Candy

Originally posted by mikkeljensen

Prompt: i’m sick on halloween but told you to go have fun at the party anyway but instead you surprised me with a blanket fort, tons of candy and all my favourite scary movies
Word Count: 985
Rating: T
A/N: A lot of people are starting to like Steve in season 2, which I am angry about because I’ve been in love with him since the first time I saw him. But yeah, more Steve love though! Special thanks to @keithstellations for being a lifesaver.


Out of all the days that you could’ve been sick, it had to be on Halloween. You really shouldn’t have wimped out of getting a flu shot.

You sighed and sneezed, lazily slumping down on your couch surrounded by tissue boxes and uneaten sweets, while watching various trick or treaters swear at the doorstep when no came to give them candy. Unsurprisingly, the rest of your family members had their own plans on Halloween and decided to leave you. Alone. Some family, huh?

Your plan was just to keep wallowing and sulking when suddenly, the phone rang from across the room. You mentally groaned at how far away it was before pushing yourself to get up. After taking what felt like a million sluggish steps to the phone, you answered it with a snotty, “Hello?”

“Y/N? Where are you? I’ve been trying to find you everywhere,” Steve paused, and you panicked when you heard what he said next. “You didn’t forget about the party, did you?”

“It’s not that, Steve, I’m just,” you stopped to blow your nose, quickly disposing the napkin. “Sick. Like my-head’s-so-hot-I-can’t-see-straight sick. I’m really sorry.”

You heard nothing but silence on the other linefor a while, then Steve finally spoke up, panic and concern clearly audible in his tone. “You’re sick?! How come you didn’t tell me? Great, now I have to go find Dustin’s old fever kit. Wait shit, I think that’s at Max’s house. Hold on, I’m coming-”

“Steve, no! Go have fun at the party. Please. I don’t need anyone here. I’d feel better if I knew you had fun. I’ll be okay!” You pleaded, twirling the phone’s cord as you did so. You knew it would be hard to convince him, but you had to try.

“Fine. At least tell me there’s someone else with you.” You smiled, despite yourself. He really cared. But now you realized that if you told him that you were alone, surely he would come rushing over.

“Uhhh… yeah… there’s someone with me here.” Trailing off, anyone could see that you were most likely lying. “Steve…”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Steve.”

That son of a bitch hung up. Despite this, you grinned. Steve was probably, scratch that, the best boyfriend ever.

Just like he promised, you heard his car pull up to the curb several minutes later, and once again you forced yourself to get up and get the door just as he was about to ring the doorbell. Steve stood there, armed with pillows and a bunch of bags, smiling brightly at you. “Surprise.”

You rolled your eyes but let him in, watching him trudge through you humble abode while carrying what seemed like a thousand bags. Chuckling, you asked, “Are you staying the night or preparing for a war?”

Steve sighed, looking around your living room and the piles of tissues and candy. “Maybe both.”

You were about to go help him with his stuff when he quickly stopped you, leading you back to your couch. Before you could resist, he looked at you with eyes that told you it would be unwise to get up, while piling blankets on top of you to make sure you wouldn’t get away. “Nope. Not gonna happen. You need to get some rest.”

“But-”

“Y/N.” You finally gave in, but not before voicing your discomfort and mumbling how you felt like a child. He quickly rearranged your blankets, then pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Better?”

“Much better.”

From then on, you drifted in and out of sleep, often only waking up when Steve came over to change the cloth on your forehead or to check you temperature. He seemed to be hard at work on something, since you could hear his swears and attempts to get something to work. Once, you even heard him drop something, causing him to wince in pain.

Then Steve came back, carefully lulling you back awake, then took you gingerly to what he had been working on. His hand grasped yours gently, looking back to check if you were okay several times. You had to tell him you were okay a couple hundred times.

Finally, Steve opened the door to your bedroom, and you gasped, looking at him in surprise and gratitude. Your room seemed to have been transformed. There was a blanket fort in the corner, a bunch of candy lying by its side and right across from it, the television from your basement played your favourite scary movie. So that was what he was trying to carry. You smiled gleefully, turning around to embrace Steve with the warmest hug you could muster. “Did you know you’re the best boyfriend ever?”

Steve chuckled playfully, returning your hug and carrying you over to the blanket fort. “Well, I have been told that a couple times here and there.”

You huddled closer to him as he sat next to you, handing him a bowl of popcorn you found on your nightstand. He tossed it up in the air, catching it in his mouth as it fell out. You laughed, since he usually failed when he tried to do that. For a while, you both just stayed there, watching horribly made scary movies and eating candy that you probably shouldn’t be eating. You felt warm, but it wasn’t because of the sickness. It was because of Steve.

The Bedroom Mentor

Originally posted by a-marvelous-bean

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!Reader

Request: Hey doll :) I had an idea but I’m not sure if you like it. You’re a recruit for SHIELD and get trained by the Avengers and your Mentor is Bucky. So during the time together you slowly fall in love with each other but you reject him one time cause you don’t want to get in Trouble and leave the Training upset. Later that evening Buck Comes to your room and wants to have a talk with you but he can’t contain himself and you both end up having sex :) then he holds you and asks you to be his ? :) -anon

Warnings: language, smut/unprotected sex (18+), nsfw, some oral (male receiving)

Word Count: 2.9K

A/N: I listened to Africa by Toto on repeat while I wrote this whole fic. I don’t really have an explanation why, but it happened. I really enjoyed this three-day break from my first week of school but now it’s back to classes tomorrow. Anyways, feel free to send in more requests! Hope this is what you were lookin’ for!


A few months ago, Nick Fury had hunted you down in the middle of one of your freelance missions and offered you a position working for S.H.I.E.L.D. Naturally, your first instinct was to laugh in his face. Working for him and the organization meant having to abide by someone else’s rules, which, up until that point, you had always taken whatever missions you wanted, and never had to follow any other rules besides your own. But here you are, three months later, lacing up your shoes to get ready to start your training with the Avengers. Each new recruit - no matter how much experience they’ve had prior to joining S.H.I.E.L.D. - is required to go through the training, and are assigned mentors. You haven’t been told who your mentor will be yet, but honestly, you just wanted to get this over with.

You sigh and push up from the bench in the locker room, and saunter down the hallway leading to the training room as you threw your hair up into a quick, tight ponytail. Pushing through the door, you’re greeted by a bright, natural light streaming in through the skylights of the training room, and spot Fury standing near the main entrance.

“Y/N, glad you could join us,” Fury’s sarcastic voice rings out through the air as you jog up to them. You immediately recognize the other man towering behind him as James Buchanan Barnes - the Winter Soldier. Like everyone else on Earth, you were very well aware of who Bucky is - or, more accurately, was. He was strikingly gorgeous. His thick, soft locks of hair were pulled back into a bun, and the scruff on his face made his jawline look even sharper than usual. The tight black t-shirt stretched across his broad chest looked like it could rip if he breathed too deeply, and it was paired with slouching sweatpants and black tennis shoes. The smooth metal of his left arm glistened in the light. You were convinced you had never seen a man more beautiful than him, and you tried your best to brush away the steamy thoughts surfacing in your mind.

Keep reading

ultimate-drama-queen  asked:

Hi. I love your blog and all the little headcannons (canon?) you do. I also noticed you're amazing for writing little stories for people who are having a tough time. Would it be too much to ask if I could have one? I'm suffering from a bout of depression/insomnia and I'm running on about 4 hours sleep in about 3 days. What do you think of Derek or Stiles getting insomnia from all the stuff they've seen and the other just cuddling them through it? Trying to stay awake so they're not alone?

Hey, sweetheart. The depression/insomnia combo is horrible. I don’t know if it will work for you but earlier this year I stumbled upon ASMR videos. I know some people find them weird but they really helped me when it came to getting to sleep. In the mean time, I hope this little fic does something to help. 

Stiles thought being able to sleep after the Nogitsune had been the universe’s way of balancing out the good and bad in his life: get possessed by a psychotic Japanese fox but sleep like a baby every night after. As it turned out, being able to sleep after a spirit uses your body to murder a bunch of people came down to the fact Stiles hadn’t had a break since finding Laura Hale’s body that night in the woods.   

He believed joining the academy would be a fresh start, and in many ways it was. He just didn’t count on the fact that now he didn’t have pure evil trying to kill him at every waking moment that his brain would finally find time to process it. Stiles had always been a fan of ignoring his problems until they eventually, just, go away; watching his friends die, looking down at his own body and knowing it wasn’t really his but the cardboard cutout left behind by the Nogitsune, the memory of watching Derek almost -

He assumed - stupidly - that he had been successful in that particular endeavour. As long as he had his pillow, he was fine. You’re going to be fine. That was what the faceless people of the internet said. Stiles didn’t think “fine” was ever going to be an option for him but he guessed hope was a nice sentiment. 

“Insomnia,” Scott said, repeating the word back to him. Stiles could practically hear the concern, loud and clear, ringing through the phone. It instantly made him feel worse. Heaving a sigh, he scrubbed a tired hand down his face. Maybe he shouldn’t have called.  

“Yes, insomnia.”

Scott was quiet for several seconds.  “Do you have your pillow?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Stiles answered. He was currently clutching it to his chest, sprawled out on his bedroom floor. It was 3am, the floor was hard, and if he didn’t get some sleep soon he was going to start crying; the kind of crying he hadn’t done since he was a kid and his mom took ill. 

“What about drugs?” Scott suggested. “I could ask my mom-”

“No drugs, Scott.”

“But-”

I said no drugs, Scott.” 

The line went quiet again and Stiles felt his eyes begin to sting. This was a mistake.

“Sorry, man, I have to go.” 

He hung up before Scott could respond, deciding he could feel guilty about it later.

~

At the academy, he was on auto-pilot. Luckily, Stiles had come up with some of his best plans during the last four years on little-to-no sleep, so it wasn’t overly obvious to his fellow agents-in-training that he needed several cups on coffee just to get through the day.

It was obvious to someone though. Someone who clearly thought it was their sworn duty to haul Stiles over their shoulder in the middle of his third run to the coffee shop that day and deposit him in the back of their car. 

Stiles wanted to protest - he should protest, call for help, maybe? - but he had had his eyes closed when the stranger grabbed him, had been drooling on a statue, leaning against it for moral support, as he had waited for his order.

Plus, the stranger’s arms felt nice. 

In the back of his mind, Stiles couldn’t decide if thinking a stranger’s arms felt nice during a potential kidnapping - fuck, please don’t let it be a supernatural kidnapping - was because of his sleep deprived state or if that was just the way he was wired now. 

It was only when a door opened and a familiar pair of eyebrows slid into the driver’s seat did Stiles begin to laugh. Hysterically. 

“Of course,” he said, shaking his head and pressing his lips against the cool leather interior. Familiar hands strapped him into the his seat. “Of course it’s you, big guy.”

Derek just gave a slight huff and muttered something Stiles couldn’t hear, but it sounded an awful lot like, yeah, I missed you, too. 

Stiles laughed again. It was crazy, what your mind came up with when it wasn’t functioning properly. 

Keep reading

Sick love

Word count: 1.722

Request: Yes

Warnings: Too much loving


“My head is pounding”, you whined and you swore it was like ten axes were inside your skull and wanted you dead in a matter of seconds. It was the worst headache you’ve ever had and you didn’t have the slightest idea why it was like that. You weren’t hangover. On the contrary, you had a blissful night in with your boyfriend, and nothing peculiar had happened for you to feel that way. So, this situation only left you with unanswered questions.

“Still bad?”, your sister asked you and you flinched at the volume of her voice. She was speaking naturally, but your headache made it feel like she was shouting at the top of her lungs.

“Please keep your voice down, you are killing me”, you said and your sister got up to touch your forehead. With that simple gesture she had her answers.

“Well, it looks like you are coming down with a cold Y/N”, she said seriously and you shivered. You hated being sick and that was the last thing you wanted. It was still summer and you would spend your days drinking that prescribed syrup along with eating those disgusting soups. Apart from that, you didn’t want to force Harry to stay in with you. He would like to go out or have a nice time at the park but he would have to take care of nauseas and fevers. It was just unfair for him.

“No this can’t be happening”, you complained and your sister placed her hands on her hips. She was trying not to laugh at your state but she didn’t do a good job at hiding it. She burst out giggling and you threw a cushion at her, hitting her directly at the head.

“I guarantee you it hurt”, your sister ironically said and she went to the kitchen. She had to leave in some minutes but she couldn’t leave you behind like that all alone. So she phoned Harry.

“Harry speakin’, who’s this?”, he said through the speaker and your sister whispered.

“Hi Harry, it’s me, Y/S/N. Just wanted to let you know that Y/N might be coming down with a cold. She already has a fever and-“, she was interrupted by you screaming that you wanted to vomit and she corrected her previous sentence.

“Scratch that. She has a fever and she has started vomiting already. I have to go in some minutes so I thought I needed to fill you in”, your sister finished and she heard shuffling at the other end of the line.

“Be right there in five. Try to calm her a bit yeah? Thank yeh Y/S/N”, he said and hung up. Your sister came into the bathroom, where you were brushing your teeth, to get rid of the ugly taste.

“Thank God mom is not here”, your sister joked and your eyes widened at her statement. Your mom overreacted over the simplest of things. When you or your sister were ill, she would just call the doctor every single hour to inform him of your condition and she made sure you had all the medicine you needed. You appreciated her caring, but it would be too much sometimes.

“Don’t even joke about it. It is unhealthy”, you wiped your mouth with the towel and followed your sister in the living room where you both sat down on the couch.

“Y/N, I really need to go. Jason wants to go pick up a gift for his mother’s birthday and I can’t miss it. Promise me you won’t go around spilling soup”, she pleaded and you flipped her off.

“I will be dead in a matter of hours so no soup is going to be all over the place”, you answered and your sister sighed. You had the tendency to overreact when you were sick and no one could handle that. Your sister included.

“Okay I am going to start preparing your funeral then”, and that had always been her answer since day one. You and your sister had a weird kind of relationship. You would go on and compliment each other but you would flip each other off whereas when you would offend each other you would hug and bro fist one another. People were always confused.

“Say hi to Jason”, you tried to say before rushing to the bathroom to empty your stomach for the second time that day.

“Be sure I will”, your sister said more to herself than to you and got into her car, ready to go meet her boyfriend. Speaking of a boyfriend, Harry was on his way and he had tried to contact you but you hadn’t used your phone that day meaning it was still turned off. When he stepped foot in the house, he stopped himself from calling your name when he saw you curled up on the sofa, tissues all over you and your restless face giving away your exhaustion and pain.

“Meh poor girl”, he said and kicked off his shoes before making his way to you. You had grabbed a blanket from your room and had it wrapped around you. You were practically like a sneezing ball. Your head perked up at the sound of the door opening and closing and when you saw Harry, you snuggled closer to the blanket.

“Don’t get closer Harry, you will be sick too”, you cried out, but your voice came out muffled because of the blanket. Harry kept coming towards you nonetheless and he kneeled in front of you.

“This isn’t gonna stop meh love. How many times have yeh run to the bathroom?”, he softly asked you and you melted at his voice. He was trying to soothe you and it worked pretty well.

“Twice so far. But there’s more coming I tell you”, you said and leaned your head backwards. You wanted to sleep and Harry quite caught that.

“Okay tell yeh what. I will go upstairs and ran yeh a bath. Yeh will relax and I will call the doctor to tell meh what to do with meh sick girl. Sounds okay?”, he said and he picked you up bridal style. You found the opportunity to lean against his warm chest and breathe in his scent. You could stay there, in his arms, for an eternity and there was no lie in this statement.

When you entered your bedroom, he gently placed you on the bed, and he disappeared in the bathroom to set the right temperature for your bath. You placed your head on your pillow and sleep started taking over when Harry reappeared from inside the bathroom and scooped you up.

“No sleep yet baby. Your bath is waitin’ fo’ yeh”, he said and placed you in front of the bathroom door.

“Yeh go in there and treat yourself whereas I talk to the doctor alright?”, he turned to leave but you stopped him. You knew it would be better if he was there to take care of you. He always did. And he was so good at it.

“Mind if I change the plans a bit?”, you innocently asked and Harry grinned.

“Tell meh babygirl”, he indicated for you to go on.

“Why don’t you take a shower with me? If there’s someone who can calm me, that’s you Harry”, you spoke and you were truthful. There was no dirty intention in your proposal. You just wanted to relax with your boyfriend.

“Thought yeh never ask”, he said and slowly took your clothes off, caressing the exposed skin he could find ever so softly, careful not make you feel any more pain. He took his clothes off as well, and got into the bathtub after you. You sat between his legs and he stated kissing your back and neck, in a soothing manner, knowing you would feel slightly better. And he was right. The water was perfect and Harry tried his best to take your mind of off your sickness. He grabbed the shampoo and started massaging your scalp in an attempt to calm you.

“Just what I needed. Thank you so much love”, you said and closed your eyes, cherishing the feeling of Harry’s massaging skills. You started scrubbing your body and Harry snatched the sponge from your hands.

“Nah ah. I will take care of yeh baby. Don’t yeh worry”, he said, kissing your shoulder before he replaced some gel on the sponge. The water was running by now, and you were lost in the purity of the moment. Harry always wanted to make you feel good and he always said it was like a repayment for what you had done for him all along. After some time, he water had run cold so he took hold of your towel before wrapping it lovingly around your tired frame before he did the same with his towel on him.

“Time fo’ pyjamas babe”, he smiled lazily and he moved towards the closet, grabbing an old T-shirt of his and your favourite bottoms with little bears imprinted on them. You had worn your undergarments already and you were waiting for your pyjamas to be passed to you but Harry had other plans.

“Let meh”, he stroked your arms, while he placed your arms in front of you and put the shirt on you. He then, stroked your thighs and legs gently, like you were going to disappear or like you were the most fragile thing in the entire world. He made you feel loved. There was no denying in that. When he was done, he kissed you passionately but you distanced yourself.

“Harry, I am sick!”, you said and he smiled.

“Did that stop meh back in the shower? Don’t mind meh love. I am not that sensitive like yeh are”, he said and you tugged at his shirt.

“If that’s the case, cuddle me then”, you said and yawned. Harry placed himself on the bed and you hugged him tightly, while he played with your hair; just like you preferred it.

“I love you Harry”, you suddenly said and Harry smiled in your hair.

“I love meh sick girl too”.

And just like that, you fell asleep, feeling secure in his embrace and wishing that you could freeze time and stay like that for what seemed like forever; in each others’ loving arms.


Ugh guys, this is so sweet. Where has Harry been all the times I was ill? Before I drag my whining ass away, let me thank that person for requesting this and making me die in the most gentle way possible. Requests are still open and I am waiting for your crazy ideas people! (P.S. Harry is treating us so well lately I can’t bear it!)

Sick

Prompt:  Hiya! I’m in love with your writing??? I wanted to ask, can we have something cute with polyamsanders, with Birgil coming down with a cold and being a grumpy miserable little ball of fluff and the other sides doing their best to make him feel better? I’m a sucker for sickfic. Thanks! - @dashing-hyphen

Notes: I love this idea. So much. I cannot overstate how much I love this idea. <3 Also, thank you for the kind words about my writing! <3

Pairing: Polyamsanders (romantic or platonic, though it probably reads more platonic, or at least pre-romantic)

Warnings: Mentions of fever and sickness. No stomach stuff though. 

*

“I’m not even sure how you managed this,” Logan said, taking the thermometer from Virgil’s mouth and frowning at the temperature read out. “We’re not even human–not technically. How did you manage to get sick?” 

“S’not the first time,” Virgil mumbled. Because it wasn’t. The others had just…never noticed before. And why should they? Until recently, Virgil had spent most of his time holed up in his room, only emerging when he was needed for something specific, and almost never spending downtime with any of them. He wasn’t a masochist, after all, and he wasn’t a total jerk, despite what they thought. He had no desire to force his way in and try to make a place for himself where there simply wasn’t one.

Since he’d revealed his name, though, they’d been reaching out to him more and more, acting as if they actually wanted him around, and…well. Virgil had to admit it was…nice. Really nice. They paid attention to him now, and even more amazingly, they noticed thingsIf he didn’t show up for meals too many times in a row, or if he declined movie invitations too often, they sought him out. They used a tag-team style approach with it; no doubt they thought they were being terribly subtle, but it was always the same strategy. Logan came in first, with his nonthreatening, clinically logical suggestions that Virgil leave his room and get a change in scenery. If that failed, Roman was his back-up, using the trappings of their previously antagonistic relationship in an effort to goad Virgil into doing what he wanted. If that too failed, they called in the heavy artillery. It wasn’t exactly playing fair, but…well, Virgil could never resist Patton’s puppy dog eyes.

In fact, the whole thing had become something of a game, and one that never failed to leave Virgil feeling warm and fuzzy inside. And normally, he loved it (not that he’d admit that to them. He did have a reputation to upkeep). 

But it had its downsides, too. It meant he didn’t get as much time alone as he had before, which was sometimes a bummer. And it also meant he couldn’t hide it, when he was having genuinely bad days–or when he was sick. 

Like now. 

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I woke up Sunday morning and rolled over to look at Stacy, like I have been doing every morning for so many years and plan to keep doing every morning for the rest of my life. She was reading the news. She’s always reading the news when I wake up. I could tell by the huge red font on her laptop screen that something bad had happened, and when she noticed I was awake, she tilted her computer away from me.

“What happened?” I asked.

She kissed my forehead and said, “Your fever is back.”

“But what happened?” I asked again.

She didn’t answer right away. She rested her cool hand on my hot cheek. And then she told me 20 people had been killed in a shooting at a gay nightclub in Orlando. That’s all she knew, that’s all anyone knew. 20 dead gay and trans people who’d been out dancing, celebrating Pride.

Stacy was right that my fever was back. I’d been fighting a cold for a week and I’d clearly lost the battle. She kissed me again and got up and got dressed and went out for supplies. She knew what I needed without me having to ask. She’s nursed my terrible immune system through plenty of colds and flus and fevers. Lemon-lime Gatorade only. When I woke up again, 50 gay and trans people had been pronounced dead.

Stacy and I spent the majority of our first date at a gay bar in New York City, out until 4:00 a.m. talking about our hopes and dreams and fears and favorite TV. And sports. The Miami Dolphins. Skins, mostly. Naomi and Emily. This new thing called Pretty Little Liars. We’d been shooed away from a press event by the NYPD and we found ourselves in the back of a cab together, hardly knowing each other, feeling like maybe we should find out more, like maybe this was our one chance. So we went a gay bar to sit in a corner and talk quietly, while people decked out in rainbows and glitter danced around us, all night long. Neither of us are loud places people; neither of us like crowds. Something drew us to that bar that night, though. Something about the safety of being with our brothers and sisters, our people, while this fragile, hopeful, unspoken thing buzzed between us.

The Orlando narrative was always going to take the form of Islamophobia, as soon as it was clear Omar Mateen wasn’t white. It was always going to take the form of hundreds of politicians erasing “LGBT” from the conversation to exploit our pain. Donald Trump was always going to find a way to congratulate himself for it, to double down on his racism and xenophobia, to appeal to fear to fear to fear, always to fear. (The irony of convincing straight white people they’re the ones at risk when nearly all the victims of the hate crime were gay and trans Black and Latino people.) It was always going to be a chance for the NRA to claim they’re the ones under attack.

But we know the truth: The shooting at Pulse happened because religious conservatives all over the world, and especially here in the United States – where this murderer was born and raised – have been scapegoating gay and trans people for decades, twisting the words of their religious texts to claim authority from gods for persecution and oppression. They have denied us our rights to marriage, to fair employment and housing. They have called us pedophiles and deviants, have taken away our children and separated us from our families. They have called for our execution, and recently. You remember Ted Cruz’s pastor who said LGBT people are “pawns of Satan” and lobbied for our death. That was November, six months ago. They have fought to keep our stories off of TV and out of movies, to have our books banned from libraries, and to boycott the businesses that would dare to treat us with respect.

The shooting at Pulse happened because millions of people have been taught to fear this one thing:

A woman in New York City saw her partner wake up on Sunday morning with a fever, and her instinct in that moment was to shield her partner from horrific news. For three minutes, maybe. Or even just thirty seconds. Not to reach for her partner for comfort. Not to pierce the quiet morning with a howl of rage. A woman in New York City saw her partner wake up on Sunday morning and her impulse was love. Love for another woman. Love.

Stacy brought me my favorite popsicles in order of the way I like to eat them: cherry, then grape, then orange. “Try to at least eat three crackers,” she said.

And that’s why 50 people died.

sick || l.t

Relationship: Lance Tucker x reader

Summary: Lance doesn’t get sick often, so when he does it really puts a damper on his mood. So you make sure to do everything you can to make him feel better until he gets better.

Warnings: smut {18+}, fluff

Word Count: 1.0k

A/N: this is my first Lance drabble because uhm it’s Lance Tucker fuck me up any day


Achoo!

A loud sneeze rumbled the house making you jump as you were making tea for your very sick husband, who had grown completely attached to you, whining if you weren’t by his side for even five minutes. 

[Y/N],” a hoarse voice yelled from the bedroom making you chuckle to yourself, “Lance I’ll be right up!” You called up hearing a series of coughs which you assumed was his response. 

Grabbing the hot tea and equally hot chicken noodle soup you slowly made your way up the stairs before pushing the bedroom door open with your side coming face to face with Lance who was lying down on his back, hands covering his face. 

“I brought you some soup and tea,” you said gently as he let out a groan, “don’ wanna eat,” he mumbled, his stuffy nose making him sound adorable as you set down everything on his bedside table, along with the array of tissues and various medicines. 

“Sweetheart you have to eat at least a little,” you told him as you sat down on the bed beside him, brushing some of his hair out of his face before scratching his scalp lightly, “fine,” he finally grumbled, sitting up against his pillows letting out a string of coughs. 

You gave him the bowl of soup before you grabbed the trash bin, collecting all his used tissues and discarding them, “feel better?” You asked as he started spooning in more and more soup realizing just how hungry he was. 

“I still feel like shit,” he sighed, handing you the empty bowl as you put your hand to his forehead, “well you don’t have a fever,” you told him with a small smile as he shrugged. 

“Doesn’t matter, I can’t do anything,” he grumbled, resting his head on your shoulder, “I can’t even kiss you,” he pouted as you chuckled, “in a few days you’ll be kissing me, I promise,” you told him but he just let out an exasperated sigh. 

“I can’t wait a few days, I miss you,” he whined pulling you into bed with him, “take a nap, okay?” You said as he huffed but nodded his head reluctantly, “can you stay with me?” He asked, wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck, “of course,” you whispered, placing a kiss on the top of his head before he dozed off. 


You must’ve dozed off with Lance because the next time you opened your eyes you were alone in bed, the covers pulled up around you neatly. You wondered where Lance could’ve gone to until you heard the shower running. 

You decided against getting out of bed, thinking it would be nice for Lance to crawl into a warm bed and instead, grabbed your phone to distract yourself for the time being. 

“You feeling all that better?” You smirked as Lance stepped out of the bathroom in just a towel around his waist before starting to dig through his drawers for something to wear. 

“Much better,” he said before sneezing, making you laugh, “okay I’m not completely better but at least I don’t feel like death,” he said as you nodded, agreeing with him, “I kept the bed warm,” you smiled, flopping your head back onto the pillow, turning to Lance who was closing one of the drawers. 

“Now who’s the needy one,” he joked, dropping his towel, exposing himself as he put on a fresh pair of boxers on. It didn’t even phase you that your husband was completely naked in front of you, since it had become a daily occurrence, but it still stirred something inside your lower abdomen. 

He quickly dressed himself, missing the way your tongue darted out of your mouth, licking your bottom lip as he crawled back into bed, his hair just the slightest bit damp still. 

“What is it?” He asked, a small smirk on his face, “nothin’,” you shrugged before lying your head on his chest, wrapping an arm around his torso, “jus’ thinking,” you mumbled, chewing on your bottom lip. 

“Alright Sugar, whatever you say,” he chuckled before he turned the TV on, flicking to a random movie channel as your fingers skimmed under his shirt, just above his boxers mindlessly. 

“Sweetheart,” Lance warned as your fingers dipped under the band of his boxers, “don’t start something we can’t finish,” he said as you looked up at him, smirk on your face, “who says I can’t finish it?” You challenged before you slipped your hand around his cock as he stifled a moan. 

“Babygirl,” he hissed as you started moving your hand up and down his shaft slowly as his hands gripped the bedsheets around him, “I wanna make you feel better,” you whispered against his jaw, pressing a chaste kiss to it. 

His head fell back as you wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock, feeling him stiffen right away, “fuck,” he moaned, voice raspy as one of his hands moved your hair out of the way. 

“How’d that feel?” You cooed, speeding up your hands just slightly as his eyes screwed shut, “so fucking good,” he growled, his chest starting to move up and down faster. You mouth was back on his cock, taking him further hollowing your cheeks as he let out a whimper. 

“Jus’ like that, babygirl,” he moaned, his hips bucking slightly as you sped up your mouth, one of your hands snaking to his balls, giving them a light squeeze as Lance let out a guttural moan, legs starting to shake. 

Fuck, ‘m not gonna last,” he warned as you took him further and further, feeling his cock twitch before he let out a loud moan, your name falling from his lips as he came into your mouth. 

“Holy shit,” he panted as you tucked him back into his boxers, wiping your moth with the back of your hand, “that was so hot,” he marvelled as you let out a giggle, falling back against his chest, “you’re in for a real treat when I get better though, babygirl,” he whispered huskily against your ear as your breath hitched in your throat. 

You couldn’t wait until he was feeling better. 

Pretty

Originally posted by canonspngifs

Request: I was wondering can I have a request of Dean x reader where they use to hunt together and dressed kinda like a tom boy but Dean loved her and the she went on her own for a bit then like years later she’s like all hot now like wears heals and looks badass ?? Thank you!

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 800ish

Warnings: language

A/N: A little bit of some cute Dean…


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Loki and Please

Originally posted by lokitty

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Content/Warnings: fluff

Words: 306

A/N: I didn’t spend the last two hours watching Youtube instead of writing… promise *crosses fingers*

Anyways, here’s @his-paradox’s request for Loki and Please.


“I’m not going to see a doctor,” You said stubbornly, crossing your arms and staring up at Loki’s exasperated face.

“Y/N really, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” He said pleadingly. “You’ve been sick for days. Not going to get looked at by a doctor is just foolish.”

“Can’t you just use magic?” You whined.

Loki gave a half chuckle. “You know that’s not how it works.”

You gave a grumpy pout. “Lame.”

“Love, would you please see a doctor?” He asked. “To put my mind at ease, at least?”

“Fine,” You said after several moments of silence, in which you were studying his hopeful face. “But only because you asked nicely.”

He gave you a smile. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” You grumbled. “But you owe me, okay?”

“Deal,” He said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Now, I’m going to go tell Stark to order a doctor.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works,” You said slowly.

Loki gave you a confused look. “You can order food but not doctors? How odd.”

“Well, you can order a doctor, I guess, but that’s called 911,” You told him.

“Well, I better do that then,” He said, pulling out the smart phone Tony had given him.

You shook your head. “What? Loki no, that’s only for really serious stuff!”

Loki stared. “What are you talking about? Your health is incredibly serious.”

“Like, heart-attack serious. Not having-a-102-degree-fever serious,” You explained, slightly amused.

The Asgardian prince still looked confused, however he slowly nodded. “If you say so. I suppose I’ll go talk to Stark about doctors, then.”

“You do that. I’ll be fine,” You said, waving him away. The whole, slightly confusing exchange was giving you a headache. Though, it could just be because you’re sick. At any rate, you wanted a nap.

I can’t believe I have over 50 followers!

Here is a thank you fic:

“Why is it always the air lock?!” Lance grumbled from the corner. He pulled his jacket tightly around him in an attempt to stop the violent shivers that racked his body.

“Relax,” Keith brushed him off, “Coran and Pidge will have us out in no time.”

Lance nodded. He knew that, realistically, but it didn’t stop him from wanting out now. He was cold, tired, and had a monster of a headache–it had been a long day.

“I know,” Lance muttered. “I’ll feel better when we can get out of here and warm up,” he admitted. “Sorry for complaining.”

“You’re cold?” Keith asked. 

“You’re not?”

“No,” he replied, “I’m actually a little toasty. Here,” he shrugged off his jacket and put it around Lance’s shoulders. Lance wanted to protest, but it was warm from Keith’s body heat, and felt so nice on his back…

“Thanks,” he said tiredly. “If you get cold, though, take it back. I don’t want to be the reason you freeze to death in this ice box of an air lock.”

“Are you seriously that cold?” Keith asked, sounding surprised. He studied Lance’s features and noticed the slight pallor of his skin, and the slight slick of sweat on his forehead. Lance was also shivering fiercely. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Fine,” Lance shrugged, “A bit of a headache,” he admitted, “but I’m good.”

Keith let the subject drop, for now. However, now that it was silent, he noticed something else about the blue paladin: his breathing was off. There was a slight congested crackling in the bottoms of his lungs when he breathed, and Keith hadn’t noticed Lance trying to nonchalantly clear it away until the air lock had fell silent. Now, however, he could hear the stifled coughs that Lance was fighting with. His mouth was closed, and the sound his lungs were making with each heave of breath was alarmingly wet. 

“You’re sick,” Keith asserted. There was no hiding it now. 

“It’s just a little cough, Keith,” Lance argued. His voice sounded raspy and painful. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was just going to try to sleep it off,” Lance admitted. “Then we got stuck in here, and I figured you had bigger things to worry about.”

“I really don’t,” Keith objected. He reached out to Lance’s huddled, still-shivering frame and rested the backs of his hand on his cheek, then migrated to the back of his neck, and finally resting on his forehead. Warm, maybe too warm, but not hot.

“I think you’ve got a fever, but I can’t really tell.”

“I’m fine,” Lance argued again. “I just want to sleep.” He coughed once more with a closed mouth, and Keith could see what a strain it was. 

“Don’t do that,” Keith scolded, “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“I don’t want to get you sick,” Lance pointed out. 

“We’re stuck in an air lock breathing the same air, and you’ve probably got a fever. I think it’s safe to say I’ve already been exposed.”

“Well, I don’t want to increase the risk.” Lane coughed a few more times, still stifling them as best he could, but he was getting a bit desperate for oxygen, if he was being honest. He couldn’t properly clear his lungs this way, and the more he coughed, the more fluid seemed to bubble in to fill up his chest. The coughing got more desperate, and he turned away from Keith to cover his face with his sleeve. He was barely getting in a breath between hacks. 

“Hey, you need to breathe,” Keith commented worriedly, moving closer to the ill paladin and resting a hand on his shoulder. Lance wasn’t listening. His face was turning red with the lack of air. “Lance, can you hear me? You need to get air,” he instructed. Lance blindly shoved Keith off him, Keith fought back, straightening Lance out of his doubled over position to sit up propped against Keith. Lance didn’t put up much of a fight, and as the coughing finally began to subside, Keith felt him go slack so completely that he had to lean over to make sure he was still awake.

“Is this better?” Keith asked. “Can you breathe like this?” 

Lance nodded weakly. Keith could feel the congestion rattling around in his lungs through every short, rapid breath. 

“How are you two doing?” Shiro’s voice asked through the air lock window. 

“Shiro, thank God,” Keith almost laughed with relief. 

“What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but Lance is sick.” He once more reached around the boy to feel his forehead, alarmed to find how much his temperature had risen in such a short time. 

“Hey, Shiro,” Lance smiled, “How close are we to getting out of here?”

“Pretty close, buddy,” Shiro reassured him. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” Lance lied. 

“He’s burning up,” Keith informed. Shiro’s eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Aw, Shiro, don’t look like that. It’s just a cold,” Lance assured, but found himself thrown into another fit of deep coughing. 

“That sounds bad,” Shiro worried. After spending so long in a Galra prison, he knew pneumonia when he heard it. “Like, really bad. We need to get him out of there as soon as possible.” Lance’s breaths were shallow, and Shiro could tell that it hurt to take in much air.

“Will you go tell them to hurry?” Keith asked.

“They’re working as fast as they can, but I think it would only distract them to be worrying about Lance right now,” Shiro admitted. “We’re just going to have to sit tight for a while.

Lance was still trying to stifle his coughing as much as he possibly could. 

“Why’s he–”

“He’s afraid of infecting me,” Keith said. “I tried to tell him not to worry about it, but you know Lance.”

“Yeah,” Shiro smiled. “Lance, listen, you’re not going to get Keith sick; I don’t think what you have is contagious,” Shiro informed, “So I want your only focus to be on breathing, okay? Feel Keith’s breaths and try to match them.” Lance winced.

“I can’t,” he strained weakly, “My chest.” 

“Don’t push it. Just do your best. I don’t like how grey your complexion is turning.”

Keith was sweating in the heat of the air lock and underneath Lance’s fever-hot body. Lance, on the other hand, was shaking like a leaf. His teeth were chattering against the cold, which Keith was sure wasn’t helping his breathing. After a few minutes, he seemed to fall into an uneasy sleep.

“I don’t know how to help him, Shiro,” Keith admitted. 

“You’re doing fine,” he promised. “I didn’t want to freak him out, but I think he’s got pneumonia. The door should be open soon, I’m sure of it.”

And sure enough, it was only a few more minutes before the air lock slid open and Shiro and Keith were able to scoop Lance up and take him to the castle’s infirmary to pump him full of antibiotics. 

“You going to bed?” Shiro asked on his way out the door. “You’ve had a rough day.”

“I just don’t want him to wake up here alone,” Keith replied. “He was so feverish when we pulled him out of the air lock, I doubt he’ll remember anything. I don’t want him to freak out.”

Shiro smiled proudly. “I’ll stay with you, then,” he said, pulling up a chair next to Keith’s. “You did a good job with him.”

Keith laughed out loud. “I had no idea what I was supposed to do.”

“I think that just having you there was enough.” Keith nodded and allowed his eyes to slip closed. As long as he was there, Lance would be fine.

It’s The Fever Talkin’

SPN FanFic Drabble

688 Words

Dean x Reader, Sam, Fever

Warnings: It’s fluff.

A/N: I have a fever currently and just banged this out on my phone. I have no idea what the heck it is, but there ya go. I’ve kinda been talking to my husband like this all day so… why not. Also I’m not tagging cause I can’t rn. Werdz were hard enough. lol. I’m gonna go pass out now. Enjoy.

Originally posted by bringmesomepie56

“I can’t breathe. It’s too hot in here. Turn the heat off.” You kicked at your blanket, letting it fall off the couch onto the floor as you thrashed about.

 “The heat is off, Y/N/N,” Dean said calmly as he picked up your blanket and bent down to you. He pressed his lips to your forehead, feeling the heat pulsing off of you. “Yeah, you’ve got a fever, baby.”

“You’ve got a fever baby,” you laughed and pushed him away, shoving his chest with a weak hand. “Oh…we should have a baby. Let’s make a baby, Dean.”

Dean laughed as he looked down at you, concerned but amused by your apparent fever hysteria. “Uh, maybe tomorrow.” Carefully he lifted your hand from his chest and gave it a quick kiss. “You need to rest.”

“I need you,” you cooed, suddenly consumed with the idea of making a baby with your boyfriend. Maybe he was right, maybe your brain was frying, but it seemed like a really good plan. You grabbed a fistful of his blue flannel and tugged until he was practically falling on top of you, his plump lips just inches from yours. You tried to give him a sexy wink but failed miserably as another coughing fit overtook you.

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Humans and Emphasis/Sarcasm

Imagine if aliens had like, no idea about emphasis.
Like…

Human-Steve was talking with one of his alien… Friends (it’s spieces diddnt bond with things in the same way humans do) from another ship. “Our human is sick, she says she’s fine but has a.. Fever as she calls it, is she okay?” the alien asks, Human-steve was only half listening. “What?” he muttered. The alien repeated themselves. “WHAT?!?” Human-steve said, registering what he said. The alien repeated themselves again, clicking there mandibles in annoyance. “No i mean like- urgh how high is her fever”

Or


Human-Jess was pacing around the ship deck, they had made an emergency landing on a planet without any known inhabitants. The mechanic was struggling to repair the engine. “Ay! Jess! You know anything about [insert techy thing here]s i could use some help!”

“Oh yeah! I TOTALLY know about ultra high tech machines. Its not like, ya'know, im the MECHANIC or anything. Like YOU”

“Oh, since when did you aquire the mechanic job? I think i would have been informed if-”

“Zarl that was sarcasm”

The Green-Eyed Doctor

(gif source)

Summary: Reader gets in a bad accident and is put under the care of Dr. Winchester during her stay…

Pairing: Doctor!Dean x reader

Word Count: 3,400ish

Warnings: language, car accident

A/N: I’m in love with doctor Dean now. Quote for this one was, “As long as I’m around, nothing bad is going to happen to you.”…


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Sick - Request

Requested by @buckybarnesaddicted:  Hey can I have a request ? 😄 I have a cold at the moment and feel like reading a one shot where “Sherlock is taking care of you when you’re ill ” if you attached any gifs it would be awesome !!!

Pairing: Sherlock x reader

Word count: 2,763

Warnings: None.

A/N: Ugh, I need this right now but in real life. Also, I suck at adding gifs, my apologies.

Enjoy!

Originally posted by caratomi

Have you ever gone underwater and tried to listen to the conversation being held on the surface? Well, that was how (Y/N) heard everyone that day. Distant, confusing, overwhelming.

Have you ever smelled something so disgusting you instantly feel like fainting? That’s how (Y/N) felt that day, even if there was nothing to be smelled because her nose was blocked.

Have you ever been hung over and trying to act normal? Go to work, talk to people, even going outside to the sunlight. It’s annoying, like a hammer hitting ones skull every time a noise can be heard, and the sunlight feels like burning one’s eye orbs and just the thought of living feels like a nightmare.

Have you ever been so tired you feel like you can’t move? That was (Y/N). It was almost as the invisible elephants had tied invisible weights to her limbs just so it was harder for her to move. Or even more logically, like a prisoner who gets to carry the black berry around for a whole day.

But she coped with it. She followed John all over London, making questions, doing research, chasing after people and stopping to have something to eat in between all of that. She did it without complaining, only because it had to be done.

To be a Doctor, John was very distracted – or too much into his job – to notice she was sick. Maybe because in London the weather usually gets healthy people to have red noses – without mentioning the massive amount of makeup (Y/N) had tried to avoid looking like a character from Zombie Land – or maybe because (Y/N) wasn’t complaining, but either way, John had no idea she was sick.

Eventually, their work finished with a black eye on John and a few dollars less from (Y/N)’s bag. The two friends said their good-byes and went to their own ways. John returned home to his wife, and (Y/N) went back to Baker Street to give Sherlock the information they had gotten.

“You look terrible.” Sherlock commented without looking up from the files on his hands.

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period cramps

like every woman gets at that moment where their period cramps are so overwhelming and you just cry and move around on ur bed like a snail

the thought that these cramps we get every month are a blessing is kinda beauts

Abu Hurairah also reports that Allah’s Messenger, peace be upon him, said: “For every misfortune, illness, anxiety, grief, or hurt that afflicts a Muslim -even the hurt caused by the pricking of a thorn - Allah removes some of his sins.” Ibn Mas'ud said: “I visited the Messenger of Allah, peace be upon him, while he had a fever. I exclaimed: ‘O Messenger of Allah! You have a high fever! ’ He said: 'My fever is as much as two among you [might have]. ’ I asked: 'Is it because you have a double reward?’ He replied: 'Yes, that is right. No Muslim is afflicted with any hurt, even if it is no more than the pricking of a thorn, but Allah wipes off his sins because of it and his sins fall away from him as leaves fall from a tree’." 

so yeah, may that awfull pain be the reason why your sins fall away ladys

With All My Heart - Part 8

Word Count: 3003

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Medical Situations

A/N: Tags are closed. Unbeta’d. All mistakes are mine. 

Feedback and constructive criticism always welcome and encouraged

With All My Heart Masterlist


“You sure you’re gonna be ok with me gone?” Jensen asked for the 500th time. He was packing his bag to leave for PhoenixCon and while you didn’t really want him to go you knew he couldn’t disappoint the fans to stay behind with you.

“Yeah, it’ll be fine.” You reassured, wrapping your arms around him from behind and resting your head against his shoulder. “Emma will be here and Gen is gonna come by when Emma has to work so I’m pretty much covered. Plus, the dogs will keep me company.” You glanced over at Oscar and Icarus, who were both staring at you intently.

Jensen spun in your arms and put his arms around your neck, checking your face to see if you were lying. “Sorry the doctor said you couldn’t go. I really thought she’d say yes. You’re doing so well.”

“Yeah. Me too.” You sighed. “Plus, I’ve been getting a lot of people asking me on Twitter and stuff about singing since I did it in Rome. I was actually kinda hoping I’d get to do it again…”

“Wait.” Jensen stopped and blinked, pulling away from you while he continued to pack his clothes. “You actually…were planning on singing with me? Like on stage?”

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Day Four: Torture

Takes place around the middle of season three, no spoilers. Words: 1.7k
@voltronwhumpweek2017

Lance gasped in pain, his arms straining against the chains that held him up, making him dangle a foot above the floor. Haggar hit him with another blast of energy and Lance almost blacked out, his mind in a blurry haze of pain.

“Tell us the secrets of voltron!” she screeched, her face contorted with hatred.

“Never!” Lance groaned, the chains digging into his raw wrists. “No matter what you say, no matter what you do, I will never betray my friends.” Another strand of energy hit Lance square in the stomach and he screamed, sweat dripping in his eyes. Haggar prepared another hit but Lotor placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Now, Haggar, we don’t want to kill the boy, do we?” he chucked as if Lance’s death was a joke. To Lotor, it probably was. “Give him a break, and we’ll try again later. Maybe some loneliness will make him break.”

“But-” Haggar protested, but Lotor shushed her.

“Obey me, Haggar, and soon I will allow you to use the full extent of your powers.” Haggar seemed to like that and her ragged face contorted into and ugly smile. “Goodnight, blue paladin.” Lotor flicked off the lights, plunging Lance into darkness.

Lance wasn’t sure how long he had been in the Galra base. After a scouting mission gone horribly wrong he had been knocked out by one of the sentrys, and he had woken up some time later in a strange room he didn’t recognize, strong chains attached to the ceiling holding him in place. At first he had tried escaping but in the end he had realized it was hopeless and he resigned himself to waiting for the rest of his team to find him.

Being alone in the dark gave Lance time to think, and sometimes he thought that the thoughts drifting in and out of his head were worse than anything the galra could ever come up with. They don’t need you, whispered the little voice in his head. Shiro’s back, and they have five paladins again. They’re not coming for you. You’re not needed. Lance squeezed his eyes shut, willing the voice to go away. Recently his doubts had gone away, leaving him in a temporary state of happiness but here, alone in the dark of the galra base they had resurfaced, tormenting him when he was alone. Lance took a deep breath, staring up at the ceiling, willing the voices to stop.

Lance wasn’t sure when he fell asleep but he woke up to metal clinking together. He opened his eyes to see a long white table spread out in front of him, covered in long metal objects, their ends sharp and pointy. Lotor stood on the other side, polishing a long spear like object. The lights glinted off of the end, making the tip look purple. When Lotor saw Lance’s eyes open he grinned, setting the spear down. His grin wasn’t friendly or kind; it more closely resembled the grin a predator gave its prey before pouncing and ripping it to shreds. Haggar was no where in sight.

“Hello, Lance,” Lotor said, examining a thin metal stick with a studded ball at the end. “I wasn’t sure if you’d wake up this time. Haggar really.got you that time.” He was casual, the possibility of Lance’s death not even bringing up an ounce of emotion. “I could call Haggar in again, but I thought some time for just us would be helpful. After all, I am well practiced in the art of torture.” He selected one of the spears. “Here’s how this is going to work. You tell me what I want to know,” he looked up at Lance, a gleam in his eyes. “Or I impale you with this spear.”

Lance didn’t think he had ever seen anything that sharp. The closest he had ever encountered was his Mama’s steak knife, and he had seen that cut straight through the toughest meat you could imagine. “Let’s begin, shall we?” asked Lotor. “What is Voltron’s greatest weakness? There’s something off about Voltron, but I just can’t seem to put my finger on it.” Lotor didn’t know about the lion switch, and there was no way Lance was going to get rid of the team’s only advantage.

“No,” he responded, trying to stop his voice from shaking. He wanted to ooze confidence, as if he was sure his team would be there to save him any minute, when in reality he wasn’t sure if they were coming at all.

Without hesitation Lotor plunged the spear into Lance’s stomach. Lance was stunned for the first few seconds until he screamed, the pain like nothing he had ever experienced. The wound burned, pain shooting through his veins.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Lotor mused. “The poison won’t kill you, at least not immediately. You will stay in pain until you tell me what I need to know. Are you prepared to do so?” Lance couldn’t speak, the pain too great but he managed to make his mouth moist enough to collect a small ball of spit, sending it flying into Lotor’s smug face. The smile disappeared from his face, replaced with a sneer.

“Prepare to pay for that, paladin.” He grabbed the thin pole with the spiky ball on the end, sticking it inside Lance’s wound, stretching. it out. Blood dropped out onto his bare stomach, stopping near his belly button. Lance bit his tongue, unwilling to show Lotor how much pain he was in. Lance would never give him that satisfaction.

For what seemed like eons to Lance Lotor asked the same question, and Lance refused to answer. Every time Lotor would make the hole in Lance’s stomach bigger and Lance would hide the pain, and ignore the fact that the skin around the wound was slowly turning green. Soon he was nearly passed out, the blinding pain keeping him in a limbo between consciousness and unconsciousness. He was bleeding slowly, the torture tools on the table covered in blood, his blood. The thought made him sick, that a part of him was so close to the galra prince.

He barely noticed when the commotion started, the doors crashing down all around him. He glanced up, the scene sliding in and out of focus. Five figures lept into action, their features blurred.

“He’s getting away!” someone yelled, and three ran out one of the doors, the only one still attached to the wall. The remaining two figures, clad in black and pink armor, approached him. The one in black reached up, unhooking Lance from the ceiling. Lance felt large, soft hands gathering him up and cradling him in his arms.

“You’re going to be fine, Lance,” came Shiro’s voice, sounding like it was a million miles away. “I’ve got you.”

Lance woke a few times after that, a different paladin always watching over him. When he woke for good he was in his bed, aching all over. Keith sat by his bedside, his head in his hands as he stared at Lance. Lanxe trued to sit up but he was stopped by a blinding pain in his stomach.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Keith advised. “The bandages won’t hold.” Keith looked exhausted, as if he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep in years. Lance lifted up his shirt to see his abdomen wrapped tightly in thick white bandages. Underneath he could see a faint shade of red and green.

“What happened?” Lance groaned, his voice barely discernible. Keith glanced down, sadness filling his expression.

“When we finally found you you were almost dead. When you didn’t come back from your mission we searched for you, but Lotor hid the base. It took us a week to get to you. I’m not exactly sure what kind of poison he used, but it could have killed you. The galra have antidotes, but no one had any idea how to cure you. You were green by the time we got you to a pod. You’ve been asleep for a week and a half.”

That long? Lance had thought he had been out for two days, at the most. He definitely didn’t feel as rested as he should. He was still tired and in pain, his wound throbbing.

Keith reached over, putting the back of his hand on Lance’s cheek. “Your fever has gone down, at least. There were times that it was so high I was scared it might be the death of you.” Keith was keeping up a brave front for Lance but Lance could see the worry hiding in Keith’s eyes. From the sound of it he had been on the brink of death for a week and a half, the feeling of worry coating everyone in the castle. “How do you feel now?” Lance answered with a shrug, not wanting to scare Keith any more than he already had.

“C’mon, Lance,” Keith pleaded.

“Not great,” Lance responded, and Keith gave a dry laugh.

“I’d think that was the understatement of the century. It’s not like anyone expects you to wake up at a hundred percent. Allura said you’d need at least a week of bed rest before she’d even think of letting you out of the castle. Personally, I agree with her.”

“What?” Lance scoffed. “When have you ever cared about my health?” Keith seemed mad.

“Do you even know how scared I was?” He was definitely mad. “For a week and a half you were on the brink of death. You had a 106 degree fever! You’re my friend, Lance, and I almost lost you.” Lance couldn’t help but be shocked. He had always thought that he and Keith had always just been teammates, nothing more, or at least that was what Keith thought. Clearly, Lance had been mistaken.

“I’m sorry,” Lance finally managed to squeak out after struggling for words.

“It’s fine,” Keith said with a strangled smile. “Just- try not to scare me like that again. So, are you hungry? Hunk’s been talking about his famous healing soup ever since we got you back. Personally O think it’s his coping mechanism, but it probably tastes good.” Lance swung his legs over the side of his bed, testing out his legs.

“I’m not sure how well I can walk.” Keith reached out an arm for Lance to grab on to.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be there every step of the way.”

Dark Nights (Part 5)

Originally posted by zest-wincest

Summary: Dean is recovering after going after the Alphas and gets a chance to have some calm time with the reader for once…

Dark Nights Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Word Count: 2,700ish

Warnings: language

A/N: A little bit of softer side with the boys…

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