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ghost-proofbaby · 4 months

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IT WILL COME BACK (E.M.)

"honey, don't feed me - i will come back."

summary: when eddie came back from the upside down, he was different. and you finally come to realize just how different the man you saved truly is one night, when push comes to shove.

pairings: kas!eddie munson x reader

warnings: mentions of BLOOD (in sexual manner), mentions of BITING (in sexual manner), allusions to possible coercion (consent is still explicitly stated - trust me), mentions of death and trauma, mentions of eddie's canon death, taking a lot of creative liberty with expansive vampire lore across all media, mentions of murderous dreams? (eddie dreamt about killing reader idk), oral (f receiving), smut. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT - 18+ ONLY.

wc: 7.7k+

a/n: i told y'all i'd write a serious biting/blood kink fic one day - today is the day. very lazily edited so beware.

When Eddie came back from the Upside Down, he was different.

There were subtle changes at first. Small, minute details that were easy to ignore. Everyone could turn a blind eye to them — everyone figured they would fade once the boy healed. His healing was first priority, and whatever lingered after could be dealt with.

Get Eddie better. Then question all that lingers.

A simple plan. A genius plan. A torturous plan.

The two of you had been friends, if you could even call it that, prior to it all. Teasing in the hallways, working on school projects here and there when in shared classes, he was your favorite (and only) dealer when you craved something to make sleep come just a little bit easier. He had been familiar — an old ghost you'd grown comfortable with, long before you’d seen those large and wet eyes looking back up at you in the boathouse.

Long before he’d pieced together the puzzle pieces as to why you’d needed the weed to cancel out the nightmares. Long before he’d processed exactly what those nightmares entailed.

But then, you’d fought for him. You’d fought with him. And most importantly, you’d bled with him.

God, you had bled for him.

Something admirable had blossomed in that short time. Eddie’s entire life had fallen apart, thread by frayed thread, and that new planted emotion had been the only solid thing to emerge for him to absolutely cling to. You were more than a fellow classmate to pass by in the hallways. You were more than his favorite customer, always weaponizing fluttering lashes and puckered lips for a discount he’d have given you regardless.

You were a force to be reckoned with, and had ignited a hunger in him like no other.

That’s all he had thought it was when he’d awoken in his living room — not the distorted version but the real one — to you screaming for the others to help you as you’d sealed his wounds. That’s all he had thought it was when you’d come to visit him as wounds turned to scars, and stabbing pains turned to hungering pangs. So he had tried to bury it, listen to Harrington and Wheeler and Buckley when they told him to take time to readjust. He’d locked away that hunger and focused on his healing, just as everyone else had, and told himself it was just residual feelings.

Residual feelings had been bound to happen after seeing someone bloody their hands, with your own blood, for your survival.

And in his burial, he’d never considered a similar hunger igniting somewhere deep within you.

You visited far more often than you should have. Returning time and time again to change his bandages, taking on one too many shifts at the hospital during his unconscious spells and baring your teeth for anyone who got too close. The sweet blood on your hands hadn’t washed away in that first shower; you swore, if you looked closer, you could still see the stain of nearly losing him across your knuckles.

Physical wounds were easier to heal than the internal ones. It was easier to lather on antibiotic lotion than it was to sleep soundly at night. Both of you came to realize that quickly in the weeks that followed Eddie’s return from the dead.

His nights were plagued with bad dreams, with thirst and cravings he couldn’t quite name. He’d wake up, burning up from the inside out with a fever that never existed. Tearing skin. Puncture wounds. Blood spilling across floors and his lips alike. He could never tell if the shivers that traced his spine had been from the cruel visions that had become his nightly visitors or if it was due to his perpetual drop in temperature that had worried Nancy since the very first night home from the hospital, that had concerned the nurses who piled blankets atop him during his week long sleep of recovery.

Your nights were even less kind. Horrific memories were the demons that haunted you — remembering the way you had watched Eddie cut that sheet rope, remembering finding him bloodied on the ground, remembering the warmth of his blood seeping across your palms and how when your ear had turned just as heated with it as you pressed it to his chest. Only to hear nothing. Emptiness.

His heart had stopped for minutes. Plural.

It had been your steady rhythm, your desperate hands and your gasping breaths breathing into his lungs. You’d sunk your claws into him, caught them right between his ribs and had decided he couldn’t leave you.

Some nights, when you wake up screaming, you can still taste his blood on your lips. You sometimes still swore that when you’d checked for a pulse after that, you hadn’t heard anything. Still worried that Eddie Munson’s heart never really restarted and resumed beating.

The worst was when you’d stare through the faded grey of mornings plastering across your room’s walls, and could still remember that initial look in his blown out pupils, once honey brown swallowed in pure black as he’d taken his first breath on his own.

Hunger.

You’d felt it, too. Shame riddled you on the nights you’d come down from the nightmares and remember it; it was as though the Universe had snapped back into place the moment you’d watched his chest first rise. A need so ardent to remain at his side. A chain clicking into place, binding both yourself and Eddie to one another, unaware of just what price had been paid to keep the boy that had laid under you in this world. Unaware of the hunger you had struck the match too that would become both your downfalls.

And so it had been buried. Something alive, even with your doubts of Eddie’s liveliness, and choking on dirt while six feet under. You and Eddie, two sides of the same coin, had decided to not speak of it. He never told you how he had come to be able to pinpoint your heartbeat in every shared room he entered, throat burning as his gaze always settled on you, and you never told him of the matching aches that had shamefully sparked within your chest and between your hips for him.

A hunger to be near one another. A hunger to devour. Neither of you really understood the heaviness.

“How are you feeling today, Eddie?” Steve asks as he sits on the edge of the new bed in the new apartment in the new part of town the Munson men now occupy.

Government money could go a Hell of a long way. Especially after your home had been devastated by the aftermath of alternate dimensions and unheard of evil being defeated.

“Fine,” is the only response Eddie can muster.

In reality, every time anyone came near him now, he burned. His throat tightened till it was surely raw, he swore his teeth sharpened until a mere slip of his tongue against his canines could bring the taste of metallic blood to his mouth. His entire body would tense with every person that walked through his door.

Control. Whatever was happening to him, Eddie needed to exercise control.

“Just fine?” Steve continues on, not catching the drift as he puts down the bag of things he’d bought at Eddie’s request. Basic things — painkillers, packs of cigarettes, a 6-pack. Some habits die harder and can’t be controlled, “You look like shit, Munson.”

“Gee, thanks, Stevie.”

Everyone had assumed the dark shadows beneath Eddie’s eyes would fade. They assumed his cheeks would eventually fill back out. They assumed he could wash away the ashen shade his hair now flatly flowed in. It was as if the life had been drained from Eddie since that day, and they had all assumed it would eventually flow back into him.

It never did. Just as his new hunger lingered, so did the look of Death.

“Sorry, man,” Steve throws his hands up, shrugging a bit before he stands, “Just being honest. It’s the best policy.”

“Is it? Is it really?”

If honesty was the best policy, Eddie could have filled the room with it. He could admit about the nightmarish wants, needs, he’d been keeping at bay. He could admit the way his irritation had been growing this last week every time another body, another friend, walked through his doorway and it wasn’t you. You, who had begun to plague the night terrors. You, who Eddie was beginning to crave far more than he had before he’d stared the afterlife down the barrel of the gun.

Steve just looks at Hawkins’ newest zombie boy, sighing, “Look, I don’t know what’s got you pissed off-“

“The whole dying thing, for starters.”

“-or why you’ve insisted on being an asshole to all of us these last few weeks-“

“Again, I died.”

“-but you’ve got everyone but me scared to visit you. We’re all scared of you biting our heads off, dude,” Steve finally finishes with a scowl.

Everyone. It’s unspoken that you’re included in the generalization.

It occurs to Eddie that maybe, just maybe, he should be kinder if he ever wants the ache of yearning to see you again to fade. If that’s what he could call this ache.

By the time Steve has left, Eddie’s still thinking about his warning. About the way he had been unusually cruel since coming back to life, since waking up handcuffed to a hospital bed. It made sense initially. But he wasn’t handcuffed to a hospital bed anymore — he was home, or as close to home as he could get, and he was technically safe.

The issue was that he’d accepted his safety. Everyone who had wanted Eddie Munson dead was now six feet under themselves. No, the bigger issue at hand was everyone else’s safety.

Your safety.

Once he’d realized you were the staring lead in his violent fantasies, he had stopped calling. Half of your absence last week had been his fault.

No one really bothered to look deeper into it. Steve didn’t press as to why Eddie’s fridge had remained empty, Nancy didn’t take second glances at the odd books on vampire tales that were now littering all the free real estate of Eddie’s room, and you hadn’t questioned the coldness of his tone whenever he spoke to you. The chill of his words had grown icier than his own palms, desperate to keep you at arm’s length until he figured out what had changed in him that day he came back to life.

He wanted you near. He wanted to rip your throat out. He wanted your blood to stain his mouth and neck just as his had stained your hands. That was an issue. That wasn’t normal.

Something had changed in Eddie Munson, and it had terrified him to his twisted core, and no one had cared enough to notice. Not yet.

–

It took you two weeks to be fed up with the radio silence.

Eddie stopped calling even Jonathan (the only one of the group he found he didn’t want to devour whole, as it turns out). When everyone had mentioned it in passing, it had only reminded you of the sleepless nights you’d be enduring. That small voice in the back of your head that had called out to you in the dead of night, the whisper of come to me that echoed all the way across a broken town.

Come to me.

Sometimes you swore it was Eddie’s voice calling to you. Sometimes, you nearly left your own new apartment in the dead of night, and let your legs guide you to the undead boy you had single-handedly revived.

Tonight was one of those nights. Your stomach was twisting, your head was pounding, your bones were aching. Every single inch of you hurt as it listened to that soft calling, and at some point, you gave in.

Hunger. You were insatiable with the need and drive to be at Eddie’s side. Warnings from the others be damned.

One thing leads to another. You find your coat, you find your car keys. You find yourself driving the deserted streets of Hawkins in the middle of the night. You find yourself on the Munson doorstep, knuckles shaking and aching with the knowledge that just beyond the wood of the door, he was there. You don’t have to see him to feel him; his thrumming presence, his anchoring existence.

Come to me.

The door swings open before you get the chance to knock. This string tying your two souls together is not a one-way channel, it seems.

“Why are you here?”

You watch him wince as the harsh words leave him. Immediately, you know that the abrasiveness is on instinct. Just as something claws inside of you to be near him, there is something within him howling to keep you far from him.

The polarity of two magnets. Some nights, surely, his twists in a way that would draw him to you, just as yours will twirl with the sensibility that whatever has changed within him should give you cause to run as far away from him as possible.

But tonight, your magnetism only yanks you closer to him. He doesn’t even invite you in, and yet, you find yourself stepping over the threshold of the new apartment.

“You’ve gone quiet,” you whisper as an answer. It’s not what he wants to hear, grimace deepening, nearly a scowl now, “I just… It’s been weeks. I…”

I missed you. I needed you. I heard you in my dreams and I’ve never had much self-control when it comes to you.

Magnets are a useless metaphor for whatever is happening here between you. A better comparison would be the cliche image of a moth to a flame; he’s dangerous, threatening to burn you alive, and you still find your heart fluttering after him hopelessly. You’re going to get scorned, and you’ll still never learn. You’ve fallen victim to a tired narrative that you’d rolled your eyes at in a plethora of books. How many times had you sworn that wouldn’t be you? Just how many eye rolls had you exhausted at the mere idea?

And now, here you were, on his doorstep. Grasping for something you’re not sure either of you can give.

“I’ve been dealing with a few things,” he mutters as he shuts the door behind you, shielding you both from the chill of the night. The room is still cold, especially in his radius, “Didn’t think it would make much of a difference.”

“You didn’t think I’d care if you just stopped calling?” you turn slowly, taking in the state of the living room. Wayne was clearly gone for the night, work most probably, and several books littered the coffee table. Eddie had been the one reading them, lounging on the couch.

The last time you had seen him, he couldn’t even sit up in bed on his own.

He’s keeping an unusual distance, nearly leaning back out of your vicinity, “Figured you were busy.”

He’s never been this short with you. His words are choked up, his body tense with pain. You assume it’s just his injuries bothering him.

You couldn’t be more wrong, but you’re completely unaware.

“I brought you back from the dead, and you think I’d still be too busy for you,” you laugh humorlessly, fully in disbelief at his pitiful excuse, “Eddie, we could find out Vecna didn’t really die, those damn cracks in the Earth could open right back up, and the first person I’d care about finding is you.”

The animal inside that had been yearning for his presence is satiated for now, but you can still feel it lurking in the darkest depths of your mind, ready to call out a new request at any moment. It’s the distraction that has you spilling pathetic truths.

The only response he offers you is a dead stare. With eyes wide, pupils nearly swallowed up by darkness.

“You could have called,” your voice cracks, body shaking with the effort not to take a step closer to him, “You could have just let me know you were still alive.”

“I-”

He cuts himself off when he’s the one taking a step closer. His entire face twists with pain, and you give up keeping your distance. In an instant, you’re at his side as your hand reaches out for his bicep.

He flinches away. Something inside of you burns.

Your hand is hovering in the air between the two of you, and in this lighting, you swear the skin is still stained with the blood that won’t wash away.

“Please don’t,” he begs, “I’m fine, but… please.”

You don’t know what he’s begging for. Distance, for you to pull your hand away, time – you don’t know what he needs.

“We should sit down,” you insist, finally pulling your hand as far from him as possible but making no move to put the space back between you two, “Has anyone helped you with your bandages? If your wounds got infected-”

“They didn’t.”

“If you didn’t change the bandages, they definitely could have-”

“They’re not infected,” he grits out, but he’s still walking over to the couch regardless, “They’re healed.”

Healed.

Mere weeks ago, those wounds were still deep enough to keep you from ever achieving a full night's rest. Deep enough to worry you to the core that you would wake up to them finally having consumed him. Deep enough that you all assumed it would take him months, not weeks, to recover.

“What do you mean they healed, Eddie?” you whisper, almost reaching out for him as he sits down.

Your hand twitches, but the echoes of his begging and his flinching keep it at bay as you stand before him.

“I mean, they healed,” he huffs, nostrils flaring as he takes deep breaths. He’s looking anywhere in the room but at you, his gaze subverting you with purpose. As though the mere sight of you, the mere proximity, is painful to him, “Don’t know how, don’t know why – they just did.”

“So why are you still in pain?”

A sharper intake of breath. A hush of silence falling over the apartment. Even the buzz of the building’s AC unit has faded from all your senses. It’s just you and him, and a heavy quietude like no other.

Until he finally breaks the surface tension, breathing out, “You.”

Your heart drops. That tug inside your chest, the one taut as you look at him right within your reach yet still so far away, almost snaps.

“Me?”

He nods with a harsh swallow, “I- Look, I can’t explain it, but when I came back, I came back…”

“Different?”

He doesn’t have to explain it. You’d felt it.

The moment his eyes had opened, just moments after what should have been blissful victory. The taste of his blood heavy on your tongue, a terrible sweetness that had choked you rather than its initial metallic twang. The whispers of his voice in your mind.

He wasn’t the only one changed from whatever had occurred that night.

“Different is a good way of putting it,” he nods, looking up with apologetic eyes, “It’s not you. It’s cliche as fuck, but it really isn’t – it’s me. I died, and you brought me back, but I don’t think either of us knew the cost.”

The yearning. The nightmares. The unmanageable needs. The hunger.

“What was the cost?”

He almost doesn’t hear you. Your voice is a whisper, tone weighed down with the curse of knowing.

You might not have known the cost when you were pressing your palms into his chest through your wretched sobs, functioning as his heart and lungs for nearly a minute, but you think you might have a clue now.

All that had been tethering you to him since he’d come back to you, all those webs and strings that had formed their knots around both of your necks. He’d changed, and you had plummeted right into the chasm of the unknown with him.

His blood on your tongue, sweet as honey.

Blood shouldn’t be sweet.

He grabs one of the books off the coffee table, motioning for you to join him on the couch. Under the weight of your realization, you’re nearly under a trance. All he has to do is wave a hand, and you follow.

You’re at his beck and call. Just like you had been when he’d been calling out for you, yearning for you.

“Don’t make me say it,” he mutters under his breath, tossing the book into your lap the moment you’ve sat down. This time, you’re mindful to keep your distance.

This time, you’re painfully aware of the compromising situation the two of you have found yourselves in.

The book is older, leather-bound and worn from years of readers’ careless hands breaking the spine. The corners of every page are weather, close to disintegration. The entire thing could easily pass for a Halloween decoration.

It’s not. You flip open to the title page, and if Eddie didn’t appear so deathly serious at your side, you would have scoffed.

“Dracula?” you question carefully, running a finger over the delicate script of the title, “Eddie, I don’t-”

“I’m not insane,” he interrupts you, “I’m not fucking- I swear to you. I’ve gathered up every goddamn book about it that I can. Fictional, nonfictional. Just- there’s obviously a Hell of a lot more fictional material to work with, okay?”

A vampire. He’s convinced he’s a vampire.

And even worse – you’re convinced right along with him.

You turn your head to look at him, trying to find the right words, but all you find is Eddie burying his face in his hands, head nearly hung between his knees.

“I can’t eat normal food anymore,” his voice is muffled, “That was the first sign. Couldn’t stomach it, made me throw up for hours when I tried. And then all those nurses kept talking about how I was healing faster than they expected. Most of my smaller cuts – those healed in under a day,” he finally lifts his face just enough to turn and peer at you through all the stray curls that fall into his vision, “My vision and hearing were the next things I noticed. Remember how I had a nonstop migraine those first few days?”

He doesn’t need to convince you, but the argument is compelling, “It… wasn’t a migraine.”

He shakes his head. “Not even close. Just turns out that it’s a killer to get used to fucking superhuman night vision and impeccable hearing. I still can’t handle being out in the sun very long. I don’t… burn up or any of that shit, but… it just…” he trails off, shoulders falling in defeat before he throws himself back against the couch. When he continues, his tone is flat, devoid of all emotion, “I keep having these dreams about you, too. Bad dreams. Terrible dreams.”

You shut the book, toss it back onto the coffee table, and decide to Hell with keeping your distance.

You need it. Even if he’ll only allow you to get an inch closer to him, you need it.

“What do you mean by terrible dreams?” you ask, breath catching at the end of your question as you scoot yourself closer on the couch. Even with such a small movement, Eddie is quick to notice, eyes flicking to you quickly with a sense of urgency flashing behind them.

“Don’t,” he lowly warns.

“What’s happening in your dreams, Eddie?”

Another inch closer. His jaw clenches.

“Sweetheart, do not-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Your knee bumps into his thigh, and you watch him go rigid. Hands turning to fists, eyes pinching shut and face twisting with the same pain he’d worn the ghost of when you first arrived at the apartment.

The moment you touch him, you see it. The flashes of his nightmares, all those terrible actions haunting him every time he closed his eyes. You. Your blood. That hunger.

Like a blackhole in the center of your stomach, it burns viciously as it sucks the air out of your lungs. It threatens to cave your entire being into itself until there’s nothing left. Not even a crumb of who you once were.

But it's not yours. It’s Eddie’s.

That pain on his face is only exhibiting a fraction of what he was feeling. That dizzying craving that he’d miraculously been keeping at bay since you’d simply entered the building, not even yet knocking on his door. You hadn’t even been in the same room as him yet, and he had still known. Had smelt you, had felt you.

He could almost taste you.

“You…” you have to shift your knee away from him, break the touch, break the connection, “You haven’t fed since you woke up.”

“I haven’t fed, period.”

With the connection severed, he somehow finds it in himself to open his eyes once more. You don’t know how – if he’s feeling what you’d just been privy to, you’d be an incoherent mess on the floor. Something feral and unrecognizable.

Although, maybe he was nearly there. You couldn’t see his pupils. That same look when he’d first woken up – a man swallowed whole by hunger.

“You’ve been dreaming about ripping my throat out,” you say it as a matter of fact, not a lick of judgment in your tone.

It wasn’t you scrutinizing him. It was what you had seen, with one simple touch.

His voice is hoarse as he echoes in confirmation, “I’ve been dreaming about ripping your throat out.”

You should probably be afraid. All your survival instincts should be kicking in, your feet should be carrying you towards the door, you shouldn’t be leaning in closer.

“You know what really sealed the whole vampire ordeal though, sweetheart?” he breathes out, your eyes fluttering shut at the lull in his hushed tone.

Just as you’ve been leaning in, he’s been slowly turning his body to face yours, hands twitching at his sides. He’s no longer retreating from your presence, sucking down breaths in harsh gulps the closer you grow to him.

He’s losing control. You’re losing control.

That thread, vibrant red as it draws you near him, is clear as day now. A noose around your neck. A road to your damnation.

A road to your hunger.

You hardly hum in response, completely entranced now. Had he ever been capable of this before? Of holding you beneath such an inescapable spell with such ease?

Probably.

He doesn’t use his words to answer. Instead, he finally takes the plunge.

His head ducks down towards your neck just as his hands lose the war, grabbing onto your hips, dragging you dangerously close to him until his lips hovered just over your pulse point. And by some strength that you certainly don’t possess, he stops there. Letting his lips barely brush against your soft skin, breath coming out in pants for you to feel, to relish, to get lost in. And just as soon as those pants, those waves, become a comfortable pattern to succumb to, you feel them.

His fangs.

Grazing over your sensitive skin. Sharp tips nipping at a surface they could so easily break, pierce with one wrong move. Your pulse is thrumming beneath the surface, heart racing painfully as Eddie’s grip turns bruising.

Come to me.

“Please.”

You’re the one begging now. It goes against every rule you’ve ever seen applied in fiction. If a vampire is baring their fangs against your neck, you should be reaching for a stake. The only noise escaping you should be a scream for help, not the pathetic whimpers beginning to slip out.

“I can’t,” you feel his gasp more than you can hear it. Your blood is too loud, roaring in your ears as you feel the fangs slip with his words, “I can’t.”

That hunger you felt, the one that had called out to you through the night and led you right to his doorstep, is unavoidable now. You need him closer, you need him to do this. For the first time since you had saved his life and tasted his blood after the Upside Down, everything seems to click into place. All he needs to do is let them sink into you, take that final leap of faith and reprieve that ache you’ve battled for weeks now.

You’re so close. So close.

“Eddie, please,” you’re nearly sobbing, hands gripping onto his shoulders, trying to pull him in closer.

But you’re no match for his strength. You don’t know if it’s a new addition with his vampire business or if there was always more to him than met the eye, but he easily stays stoic against your attempts, not moving a centimeter. Still hovering, still just barely making contact with your heartbeat.

“I-” his head drops slightly, tip of his nose beginning to trail down the side of your neck, mouth no longer dangerously close, “You saw my dreams-”

“I trust you.”

You do. You trust him even more now than you had when you first stumbled upon him in the boathouse. More than when he had pleaded his case, promised he hadn’t been the one to kill Chrissy Cunningham. The trust comes easier than breathing as his nose nuzzles into the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“You shouldn’t,” he mutters, fangs now brushing your collar bone, “You really, really shouldn’t.”

He doesn’t stop you when you move to straddle his hips. Your weight settles onto his lap, and he only fights to keep his face burrowed there in your shoulder, arms now moving around your waist to hold you tightly to him.

His self-control is impeccable. You’d admire him and all this impressiveness another time, when something inside of you wasn’t lamenting his resistance.

All at once, it occurs to you how to give him the final push.

“Did I ever tell you how sweet your blood was on my tongue after I brought you back?” you start, sighing, rolling your shoulders to expose more of your neck, grip on his shoulders tightening, “All that blood, all those tears, and I still can’t forget how welcome that warmth of you was in my mouth. How I needed more. How I pictured it every night, after every nightmare-”

He breaks.

One moment, his nose is buried in your skin. And the next, his fangs are.

You weren’t sure what to expect, but relief would have been low on your list. You gasp out in initial shock, but as you feel his teeth dig in, it’s as though something has snapped. The ache has been satiated, preening as you feel the warmth of your blood contrast the chill of his chin pressing into you.

If there’s any pain, you don’t feel it through the haze of pleasure.

Ice shards spread through your bloodstream, but the point in which Eddie’s mouth is connected to you radiates heat. He’s pulling you into him, letting go completely and relinquishing all that control as he nearly purrs against your skin in satisfaction. That connection is back, two minds linking with a heavy click, and you can feel all his pleasure mingling with your own. Satiation, desperation, adoration – the plethora of emotions all swarm your head and block out any better judgment.

You’d let him drain you dry, if that’s what he needed. If nothing more than to hear those soft moans as his fangs sink even deeper.

He pulls back too soon, though, suddenly and unexpectedly. Just as quickly as he had given in to both your desires, he’s putting an end to them. He hadn’t taken much blood, but your head is swimming from the loss all the same. Your grip has gone slack on him, hands slipping down to just barely cradle his biceps while his own touch stays unyielding around you.

You can hear his thoughts. Or rather, maybe more aptly put, you can feel them.

He wants to devour you. Wholly, ruthlessly.

He looks up at you with pupils still blown wide, chest heaving and a small scarlet drip trailing from the corner of his mouth. For the first time since he’d come back to you, he looks alive. Hair fluffed in a halo around his head, skin tinted with a healthy glow and unmistakable blush, bags beneath his eyes faded for the time being.

You were never quite sure if Eddie Munson’s heart had ever restarted, knew for certain that it hadn’t now, but you swear you can feel its pulse finally thrumming for you.

I need more.

It’s his voice in your head, echoing in the empty space as you look down with wild eyes to match his.

But it’s your voice in his head when you respond instantaneously.

Then take it.

Something unspoken lies there in the need. He doesn’t move back to your neck, doesn’t bite down and drink his fill of your blood. He only stares for a few seconds, watching the welt of blood that pools from each puncture wound of his making. His eyes follow when it runs down your skin, as though he might lose it should he so much as blink. Down, down, down. Following the trail that his nose had followed minutes before, across your collarbone until it stains the neck of your loose shirt.

My pleasure.

His hold proves helpful when he quickly changes positions, roughly throwing you down onto the couch before he’s settled between your thighs, crawling his way up your body. He pays close attention to the maroon trail on your throat, his tongue cleaning up after his mess, savoring the taste of you on his tongue.

Sweet as honey.

His tongue only pauses for a moment over the bite wound, pressing into it, making your back arch as you press yourself fully into him. Your head digs painfully into the cushion behind you as you expose your neck, wanting and begging and pleading all without words.

“I think we should take this off,” he plucks at the hem of your shirt, tugging hard before he begins to carefully lift. His freezing knuckles brush against your burning skin, eliciting a whimper from you, “Before we make an ever bigger mess. Don’t you agree, sweetheart?”

A sultry tone you’ve never heard from him before. Honeyed words, familiar to how he once spoke, but entirely new in the way they curl around you. There’s a confidence there, a baiting that he’s luring you with.

“Yes, please.”

He could ask anything of you in this moment, and you’d be eager to comply. Fueled by your desire for him before the events of spring break, worsened by his new condition. A bright, red, vibrating thread. You couldn’t severe the tie if you wanted to.

And you most certainly did not want to.

Your shirt is removed, his hands careful despite the way they shake. His words may be smooth, but each move is jagged, the only sign you had that he’s still exercising control.

“And these?” he whispers, lowering his lips to your sternum as he toys with the band of your pants. His fangs scratch down the center of your stomach as it quivers with each breath, careful to not break skin as they make their presence known. You nearly lose all capability to speak until he says, “Use your words, baby. Tell me I can take them off.”

Yes.

His eyes flare, looking up to you, “Use your words. Not your mind. I want to hear how badly you need me – I want everyone to hear you beg.”

The words strike straight to your core. Lashing out in your lower stomach, burning deliciously.

It’s more than putting on a show. He needs to know you want this.

“Take them off,” you gasp out, hands wandering to tangle in his hair, “Take- Take it all off. I’m yours, Eddie.”

Shaking hands perform a dance you had long since fantasized about. In easier days, when Eddie had been uninvolved in the episode down, heart still beating along as he would bounce his knees in front of you and his fingers would idly fiddle with his pencils and pens. A yearning, a wanting, you’d always held for the boy.

He used to be an escape from it all. A pretty thing to daydream about when you weren’t worried about monsters. And now – he was one of the monsters.

Your monster. Tied to you inexplicably, brought back by your hands and your stubborn efforts.

His lips and fangs are one in the same, trailing along your body as he finds a home at the apex between your thighs. Even in undeath, he’s the most beautiful thing your mind could conjure.

You’d forgotten how he was privy to your every thought until he reacts.

“You’re too sweet,” he murmurs, smirking salaciously as he mouths innocently at that sensitive skin of your inner thigh, tongue darting out to lick a cool stride before he breathes out against it. It has you writhing beneath his hold, “You’ve wanted this all this time, sweetheart? Wanted to see me, between these pretty thighs, making you scream my name?” His mouth falls open a bit wider, the sharp canines pressing but not sinking against where he had just licked. He holds there, eyes locking with yours, until he pulls back to cockily say, “Could’ve just said something, y’know. Didn’t have to bring me back from the dead to have me devoted to you.”

Finally, finally, he lets his fangs sink back into you. The soft meat of your thigh is more pliant in his mouth, and he doesn’t linger as long as he had on your neck. One nick, just enough to start the blood flow, before he’s pulling back and licking hungrily at the scarlet liquid. Less for feeding, more for marking.

Marking you as his, just as you have with him. His methods just appeared a bit more physical.

He’s quick to avert his focus on your cunt, no warning before the tongue still covered in your blood is taking long strides over your entrance and clit. Devotion. That was the only word to describe the way he was unraveling you, alternating between indulging in your sweet cunt and returning back to that bite, going as far to even sink his teeth in a second time to take a proper drink of you. His chin and lips grow slick with it all – with the blood, with your wetness, with his own saliva. A starved man with a feast before him.

The way he’s rutting his hips into the couch as he slings your legs over his shoulders doesn’t go unnoticed.

It’s a mess. A wonderful, satisfying, enchanting mess.

Beautiful. So beautiful, all mine.

His voice has you teetering on an edge of new carnal pleasure. Completely consumed by him, your hands tugging viciously at his curls. His face is round once more, eyes and cheeks no longer sunken in, vitality being breathed into him with each taste of your blood.

Let me touch you. Please.

You beg over that connection, trying your best to not buck your hips mercilessly against his tongue. You feel his wicked grin.

“You’re already touching me, sweetheart,” he reaches up, untangling your fingers from his hair for emphasis before he’s pinning them to your sides, “And what did I say about using our words? Hm?”

“Need more,” your voice is wrecked as you tilt your head back, wrists straining against his hold, “I need more.”

You’re fully light-headed now, the blood loss finally catching up. Maybe you were about to let him drain you dry.

And what a beautiful way to die. At the hand, at the fangs, of the one you had fought so urgently to bring back to you.

One last timid lick to the wound on your thigh, and he’s crawling his way back up to you. The mess doesn't phase you as he kisses you hungrily – the blood remains sweet rather than metallic, the remnants of your juices still on his tongue – and you meet him with an unbridled fervent. Nipping at his lips with your own dull canines as if you were the one looking for a bite of vivacity.

You don’t know when he lets go of your wrists, or when your hands find their way up beneath his shirt. The specifics don’t matter once he’s naked before you, clothes discarded messily to the ground with your own. The only thing that matters is the weight of him, the reminder that he was still here as his hips roll into yours and the head of him catches on your entrance.

He had been dead. For minutes. And you had brought him back to you.

The process had taken longer than the mere CPR administered, had taken weeks of whatever waiting game you two had tortured yourselves with, but you had him now. He was yours. You were his. There wasn’t a deity, a monster, an omniscient being in this world that could take that away from you. Not even Death herself.

“Last chance, baby,” he whispers against your lips, holding himself up so that not a single inch of his skin pressed to yours. You nearly cried out, missing that connection, missing him. Your hunger, the hunger for him entirely, rattles your bones once more, “Say the word, and I’ll-”

“No,” your hands pause their exploration of skin jagged with scars. Reminders of those few dreadful moments in which the world existed without Eddie Munson in it, that would fade in time but never fully disappear. Always there, just like the stain of his blood on your palms. Always there, just like your desperation to have him at your side. “I meant it when I said I’m yours. I’m not changing my mind. I want this.”

His skin is back on yours, body laid fully along your own road map, and it all comes flooding back. The pain of seeing his lifeless body, the nights spent in an eerie hospital room, baring your own teeth at any one who came too close to the man you had pulled back from the ledge of Death. The anxiety, the fear, the relief, the yearning – it all accumulates as he’s pressing into you, brimming you so full that there’s no room for memories of nightmares.

He’s here. He’s yours. You’re his.

His heart didn’t need to beat for you to accept that truth.

You can’t decipher which chants of your name fall from his lips for others to hear, and which ones whisper in the depths of your mind for only you to bear witness to. Each curse, each grunt, each moan – there for you and only you anyways. You’re entirely unsure if your lips even separate once as he thrusts, cock brushing somewhere deep in you that has you clenching around him.

And if his fangs wander, it only adds to the pleasure.

Blood, sweat, and tears all mingle between your bodies. He’s holding you tighter than water, as though you’re at risk of disappearing from him at any given moment. But that link between your two minds, your two souls, is unwavering. It’s the only thing grounding you to the moment as your half curls around his waist and your heel digs into his lower back. Urging him, pressing him, taking him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he says it out loud, this time. You feel his lips brushing against your ear as he does, “Gripping me so tightly. This pussy was fucking made for me.”

Every movement only unlocks something more feral inside the two of you. Your nails rake down his back, leaving angry red lines to trace over once it’s all said and done. There’s enough shallow bite marks across your neck that you’ll be wearing scarves for weeks, months. The others might question it, strangers might stare, but the pride you feel as he marks you is unmatched for any anxiety about it.

That black hole of hunger is no longer swallowing either of you whole. That debilitating pain, that animal inside, has been tamed.

When his hips begin to stutter, mouth no longer capable of the strength to properly bite you as his lips only smear the soft spattering of blood pooling at the base of your throat, you’re already there. Squeezing him tightly, sucking him in, voice raw as you let everyone know who’s ravishing you.

Eddie.

Hawkins’ newest zombie boy – Hawkins’ newest vampire.

The climax is just as pleasurable as the lead up. The haze lingers long after his spent has dripped out of you, long after he’s collapsed into your body with exhaustion and contentment. The blood dries, the wounds clot – but that haze doesn’t falter.

As long as his skin presses to yours, you feel that caress of his mind against yours.

“Did…” you’re breathless as his face nuzzles into your nude chest, a few mindless hums of gratification still slipping from him as you bring a hand to toy with the curls at the crown of his head, “Did any of your vampire books say anything about… that?”

The connection. The bloodlust. The spell you swear he still has you under, even as it’s all said and done.

He snorts against your skin, “Not that I, uh, recall.”

“What? You mean to tell me in all your research, you never dived into any vampire smut?” you tsk jokingly, a calm smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He lifts his head, and you swear, those honey-brown irises have threads of a deep maroon now, “You’re slacking, Munson.”

“Why read about it when I can just experience it?” he coos, letting his nose and lips drag across your still hot skin before he rests his chin on your sternum, “Besides, I mean – we’ll need to do this again, won’t we, baby? For research.”

Your head still spins. Your body aches in a welcome manner. There will be a need for explanations to others, for actually researching his condition, later on. But for now, it’s enough.

The pounding behind your ribcage, the one you know Eddie feels for the both of you when his ear presses to your chest, is enough.

Of course, lover.

That thought stays between the two of you. The world doesn’t need to know what can’t hurt them.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

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#ghost's stories #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #kas!eddie munson #kas!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #reader essentially became soul bound to him womp womp #don't drink a vampire's blood kids #i really didn't edit that intensely i spent two hours fucking with photoshop #if it's bad it's bad #finally dipping my toes into kas!eddie tho wahoo #vampire!eddie munson #someone requested eddie with this song forever ago but i lost the ask #eddie reading dracula to figure out if he's become a vampire is actually so fucking funny to me

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kings-wifey · 29 days

Text

One Piece men taking care of you while you're sick ❤️

(I have a sore throat right now so I desperately need someone to take care of me-)

Zoro, Sanji, Ace and Law.

word count: 677

Zoro

"I told you that this would happen!" He growled, incredibly irritated with you for having gone against his words as he idly played with your hair, his signature stone-cold resting face had practically pierced the air, making things rather silent.

He was sat next to your bedside, having had to give up training today as Chopper was out foraging for medical supplies and ingredients due to Luffy having eaten a whole container of flavoured vitamins because "they tasted good", of course he didn't actually mind taking care of you it was just that your stubbornness really pissed him off at times.

"I swear, once your ass is better I'm going to break you."

"Hm... in what way?" You teased him, a cocky smirk on your red sickly face, earning you a groan and a rough poke.

"You cocky little..."

Sanji

"Open wide my darling," He spoke softly, spoon feeding you soup like an infant, his voice was a tad bit raw due to him crying since he felt like the worst boyfriend in the world for allowing his baby to get sick. His guilt stemmed from his mother's passing as a child, the gnawing feeling that he could've done something if he was stronger or actually knew how to care for someone at the time having scarred him, which of course wasn't his fault whatsoever but he'd never accept that nor forgive himself for not being able to take away his mother's pain.

He did not care what so ever that you could get him sick, you were his baby and you needed care! He watched with a soft smile as he saw you slowly eating the soup by each spoonful, admiring the way your soft lips wrapped around the spoon.

"What? Wish this was your dick?" You teased, mumbling slightly as you ate. You chuckled at the way he gasped and blushed as his hand attempted to hide the growing evidence of his arousal.

"Baby!"

Ace

"Babe you sound like Dadan-" Ace wheezes as he teases you, causing him to receive a slap from Marco who was monitoring your temperature. "Shut it. She needs to rest." He scolds your boyfriend sternly before stepping outside to dig through the ship's storage for more herbs, Ace takes the opportunity to climb into the infirmary bed with you and wrap his arms around you like a toddler cuddling their favourite toy.

The truth was, although he did try to hide it, he was horrified of you suddenly becoming seriously ill. He loved you a lot, it was just that he loved your pout and you whines of annoyance almost as much, which was why he'd always tease and poke fun at you affectionately because that alongside touch was love language.

"Don't you dare get sick again... shorty."

"Alright that's it, no more sex for you for a week after this."

"What?! No I was kidding pleaseee!"

Law

Beep beep beep! The thermometer beeped to signal that it was ready to display your temperature.

"Hm. Thirty-eight point five. You're running a slight fever." Law stated bluntly as he examined the thermometer carefully before he set it aside and got up, he walked over to his medicine cabinet and dug through it for a few moments before he examined a packet and took it.

He closed the cabinet before he made his way over to you, handing you the packet of antibiotics with his endearingly cold hands.

"Take two twice every morning and night, it should help to resolve it as well as soothe the irritation somewhat." He spoke with a stern tone, despite the fact that it was incredibly obvious that he was a tad bit worried about your sickness developing into something harder to manage and cure, but he shoved those thoughts away and focused on being the confident doctor that you needed right now and not some sappy worried man.

"Do I take them with water or...?" You teased as you gave him a suggestive smirk, earning a heavy sigh in response.

"... Yes water you horny brat."

Thank you for reading! I know this isn't much for my first post and I do feel very lazy and like this isn't good enough, but I hope you enjoyed it!

#one piece #zoro #zoro roronoa #sanji #sanji vinsmoke #ace #ace d. portgas #law #law d. trafalgar #trafalgar law #trafalgar d. law #one piece x reader #female reader #zoro x reader #sanji x reader #ace x reader #law x reader

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souliebird · 4 days

Text

[[and then I met you || ch 22]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 4.3k

ao3 link

It takes you a little over an hour to get Minnie to go down for bed. Tomorrow is her birthday party and to say she is excited is an understatement. She was practically jumping off the walls and it took three different books, a bottle, and two lullabies to finally get her to drift off. You are thankful when she doesn’t sit up again and call for you after five minutes, because you have a lot to do.

You need to clean up the apartment and decorate, you need to prepare pancake batter for a princess style breakfast, you need to finish wrapping presents, and you need to set up the couch for Matt. He will be coming by after his Patrol so he can stay the night and Minnie can wake up to the surprise of him being there, which is the perfect way to start her celebratory weekend.

But before any of that, you need to go take a shower so you can have a proper breakdown.

When you were younger, you believed crying was a sign of weakness. Your parents had treated it as such, always dismissive if you cried. The reason had never mattered - shedding tears was pointless and for children, so you had learned to bottle everything up and push it all down until the act of crying physically hurt you. Only very recently did you accept that crying is healthy.

You still hate doing it, though, and the only way you have found to balance your shame and your need for that emotional release is to treat it like another task you need to accomplish.

You triple check your daughter is truly asleep before you close the door to the bathroom and start the water. You keep yourself composed as you strip and only once you are under the spray do you let the tears start to fall.

So much has happened in such a short time and your anxiety has been through the roof.

The first bill for your hospital stay arrived today and you have been too scared to open it. You are terrified to go back into medical debt - giving birth in the United States had drained a lot of your savings and you have built it back up. You know there are all sorts of hidden fees, and you are going to need to do so much work contacting the various billing offices to try to get prices down.

It isn’t even like you are fully recovered from being in the hospital in the first place. You only just finished your antibiotics last week and your ear still randomly throbs or rings.

But honestly, you don’t know if that is from being sick or almost having your head bashed in.

You thought you would be okay after the attack. You thought Minnie would be the one with problems - having nightmares and jumping at shadows - but after the first day of making sure you were okay, she’s been fine. You haven’t been.

You’ve been plagued with nightmares about hands around your neck. You’ve been jumping at shadows when you leave the apartment.

You keep constantly checking your locks and you debate ordering pepper spray.

You don’t know what to do.

You aren’t okay.

You don’t feel safe.

The only time you have felt secure is when Matt was there to hold you and remembering such only signals your brain to send a new wave of tears.

He confuses you in a way no one else ever has.

You have never met anyone who cares so much before. It is overwhelming how much he loves Hell’s Kitchen - enough so to become a vigilante to protect it - and it is overwhelming how much he loves Minnie. You thought only you could love her that much.

Seeing them together does things to your heart you don’t understand. You just want to watch them play and bond until the end of time. They smile and laugh, and it is the only time you ever feel Whole. You feel like everything is perfect when the three of you are together.

You don’t know what to make of that. You don’t trust yourself with it - you’ve never felt like that before and you are scared that if you think too hard about it, you’ll find a flaw and the feeling will be ruined.

You just want Matt to hold you while the two of you watch Minnie play and that isn’t an okay fantasy for you to have. You don’t have that type of relationship with him.

He is a naturally touchy person with a huge heart. You’ve seen him hug Karen and Foggy before and you know he has only ever wrapped his arms around you to comfort you.

And he wants to comfort you because you are the mother of his child. He wouldn’t be around if it weren’t for Minnie and that is something you need to remind yourself of.

Matt loves Minnie. Family is extremely important to him, and he has told you time and time again that he strives to be the best dad possible for her - so of course that means he needs to take care of you and make sure you have a positive relationship.

If you and Matt butt heads, that wouldn’t be what was best for Minnie.

You need to do what is best for Minnie.

Which means you need to stop crying and get to work.

You wipe at your tears until they start to slow, then wash your face while still under the spray. It takes a minute or two for you to fully calm down, but once you do, it is like the tap is turned off. Crying time is over, so you stop your shower and quickly dry off so you can get dressed.

You feel better, but in a kind of dull way. It is like all the pressures in your life have been turned down to something more manageable and you know you will be able to focus on your tasks without slipping into a panic attack.

The apartment is not nearly as dirty as you believed it to be. You have to straighten some things up and you take the time to wipe down all the flat surfaces, but after that, you start putting things up. There’s a pink and yellow Happy Birthday banner and you blow up a few inflatables you found shaped like flowers and stick them to the walls. You twirl streamers together to decorate the back of the couch and the dining chairs, and your favorite piece is the pink sparkle fringe to hang over the hallway entrance. It isn’t the most elaborate of set ups, but you know Minnie will love it and that is all that matters to you.

Once your living space is Birthday themed, you turn to the kitchen. You went shopping today to make sure you had everything needed for a spectacular breakfast. You found a recipe for extra fluffy pancakes, and it seems easy enough - it calls for letting the batter rest overnight and you particularly like that as it is one less thing to do in the morning while trying to handle a rowdy toddler.

It doesn’t take long to get everything prepped and before you know it, it has been close to two hours since you put Minnie down to sleep and you feel it is finally safe to bring her presents out of their hidey holes to be wrapped.

She has grown a bit since you last bought her clothes, so you got her a nice little haul, including a new princess dress for her to wear to the zoo. It has sparkles and tulle and the dress comes with a matching crown you just know she won’t want to take off. You are extremely proud of the find.

You didn’t just get her clothes, though. Minnie has been more and more interested in helping you cook, so you got her a little kitchen play set. It comes with pots and pans, knives, utensils, bowls, plates, and some fake food. You thought it would be fun to have her practice her skills - she’s a pro at helping you stir and mix, and she knows how to use a butter knife to cut up fruit. You hope she enjoys pretending to wash her dishes, so you lure you into helping into that part of cooking, but you don’t think anyone finds that chore fun.

Before you can start wrapping, you need to go through everything and remove all the tags and stickers. It is a boring activity that takes far too long, so you decide you are going to multitask while doing so. You grab your laptop and notebook and settle down among your pile of bags.

Since your talk with Matt about Daredevil, you have been in research mode. The first few nights, you read every article you could find about the Devil. You started with the reputable sources - purely focusing on news reports - and once you had a timeline of events down, you switched to opinion pieces. You quickly ended up sorting those into three categories - positive outlooks, negative outlooks, and outlooks written by Karen Page.

You took notes on everything - making pro and con lists on each major event and circling back to jot down questions you had. You felt insane - and frankly a little invasive - but it was how you processed things. You wanted it all laid out nicely in front of you so you could come to your own conclusions.

But to get to that final conclusion, you still have a lot of internet sleuthing to do, so you open up a new internet tab.

One of the most important things you want to know about Daredevil is how real people feel about him. Published articles are always biased - it is in their nature to be based purely on who produces them - but social media lets the mass in on the conversation. You learned that well after the Attack on New York.

You remember the majority of the news singing praise for the Avengers and how they saved the Earth - which you truly did appreciate - but no one came and spoke to the people whose lives had been ruined. Sure, they talked about how much destruction had happened and how much it would cost to rebuild, but no one had mentioned how Hell’s Kitchen and Chelsea had been almost flattened. No one cared about the low-cost homes that had been destroyed or the poor people crushed in debris - not when they could talk about the Big Bank buildings the Hulk had run through. Why talk about those genuinely affected when you could bring in a mouthpiece who was halfway across the world?

Iron Man didn’t give two shits about the people whose lives he saved. If he did, he’d help them in the aftermath, and he didn’t. None of the Heroes did - they started going around the world while an uncaring government was left to clean up the mess. Repairs went to the lowest bidder and many things were deemed too expensive and just left to crumble.

But only internet forums and ten second social media videos talked about that.

Matt talks so passionately about helping people in Hell’s Kitchen, so you need to know if it is real, or just all a puff piece.

You look first into the forums and to your surprise, there is a whole section for New York vigilantes. You resist the urge to dive into the threads about Spider-Man and the Hero of Harlem and you have to scroll to the bottom of the front page to find something about Daredevil.

It is CCTV footage of Daredevil chasing off what looks to be some teenagers trying to rob a pawn shop and there are a few dozen comments under it. You smile as you start to read them - the majority of it is praise for Matt, with the few negative comments being about the quality of footage.

And each thread you find about Daredevil is like that. You expected to see issues with excessive force like you saw in the opinion pieces, but there is nothing. People who you can tell are locals all comment about how he doesn’t hurt kids, and his punishments reflect the severity of the crime. Muggers get a few good swats while those who commit domestic violence are given as good as they gave. It is gang members and real dangers who end up in the hospital. There are about a handful of posts giving firsthand accounts of how the Devil helped them - ranging from them being in serious danger to Matt helping a drunk woman safely get a cab.

From what you can see, the people who post in this forum like the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen and genuinely feel safer with him around. The site is a little niche, though, so you switch to a more popular platform to see if you can find different opinions and different opinions you find.

Just not the ones you expected.

There is a new picture of the Devil that has gained traction in his tag that is rather good quality - Matt is squatting on a roof, seemingly observing a street, and is framed in such a way to show off his lower half. His thighs, which you know are all muscle, are highlighted wonderfully and the angle of the photo only emphasizes his backside. His upper back and shoulders are all in shadow, but you can tell just how broad they are.

Twitter absolutely loves the image, and you think you have to agree with them. You can feel your cheeks heating up and you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from the screen.

Matt is beyond physically attractive, and it is no wonder the internet is lusting after him. There is a litany of lewd comments from multiple people and one made by a user with a cartoon frog as their profile picture has your core twitching and you quickly hide your face in your hands.

“imagine him bending you over a rooftop and fucking you until all you can do is drool ♥”

You don’t want to think dirty thoughts about Matt. It makes you feel awkward and guilty but mostly they make you Want, and you desperately want to bat that away.

You very obviously have slept with him before and know what a good lover he is. You know what his skin feels like against yours and your mouth goes dry at the memory of how loudly he moaned while between your legs. His stamina is no joke, and you can only imagine it has improved since he’s started being a vigilante.

You have no doubt he could easily fuck someone stupid.

You tell yourself you can’t think like this - you are supposed to be researching Daredevil to figure out how you feel about Matt being a vigilante - not ogling pictures of his ass and remembering your night together.

You gently smack your cheeks a few times and tell yourself to focus.

That only serves to make you more flush, so you make the executive decision that you have had enough screen time for the night and slam shut your laptop.

You have removed all the tags from the clothes, and you only have a few UPC stickers to pull off fake food, so you hurry through those so you can get to actually wrapping presents and not thinking about what you saw.

It is easy for you to get quickly lost in this new activity. Your perfectionist nature has you needing to make sure every crease is even and crisp and that each present looks picturesque, and you can't do that while distracted. Your thoughts shift from the way Matt’s breath felt against your skin to how many gifts Minnie has and how each one needs to look unique.

You know Minnie is going to tear through them like a wildfire, but it is important to you to make sure love is poured into everything.

You never got that as a child. Your birthdays were practical affairs and more often than not your present was to go clothes shopping, so you didn’t get to unwrap things or have that grand surprise. You don’t want that for Minnie. You want her to feel like an absolute princess on her special day and if that means rewrapping the same present four times to make it perfect, then that is what you will do.

You are finalizing bow placements on the gift bags you had to use for odd shaped items when your phone vibrates with an alert.

For a split second you are confused - it is rather late, and you’ve muted most app notifications - but then you remember Matt is meant to be coming over.

You don’t know how it could have slipped your mind and embarrassment burns through you.

How are you going to face him after staring at a picture of his ass until your brain broke?

You hesitate to check your phone, but when you do, you obviously have a text from him saying he is on his way. You groan to yourself, wondering how you can save yourself from this awkward situation?

Maybe you can go to bed early. You aren’t at all tired - you usually are up for another few hours - but you have a long weekend ahead of you. You will need rest.

In your bed.

Where Matt will not be.

Because, for the first time in a while, he will be sleeping on the couch.

Which you still need to prepare.

You finish fussing with Minnie’s bounty of presents and set about arranging them up the Happy Birthday banner like it is a Christmas tree. You have to resist your urge to nitpick and instead turn your focus to cleaning up your mess. You hurriedly shove the pile of trash you made into a bag so you can toss it and your wrapping supplies are tucked into the back of the closet, where they will live until you need them again.

You do a quick once over to make sure everything is neat and birthday ready before you fetch your spare pillow and blanket.

You try to not feel guilty as you start making up the couch. You know it isn’t the most comfortable and Matt will probably be sore after doing God knows what all night, but you can’t offer him your bed again. There is no reason for him to be in your bed. As frantic as you are, you don’t need any comforting.

You just need to stop thinking.

But not in that way.

“Stop,” you hiss at yourself. “Stop being a slut. Pure thoughts. Have pure thoughts.”

Scolding yourself does not work as well as you mean it to and all you can do is pour your concentration into folding and refolding the blanket. You roll it up tight first like it is a sleeping bag, then you think that is stupid, so you fold it into a triangle. You realize that is trying way too hard, so into a square it goes.

The knock at the door startles you and to your credit, you don’t scream.

You do, however, bury your face into your hands again and take a deep breath. You are panicking over nothing. Everything is just fine. You are overthinking.

You mentally chant that mantra as you go to the door. You hesitate to open it, needing the extra moment to center yourself, and you are surprised you don’t automatically close it again at the sight of Matt.

His normal daytime attire is a suit, and he wears them like a model, but you much prefer him dressed down as he is now. He’s in a t-shirt and joggers, with a five o’clock shadow and fluffed up hair, and he looks devastatingly handsome. He looks friendly and soft, but everything is just tight enough to show off how toned he is.

Your body reacts exactly like it did to the picture, but this time you can’t hide.

So, you run instead.

“Come on in,” you practically squeak out before hurrying to get out of his way. He’s got a gym bag with him - probably to carry his clothes for tomorrow - and your entryway isn’t the largest. It makes sense for you to go back to the living room.

“Busy night?” He asks as he closes and locks the door, and you are completely thrown by the question. You must make a confused noise, because he follows up with, “You are out of breath, is everything okay?”

Your heart starts to beat hard in your chest and you can feel your entire body getting hot. Of course, he can tell what is going on with your body and you are nearly in full panic mode.

You need to get to bed and away from him.

You fail at keeping your composure by gesturing around the living room, “Yeah - um - just been busy. Decorating and stuff - it’s a big day tomorrow.”

“It is,” Matt agrees, a charming and boyish smile creeping onto his lips. You tell yourself he must be excited for Minnie’s birthday and that is why he is in such a nice mood.

“How was..how was your night?”

He hums at the question, moving to set his bag down by the couch, “It was relatively quiet. With school starting up again and the heat, the younger crowd isn’t out. I made a few laps but didn’t find anything worth going after.”

“So, there isn’t like…crime every night?” You ask, trying to wrap your head around it all. You haven’t actually asked what a Patrol consists of, so you don’t know what the average one is like.

“Despite what everyone thinks, no. There’s a good number of nights where I just keep things tidy, but being out helps to deter people as well. Not every night is drug busts and gang wars.”

“That is good to know.” And it is - it helps to ease your anxiety that he is out there constantly boxing people. People say New York is crime ridden, but it is not nearly as bad as it is made out to be. It is all scare tactics and sensational news - like the Satanic Panic.

Matt hums again, then tilts his head back towards where you hung the birthday banner, “That is a lot of presents.”

His smile is still bright, and you have to duck your head and bite your lip to keep your mind in check. Your mouth, as always, is quick to quip, “I’m not telling you what is in them. It’s a surprise.”

“A surprise, huh?” He teases, before kneeling down by his bag and unzipping it. You can see colorful wrapping paper peeking through, and you instantly wonder what sort of gift is inside.

“A surprise,” you repeat. “It isn’t any fun if everyone knows what is inside before it is opened.”

“I’ll concede to that, even if it is tempting to peek.” As he says this he stands up, holding three different sized packages in his hands. They aren’t as pristinely wrapped as yours, but you can tell great care went into it and you wonder if Matt did it himself.

“Foggy said they will come over around noon,” he says like you aren’t on the verge of a crisis. “And Maggie was hoping we could stop by on the way to the park. I told her it would be up to you, but I know she has a few things for Minnie. We’re probably going to need to bring that wagon you got.”

The idea of so many people coming to your apartment for a party - especially a toddler’s birthday party - boggles your mind but your heart soars that so many people want to celebrate your daughter. You watch as he goes to add the gift pile and that confusing feeling swirls in your chest again, reminding you this is everything you ever wanted for Minnie. Matt being in your life means more people to love your daughter like she deserves.

“Okay,” you say because that is all your mind can produce. When Matt begins to stand again, you go into a panic thinking he might say something to start a conversation and blurt out, “I should get ready for bed.”

He turns to you, and you don’t know what to expect, but it is not for him to look bemused. He raises his eyebrows over his glasses and lets out a huff of a laugh, “It’s a big day tomorrow. You should get your rest.” He isn’t condescending or rude about it, but you can definitely hear the hint of teasing.

Your face burns as you nod and stupidly repeat, “It’s a big day.” You clear your throat to try and regain some composure and point towards the couch, “I, uh, left you out pillows and a blanket. The..uh..remote for the fan is on the coffee table. I readded the labels after Minnie tore them off.”

“Thank you,” he says with full sincerity, and you cannot take any more of his charm and muscular biceps.

“I’m going to go to bed now,” you tell him as you start to back up towards the bedroom. You know you should tell him about the fringe covering the hallway, but you just want to flee and hide under your covers until your brain stops all of its nonsense.

“Okay.”

As you finally let yourself turn away from Matt, he says your name just loud enough for you to barely hear it. You freeze in place, but it is like your blood is boiling inside you. You breathe out his name in response.

“Good night.”

((“I love you.”))

a/n: orz please take this offering of a chapter - my brain is not working up to standard.

Also - Tomorrow is a Big Day

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife

@petrovafire39 @ghostindeath

@allllium @waywardcrow @thatkindofgurl

@anehkael @akilatwt @lostinthefantasies @reluctanthalfwayoptimism

@nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall @hashcakes @kezibear @mapleaye @sammanna @gamingfeline @moon-glades @nightwitherspring @phoenix666stuff @dare-devil

@ladyoflynx @hobiebrowns-wife @sarcasm-n-insomnia @lillycore

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare

@mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @yes-im-your-mom @hunnybelha @actorinfluence @capbrie @prowlingforfood @jupitervenusearthmars

Specialagentjackbauer @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt @nommingonfood @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium

two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04 @ astridstark13

@lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday

@starry-night-20 @rebeccapineapple @writtenbyred @cherrypie5 @capswife @silvercharacterchaos @resting-confused-face

#soulie writes #fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #and then i met you

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blackleatherjacketz · 5 months

Text

All Better

Eric Northman x Female Reader

Summary: You miss a meeting because you're sick, and Eric makes a house call to make you feel better.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Eric being Eric, Strep Throat, Antibiotics, Shoving, Blaming, Kissing, Glamoring, Hypnotizing, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Healing Vampire Blood, Blood Drinking, Biting, Vampirism, Nipple Play, Licking, Cunnilingus, Female Orgasm

Read more Eric!

“You don’t look very good.” Eric states the obvious as his brows knit together in a look of, wait a minute, is that… concern that you’re seeing on his face? It must be the medication you’re on that’s blurring your vision and dulling your senses, because you’re pretty sure that ‘concern’ isn’t in Eric Northman’s emotional repertoire. “What’s wrong with you?”

It isn’t until he pushes you up against the wall, staring at your pale face as beads of sweat run down your temples that he understands why you didn’t show up to Fangtasia tonight or bother answering your phone when he called. The realization of your illness slowly melts that concerned look of his into a stoic expression of understanding, allowing his pupils to expand just the slightest bit before his lips part in silence.

“I’m just sick, it’s nothing.” You try to look away from him, tempted to fall back into your old habit of isolating yourself when falling ill, only he grabs hold of your chin to prevent that from happening.

“Sick, how?” That sense of understanding gets washed away in a flash, his brief display of genuine emotion quickly covered up by his usual curt and cutting tone.

“It’s just an infection, I know I should have called, I just didn’t think you’d…”

“Didn’t think I’d what?” He tightens his grip on your chin, bringing his face closer to yours. “Didn’t think I’d notice that my favorite human wasn’t there to greet me tonight?”

Favorite human? Did you hear that right? You can’t help but raise your eyebrows in surprise as he admits it out loud, albeit through gritted teeth.

“I was too weak to drive out there, I…” You mutter as his cool grip on your face chills you even more, forcing your body to shiver in its febrile state.

“Then let me heal you.” He offers, his eyes scanning over your shaking form before he brings his wrist up to his mouth.

“What?” Your arrangement with Eric has always been very simple; you show up once a week to let him feed on you and he pays you enough money to cover your mortgage each month. It had never been more than that though, never crossed any other carnal line despite your secret desire for more intimacy with him. He had never once offered you his own blood before, and the idea of it still kind of scares you, if you’re being honest with yourself. “Heal me?”

“So you won’t be sick anymore.” He loosens his grip on your face, his hand falling loosely around your neck.

“I’m on antibiotics, Eric, I don’t need your blood.” You attempt to walk away from him but he places his palm flat across your chest, forcing you back into position against the wall. Even his restrained amount of strength is too much for your weakened muscles to withstand as you wince in pain.

“Let me heal you.” He stares into your eyes, accessing your subconscious mind as you can’t help but stare right back, too tired to put up any sort of emotional barrier between the two of you. You’ve seen him do this to others before, convincing them to do whatever he wanted, whether that be to pay him back, run away or even kill someone for him. You just never thought he’d do it to you.

“Okay,” You hear yourself whisper almost immediately before taking his hand and leading him to the couch at the far end of your living room. You watch him sit down as if he’s already been there dozens of times before, as if he’s lived there with you already, as if he owns the place. You feel him pull you onto his lap, guiding your hips and thighs so that you’re now straddling him in the middle of your couch as his hands carefully smooth their way up your back.

“You’re shivering.” He grins as you settle into him, your pelvis slowly rocking against his hips as his hands find their way into your hair. “I can fix that.”

“Yeah?” As scary as the idea of drinking his blood is, the thought of letting this feverish hell continue any longer seems way worse.

“Let me take care of you.” Eric fumbles through the random items on the side table closest to him until he finds something sharp at his disposal: a ball point pen. He pushes the cap off with his thumb, smiles up at you before jabbing the pen into his neck so quickly, you barely have a chance to register what’s happening before he pulls you in closer. “Now, drink.”

You gasp as your heart races in a confused sense of horror, watching droplets of his blood ooze out of his wound and down the porcelain skin of his neck. Your lips begin to tremble as his fingers weave their way into your hair, pushing your mouth in closer to his throat as you attempt to fight your body’s natural panic response.

“Drink.” He instructs again, only this time more sternly.

Having no other choice but to do as you’re told, you open your mouth and lick the droplets of blood from his neck as he continues to hold you in place. It tastes a little better than you thought it would, a sort of salty mixture with hints of iron and blackberry wine that leaves a surprisingly pleasant aftertaste on the back of your tongue. Kind of like a rich Cabernet.

Well, that’s not so bad, now is it?

You open up again and start down at his clavicle this time, making sure to clean up any remnants of the fluid until you get all the way up to the puncture site, greedily suckling straight from the source. You can hear him moan as you lap him up, feel his grip on your hair tighten as you consume him, getting lost in the closeness of your bodies and the binding of your fluids. You’re sure that he can hear your heart beating wildly inside your chest, thumping hard against his as you wrap your arms around his torso to get even closer to him. You can feel his blood working inside you, healing you on a cellular level; each vampiric red blood cell eradicating any bacteria into oblivion as the weakness leaves your muscles and the pain dissipates from your throat.

“Enough,” he whispers reluctantly, now having to pull your mouth off him. “That’s enough, sweetheart.”

His words barely bring you out of your trance, his salty flesh no longer beneath your tongue as he tugs on your scalp to get you to finally stop drinking. It’s almost as if you’ve been brought back to reality after having one of the most intense dreams you’ve ever had as you watch his wound heal just as quickly as he had made it. You’ll never get used to that.

“It worked.” You exclaim gratefully. “I feel better!”

“I told you.” Eric grins as he runs his thumb across your bottom lip, reminding you that you’ve made quite the mess of yourself. “This is why you have to let me take care of you.”

“I’m not very good at that.” You’ve always had to take care of yourself in the past. One lesson that life has taught you time and time again is that the second you start depending on someone is the very moment that you’ll be disappointed.

“I know, but you have to let me do it anyway.” His eyelids drop halfway down as he looks at you longingly, gazing upon you in a way that you’ve never noticed before.

Maybe it’s that look, or maybe it’s the high of his blood now coursing through your veins that makes you suddenly feel compelled to press your lips against his, letting that vampiric confidence guide your actions. You keep them there for a few seconds, realizing that he isn’t pulling away from you, but instead is kissing you back with just as much enthusiasm as he pulls tighter on your scalp.

You’ve always wanted to kiss him, from the very first moment that you saw him. But something about him told you that he had women throwing themselves at his feet left and right; and you didn’t want to be like one of them. You were just grateful for the little contact you got when he fed upon you each week. You relished every caress of your cheek, every squeeze of your waist that sent shivers down your spine before he ended up drinking his fill. You never thought that he’d be interested in you like this, that he’d actually want you in that type of way at all.

However, his tongue now parts your lips as his kiss intensifies, all but moaning the truth into your mouth as if he’s been waiting just as long to finally taste your lips. His kiss is desperate and sloppy, so different from the perfectly put together business man you first met that night at the bar. His composure casually crumbles to pieces as his hands travel all over your body, frantically grasping onto your muscles until they find themselves in your hair again, his lips curling into a deviously satisfied smirk.

You feel him grow beneath his jeans, his clothed member now brushing against the thin fabric of your underwear as his hips needily writhe against your junction. His deliberate movements trigger that moisture to collect between your thighs as he continues his rhythm upward with several shallow breaths. Now stained in his own blood, his mouth ventures over every inch of your lips and chin before moving down to your jawline, licking a trail alongside your pulse.

You whimper in response, grinding your needy center against him as you brace yourself for the bite that never comes. Instead he lifts your shirt up over your head, exposing your bare breasts to the cool temperature of the room as your nipples harden in front of his face.

“You’ve been holding out on me.” He teases, letting go of the rest of you so he can graze his palms across them, sending a much more intense tingling sensation down your spine.

“I didn’t know that you wanted to…” Your breath hitches as he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking hard before wrapping his arms behind you and turning you on your back. He keeps contact with your skin the entire time, pulling on your sensitive tissue as he looks up at you with those eyes again, dragging your tender bud in between his teeth.

“Really?” He laughs with a smirk. He moves on to the next one before popping it into his mouth while pinching the other, sending a barrage of little fireworks into your skin. “You think I make feeding contracts lightly?”

“No, I uhh…” Your back arches toward the ceiling as he sucks bursts of delight into your tissues, humming a sweet vibration against your skin as you all but melt beneath him. Pleasure being the last sensation you expect to get from Eric’s mouth, you can’t help but feel a little breathless as his fingers simultaneously tug your underwear down your hips as they instinctively lift off the couch cushion to aid in their removal. “It’s hard for me to tell sometimes.”

“You thought I didn’t want you?” He licks a languid path down your quaking abdomen as your muscles contract in hurried anticipation, beads of sweat popping up in his wake. He circles around your navel with his tongue, kissing a hungry trail down your pelvis while his hands help slide your panties off your calves and feet. He smiles and spreads your thighs as far apart as they can go, straining your muscles as he stares at you like a jungle cat would its prey before it pounces. “Looks like I could be a better communicator.”

His fangs drop and his eyes darken, wasting no time in settling between your thighs to take the bite you were wondering would ever come at all. Instead of sinking his fangs into your femoral artery to get the most blood in the least amount of time, though, he bites you just above your swollen center. He laughs as you yelp from the piercing pain, letting that red hot fluid spill down your already dripping wet seam before he dives in to finally taste it.

That cold, blood-thirsty vampire that you’ve known for the past few weeks finally comes out as he starts licking streaks of crimson up and down your puffy lips, spreading the blood and gore into your folds as his tongue delivers that tantalizing balance of pain and pleasure that you’ve only read about in books. He growls like the creature of the night that he is as he devours you, snaking his arms beneath your thighs to pull you in even closer as his mouth delves into your flesh. Unable to be sated, he flicks his tongue up and down your sensitive clit, sending signals of ecstasy up through your spine and into your brain as your eyes flutter with visions of shapes and colors you never knew existed.

Maybe it’s the vampire blood pumping through your veins for the very first time, or maybe it’s Eric’s skilled mouth that forces your eyes to roll back into your head. The way he keeps eating and drinking makes it feel as if each and every tiny hair on your skin is now alive, standing on end waiting for him to touch them, to give them permission to explode until your entire body begins to shake. You reach out for him in vain as the otherworldly sense of euphoria washes over you, forcing every muscle in your body to convulse in rhythmic waves as he relentlessly drinks from your bloody cunt. He glances up at you only to grin as your skin changes color, warming and cooling in phases as your orgasm violently works its way through your skin and bones and finally out of your mouth.

“Eric!” You cry out as he finally pulls back from you, licking his lips as you rattle and hum in the crimson mess he’s made of you. “Oh my God, Eric!”

“See?” He smirks as he watches you come down from your hormonal high, running your hands through his hair as he finally gives your bloody center one last lick. “All better.”

#eric northman #alexander skarsgard #true blood #eric northman smut #eric northman fanfiction #eric northman x reader #eric northman fanfic #vampires #vampire

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steddieas-shegoes · 4 months

Text

someday soon

for @steddielovemonth prompt 'love is having hope for the future'

rated t | 1,237 words | cw: ptsd, injury recovery, negative view of self (Steve) | tags: angst with a happy ending, getting together, hurt/comfort, falling in love

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Steve ignored his bat bites for too long.

That's what all the doctors and nurses said when he'd been rushed into the ER by Robin, panicked when he passed out and woke up with very little memory of what they'd done that day.

She assumed it was the concussions catching up to him, but it turned out to be a hell of an infection. The infection had spread from the worst bite on his side to his hip and down his leg. They caught it in time to save the leg, but it would be weak for months, if not years, and he'd need to do physical therapy to keep the muscle dense enough to walk.

Everyone was pissed at him, but mostly just happy he was finally getting taken care of. That was a difficult thing for him.

Eddie joked that it was his turn to keep him company in the hospital now, but Steve wasn't up for jokes. Not when he'd become such a burden. Not when he was pulling attention from things and people that actually needed it. He was using up resources that were already barely available for people much worse off than him.

When he was finally fever-free, showing signs of improvement, and promising to keep taking the antibiotics for two more weeks, he was set free. Eddie and Robin brought him to Eddie's trailer to ensure he would actually take care of himself, and he didn't have the heart to argue with either of them.

He felt ridiculous, every single time he got stuck on the couch because his leg was too numb to stand, every time Wayne would grab whatever thing he couldn't quite reach from the top shelf of the cabinet because he couldn't stand on both of his tip toes, whenever Eddie would half-carry him to the shower and wait by the door in case he fell on his bad days. It was all so stupid. He was stupid.

He spent his days doing what he was supposed to, but only the bare minimum. He did the exercises, but only alone in Eddie's room while he was busy at work or picking up Steve's slack. He took the meds when he was in pain instead of "suffering in silence" like Robin told him to. He packed Wayne's lunches for work as a thank you for letting him stay even though Wayne always insisted he didn't need to do anything to deserve a roof over his head and people to care.

He ignored the stupid churning in his stomach that started when he thought about what would happen when Eddie brought him back to his empty house. He ignored the butterflies every time Eddie got home while he was faking sleep on the couch and covered him with the blanket that was by his feet. He ignored the way his heart fluttered every time Eddie would make him the tea he secretly liked instead of the coffee he normally forced himself to drink.

He pretended that the love that grew in his chest was made up, that Eddie was only doing what any friend would do.

Steve only let his imagination run away with him on the nights when Eddie was at Hellfire late, when he was curled up in Eddie's bed at Eddie's insistence that he sleep there. He let himself picture a future like this: waiting up for Eddie to get home from work or a show, curled up with a pillow that smelled like him against his chest, wearing a t-shirt that had holes from being worn too much, and the mixtape Eddie made for Steve playing low in the background.

It was a perfect future.

He fell asleep to the thought of Eddie's arms around him, holding him because he wanted to, not because he had to.

He woke up to Eddie's arms around him, the dark and silent room around him making him panic until Eddie's grip tightened and he pulled him closer.

"You awake?" Eddie whispered against the top of his head.

"Yeah." Steve didn't pull away, couldn't make himself even though the alarms were going off in his brain telling him to put space between them before Eddie realized what this meant to him. "When'd you get back?"

"Hour ago maybe. Didn't mean to run so late, sorry," Eddie's fingers were tracing patterns up and down his spine.

"It's okay. You can do whatever you want," Steve let himself have this moment. He nudged his face further into Eddie's shirt, smiling at the warmth of his chest. "You sleep at all yet?"

"No, I was busy."

Steve's brows furrowed in confusion. "Doing what?"

"Watching you."

Steve turned his head so he was looking up at him. "Watching me sleep? Why the hell were you doing that?"

He should probably sound more upset, maybe more concerned about being watched while he was unconscious. But a pretty big part of him was fine with it, wanted it, hoped it meant more to Eddie too.

"The corner of your mouth twitches a lot in your sleep, did you know that? And when you're in pain or having a nightmare, it stops. Sometimes I just watch to make sure you're sleeping okay," he answered simply. "Been at least a few nights since you've had any nightmares right?"

Steve nodded, speechless at the fact that Eddie had noticed something like that.

"You curl the blanket in your hand when you sleep, too. Or my shirt. Sometimes your own shirt if you can't find anything else," Eddie continued.

Steve felt his fingers loosen in Eddie's shirt, not having noticed the way they'd been holding on for dear life this entire time.

Eddie's hand covered his, squeezing something that felt like reassurance and love right into his skin.

"You're not the same Steve you used to be, but you still worry about what people think. You can just be you. Just be Steve. I promise the Steve you are is the Steve we love," Eddie smiled down at him.

"I-" Steve took a breath. "I just don't wanna ruin it all."

"Stevie, sweetheart." Eddie shook his head. "You couldn't ruin it. When are you gonna get it through that thick head of yours that we're all stickin' this out with you?"

"But you don't have to."

"No, we don't." Eddie squeezed his hand again. "But we do. And we will."

"Even if I'm always like this?"

"Like what?"

"Recovering. Having nightmares. Scared. Robin says I might be depressed? I'm probably gonna limp forever."

"Stevie, look at me," Eddie said, tilting his face back towards him. Steve hadn't even realized he'd turned away so much. "I love you. Okay?"

"You do?"

"Do you think I notice what other people's lips do when they're sleeping?"

Steve snorted. "No, I guess not."

"I love you and sometimes that might mean I have to deal with your shit, but I want to, okay? It won't always be this much shit. I can hold your hand through it," Eddie smiled. "Now, you should go back to sleep."

"You didn't kiss me yet," Steve said around a yawn.

"We've got plenty of time for it, sweetheart. Go to sleep."

Steve believed him.

He knew it would still be shit. He knew he wouldn't always believe what Eddie said. He knew he'd still feel like a burden.

But they had time to wade through it together.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddielovemonth #love is having hope for the future #angst with a happy ending #established relationship #hurt/comfort #injury recovery #ptsd

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dancingtotuyo · 3 months

Text

9. the fear of what's to come

Woman | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: You and Joel navigate life changing news.

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: pregnancy, pregnancy symptoms, mentions of potential pregnancy complications including but not limited to miscarriage and stillbirth, single reference to a fetus being a child (not intended in a pro life way), angst, grief, complicated feelings surrounding pregnancy.

Notes: A huge thanks to my amazing beta readers and friends @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin & @janaispunk

If you have not checked out Before, I would encourage you to do so for more backstory on our dear reader!

Words: 3088

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

You know three weeks after your missed period what is happening. It’s not hard to figure out. It’s just like last time. Menopause crosses your mind briefly, but the symptoms don’t line up. You’re sensitive to the same foods, nausea rolls in and out like the ocean tides throughout the day. The insatiable craving for a tomato sandwich cements it two days later. Tears run down your cheeks as you quickly finish off the sandwich and prepare another.

You don’t get excited. You don’t make plans, and most importantly, you don’t tell Joel. You’re 45. Joel is in his late 50s. You know the statistics, the pre-end-of-the-world ones. You can’t imagine they’ve improved.

Instead, you just hope that when it happens, nothing goes wrong. There’s no DNC, no pills to make sure everything passes properly or ensure no infection sets in. You’ve aided many women through this, many much younger than yourself. Some make it just fine, others have complications with nothing but prayer, poultices, and 20-year-old antibiotics to help. You’re not sure what actually does it when the women make it through. Some of them you've buried. Their faces flicker through your mind. You cannot be one of them. You cannot leave Carter without either of his parents in this world.

You tell Maria. You tell her everything she needs to know. What to do step by step when it happens. Since Adam’s injury, Dr. Pooley refuses to practice anything more than simple first aid. You’re both certain it’s dementia. You spend most mornings listening to him talk through different lectures he attended. On the mornings his brain won’t cooperate, you sip tea together. He’s writing down what he remembers, but you have to fact-check it. He’s already taught you most of it anyway.

“You have to tell Joel,” Maria says when you tell her.

You refuse. You won’t do it. You won’t bring him into this. You have this silent agreement that you’re partners in this world, but he still lives in the house across the street with Ellie. There’s never been discussions about moving in together or anything past that. You don’t call him your boyfriend. He doesn’t call you his girlfriend. Making those commitments, those plans, it will hurt too much when the world takes him away.

Carter calls him “Daddy.” It makes Joel smile every time. He’s accepted that commitment. It makes you smile too, but there’s still a little ache in your heart each time. Carter knows about Gabe. You tell him stories all the time. If you ask him, he says he has two daddies. One here and one in heaven.

But you won’t tell Joel about this child. He’s lost one. He doesn’t need to lose another.

Maria fights you on it. She looks at her son pointing out that she was 2 years older than you are now when he was born healthy. You don’t remind her she almost died, but she sees it in your eyes. You still have nightmares about that night.

You’re firm. You’re not going to tell Joel. Neither will she, and she damn sure won’t tell Tommy either.

You wait for the cramps and the blood, but they never come. You hit the 3-month mark, your 2nd trimester at the beginning of October. You don’t cry in the bathroom. You square your shoulders. Second-trimester miscarriages happen. Stillbirths happen, but hope gathers in the depths of your soul, growing with each day. You push it away with logic and reasoning.

Two sides of you war against each other. You can’t bring another life into this world. At one point you were okay with it. You felt safe here, and while you still do, it doesn’t feel okay anymore. The world still digs its ugly claws into this community. Yet, the hopes you used to hold in your mind, the ones you had with Gabe, and the ones you had before the outbreak still linger. In a perfect, uncomplicated world, this is what you would choose.

You hide the sickness from Joel with relative ease. He’s often awake and out of bed before you for patrol shifts, early morning chores, or waking up with Carter so you can sleep in.

You deliver the Crosby twins a week later without complications. Melissa is only a couple of years younger than you, but at your age, you know how crucial those few years are. When you finally reach your front porch, you sit in the darkness of Wyoming and finally let the tears fall because fate seems to be telling you that this is happening, or just sending you another person to lose. The realization hits you like a freight train. Time is up. You have to tell Joel.

You crack open the door to Carter’s bedroom. He’s sound asleep and it relieves you to know he's here. You’re less on edge when he’s close, and It means Joel picked him up from Maria and Tommy’s. It means Joel is in your bed.

Sure enough, he’s there when you creep in. He sleeps on his side curled up over your pillow. You roll your eyes. Yes, it's endearing, but it’s also a pain in the ass to get your pillow back.

The bathroom light is blinding at first, but your eyes slowly adjust as you turn on the shower and steam fills the space. Goosebumps spread across your skin as you undress, catching sight of yourself in the mirror. You’ve noticed the subtle changes in your body over these past couple of months, but they’re becoming more noticeable. Your breasts have grown, they’re so sensitive, and your sports bra pulls at the seams. Joel commented on it last week. You joked you were packing on extra weight for winter acting like it was nothing.

Your favorite pair of jeans no longer fit. You’ve mostly stuck to leggings since. You’re starting to clock the subtle changes in your body. They’re happening faster than with your last pregnancy. The past week, you’ve shut Joel down sexually, scared he would catch on despite your sex drive skyrocketing. It’s been difficult.

The shower washes away everything: the sweat and grime of the day, your tears, the tension in your muscles. You stand under the water until it runs cold, slipping on Joel’s worn soft t-shirt.

Your pillow is back on your side of the bed, Joel still on his side. A smile creeps onto your face. He keeps his eyes closed, but you know he’s awake. You don’t say anything as you slide into bed, but your anxiety spikes, your heart fluttering in your chest. You have to tell him.

You’re staring at the ceiling when he breaks the silence. “What happened?”

You suck in a breath. He thinks something went wrong tonight. He’s probably preparing to dig a grave. “Nothing, mom and babies are fine.”

“So it was twins?”

“Yeah.” You had suspected as much, but the ultrasound machine doesn’t work, try as you might to get it operational. You hadn’t been able to find a second heartbeat with the Doppler.

“So what’s buggin you?” His drawl is deeper, soaked with sleep.

He scoots a little closer, hot breath tickling your ear. You can’t move. You should look him in the eye when you tell him, but you can’t. The words are at the back of your throat surging forward toward your lips. The anxiety in your chest feels like a herd of buffalo stomping across the countryside. You squeeze your eyes shut to try and stop it.

“Sweetheart?” His hand reaches toward you, eyes trained on your profile as concern laces his brow.

“I’m pregnant.”

His hand stops over your arm. You feel its warmth so close, and then it goes away. You dare to look at him. You expect him to get out of bed and bolt. You don’t know why. He’s only shown you otherwise the entirety of your relationship, but this is more than either of you signed up for. Instead, you watch as it sinks in. He connects the dots, all the symptoms and signs that were right in front of his face, his subconscious absorbing them, but refusing to put it all together.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

You look back toward the ceiling, tears slipping from your eyes.

His hand covers your abdomen, forehead pressing against your temple. He starts to feel the changes to your body for what they are. You shudder.

“How long have you known?”

There’s not a trace of judgment or fear in his voice, but it does little to assure you. You’re scared. It doesn’t matter what Joel says or does, the fear is overwhelming.

“Beginning of August.”

“Shit, baby.” He pulls you into him, cradling your head against his chest. “You didn’t have to carry this alone.”

“I didn’t think it would last.” After months of holding the tears back, you finally let them out, a mix of relief and fear. “I didn’t- I didn’t want you to-”

You can’t finish it. You can’t say it out loud, but Joel knows what you’re trying to say. You didn’t want him to lose another child, and it wrecks him. His grip on you is crushing, but it soothes your shaking frame. Just as you come down, his sobs greet your ear because he’s scared too. Every single fear and anxiety that has come over you the past months, he feels too. Maria’s labor and delivery flash through his mind. If that happens to you, who’s going to save you?

You reach up to cradle his face. He presses into your neck. Your skin is sticky and salty again, but you don’t even think about it as the man you love and can’t tell cries in your arms. You’re unable to return his soothing squeeze, but you lay there to provide any comfort you can. The two of you fall asleep tangled in each other.

You feel Joel’s fingers dancing across your abdomen before you’re fully conscious. There’s no rhyme or reason to his movements. His other hand brushes over your temple and through your hair. Every once in a while you feel his breath and lips across your neck, up and down your arm, over your collarbone. It feels like he’s memorizing you, fear present in all of his movements even now.

You finally open your eyes. His movements still as you look at him. There are tears in his eyes as his head falls forward, resting against yours. “I’m scared.”

“Me too.” You reach out, nails raking across his arm.

He shudders under your touch. “I wish you told me sooner.”

You bit your lips. “I’m sorry.”

He lets out a deep sigh, kissing your forehead. His hand drifts to your abdomen again. You watch his eyes, so expressive filled with fear and anxiety and maybe a little bit of awe and guilt?

“I should’ve been more careful.”

You press your head to his, inhaling softly. “We.”

Joel’s fingers scrape along your jaw, his beard rough against your chin. “I like being a we.”

“Me too.”

Silence settles between the two of you. The wind knocks against the window, but it’s warm next to Joel. His arm snakes around you, tugging you closer to him.

“I suppose you’ve told Maria?”

You can’t hide the guilty smile on your lips. “If it makes a difference, she told me I needed to tell you right away. Pretty sure she was gonna tell you herself if I didn’t do it soon.” You mess with the collar of his shirt.

“How long do we have?”

“Figure it’ll be May. If we get that far.” You say. Joel nods and something clenches around your heart, a need to protect him, warn him of the danger. “You know there’s a lot of risks. No guarantee…”

“One day at a time.” He kisses your cheek but you see all the fear he’s pushing away plastered to his face like a movie poster.

Joel asks you how you are, but other than that, you don’t talk about it. You feel like a weight has lifted off your shoulders but there’s an anvil hanging above your head, waiting to drop at a moment’s notice.

You’ve outgrown your last pair of jeans. When you manage to trade with someone, they give you a look, like they know what’s going on inside your body.

You take more naps, sometimes at the clinic, sometimes on the couch. You’re constantly tired. Maria brings dinner to the house every few days. She never asked, but you don’t complain.

One evening you open your eyes to find Ellie staring down at you, worry etched in her features. It startles you at first.

“You’ve been sleeping a lot lately,” She says.

“You’ve noticed?” You pull yourself into a seated position. It feels like someone shoved a bunch of cotton into your mouth. You reach for the now room-temperature water on your end table.

“You only take naps when you’re sick or depressed.” You raise an eyebrow at her. She crosses her arms as if to say she knows you’re neither right now. “What’s going on?”

You finish off the water. Despite its temperature, it helps. “I’m fine.” You reach out, placing a hand on her shoulder, but it does nothing. At 17 years old, Ellie is turning into a woman before your very eyes. At times, you’re convinced any semblance of childhood has been replaced with adulthood, but there are other times you still see the slivers of the girl you met two and a half years ago. Right now, she’s the one sitting in front of you.

“Bullshit. What’s going on? You and Joel have been acting weird.”

Had things really been that different in the past couple of weeks? You open your mouth to speak, unsure of what to say. You and Joel hadn’t talked about telling anyone, which seemed silly. You can’t hide this forever.

The door opens and Carter bursts in with Joel on his heels. A smile instantly finds your lips.

“Mommy! Look!” He holds up a package of seemingly new Crayola crayons.

Your eyes widen with exaggeration. “Wow, buddy. That’s awesome.”

“John Lacy found a bunch of them on patrol. They handed them out today,” Joel smiles. “Grabbed you some colored pencils.” He hands a set of non-crayola pencils to Ellie.

“Thanks.” She smiles but is still distracted by her worry over you.

Carter crawls up beside you, eagerly pulling out the surprisingly intact crayons one by one. Joel leans over to kiss your cheek and tousles Ellie’s hair. She makes a face of displeasure but doesn’t fight him on it.

“You two look like you were talkin about somethin serious.”

“I was trying to figure out why the two of you have been acting weird,” Ellie says.

Joel’s drops to unreadable. He looks at you and you shrug in response. “We have to tell them eventually.”

Worry makes its home on Ellie’s face. “So something is wrong with you.with you.”

“Nothing is wrong with me.” You sigh deeply. You run your fingers over Carter’s head, kissing it.

“You’re sure acting like there is,” She says impatiently.

“Ellie,” Joel reprimands, traces of his asshole voice laced into it.

Ellie bites her lip. It looks like she might be fighting off tears as she looks directly at you. “I’m worried about you.”

You force a smile, leaning forward. Your forearms rest on your knees. One would think it would get easier to say each time. Instead, it’s like picking at a scab that’s not healed. You’re forcing yourself to say something, your brain isn’t ready to accept. “I’m pregnant.”

Ellie sits up straighter, her eyes widen with shock. “Oh wow…”

You wonder if the pictures fill her mind too. She saw Maria the night Elias was born. She saw the blood that covered you. Joel’s fingers brush over your shoulder, squeezing it lightly before they run over the back of your neck. You lean against him. “I’m sorry we worried you. We’re still getting used to the idea,” You say.

She nods and then her arms around your neck. She basically knocks you backward with the force of it. “I’m glad you’re not dying.”

You squeeze her tightly, a faint lilt of humor in your voice. “Me too.”

Then her voice drops to a whisper right at your ear. “You’ll be okay. I know you will.”

Your head rests on Joel’s bare chest that night. The full moon sends light drifting through your window, casting the room in a cool glow. You play absentmindedly with the hair on his chest. His heart beats under your ear. The room is otherwise silent.

“I told Tommy today.”

You nod.

“He wanted to know why I was so quiet. Told him I was always quiet.”

That pulls a smile across your lips. “Surprised he shut up long enough to notice.”

Joel chuckles. His arm around you tightens. His lips find your forehead. “I know we’re not ready to think too much about it.”

“Don’t think it’s something we can really ignore.” You nuzzle further into him.

“Baby steps.” He kisses your nose this time.

You quirk an eyebrow. “Baby steps? Really?” You flip onto your stomach while you still can.

He chuckles. “Poor word choice.”

You kiss his bicep and then his shoulder. He looks at you like your entire world and your stomach erupts in butterflies and twists in knots all at the same time. You still won’t let him say it, but you feel it every time he looks at you like that.

You rest your chin on his shoulder. “What are these steps you had in mind?”

His thumb traces over your jaw and cheek. “Don’t bolt on me, okay?”

“I think it’s a little late for that.”

He chuckles and then inhales deeply. “I think we should probably share a house. I figured you’d prefer to stay here, but it’s up to you.” He searches your eyes for any signs of panic or signs that you might shut down but finds nothing. In fact, you’re so calm that it’s hard to read.

“It would be nice to have you officially living here,” you say. It feels right to say, to think about. “And Ellie if she wants.”

“That was easier than I’d thought it would be.”

“You pretty much live here as is.” You turn on your side, nuzzling back into him. “I’ll miss your fireplace though.”

Joel smiles. “Guess I'll just have to keep you warm instead.”

#joel miller #the last of us #tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #hbo tlou #woman (joel miller)#woman (joel’s version)#woman #pedro stories #pedrostories #ppcu fanfiction #ppcu #pedro pascal characters

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loveephia · 1 year

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HIS CUTE FIANCÉ | ushijima wakatoshi

content: (🦷) tooth-rotting fluff, a sprinkle of angst, cute scenes of you and ushijima, your schoolmates being slightly jealous of you both, reader comes from a rich family, kind of manhwa-esque.

⚠ warning/s: reader hurts herself on accident and while cooking.

note: i remember people wanting a little drabble on this when i posted my 200 followers special, so here you go! :D

"oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh." was what ran through your mind when you watched ushijima wakatoshi officially sign the contract.

it was an arranged marriage. ushijima is knowingly the number two ace of japan, while your family owns a big sports company. this marriage would benefit ushijima in terms of popularity, while your family would benefit in more sales.

soon enough, this marriage would all be terminated once both sides are content with the outcome, so ushijima and his family agreed by contract. you were ecstatic, to say the least, having successfully hidden your small crush on the giant for ages now.

"it's a pleasure to be working with you, son." your father held out his hand to shake ushijima's.

somehow, during the next day at shiratorizawa, word got out of you two getting married soon, and it was all your schoolmates could talk about.

they all chattered about you both non-stop, saying how annoyingly perfect you are together. ushijima is this big, strong guy who has this intense passion for volleyball, yet he still happens to make time for you. while you're his doting and clumsy wife-to-be.

clumsy, you ask? well, one time, you tripped up the stairs because you were too busy admiring ushijima. you ended up with a medium-sized scar and several specks on your knee, but it all ended alright, since ushijima took nice care of it.

he led you to the infirmary, but unfortunately, the nurse was out on break, so ushijima took matters into his own hands. he first disinfected the minor wounds made before pouring a tiny bit of the antibiotics on a clean cotton ball. he then lightly padded it onto your scarred knee.

you apologized to ushijima for worrying him like this, but he brushed it off, telling you that it was nothing. "i don't mind taking care of you. it's the least that i could do while we're together."

the volleyball team was shocked from the news, to say the least. ushijima was surely handsome, but he can be a bit aloof, so it could drive some of the girls away. because of that, the team didn't expect that he'd be the first from them all to get married.

"so, how's married life treating ya, ushiwaka?" tendō joked, leaning an arm on his broad shoulder. "we're not married yet." ushijima stoicly replied.

"yet! he said yet!" your heart felt innocently happy at his choice of wording.

you were never too big on cooking, but to impress ushijima, you spent an entire week in shiratorizawa's hot and fiery kitchen, getting taught how to make the best hayashi rice by the school's cooking club.

"why'd you decide to do this, y/n? i mean.. you'd usually stay the farthest from the stove whenever we have home economic classes." a member asked curiously. you jumped at the sudden question, as if being caught red-handed. "oh! uhm.. i wanted to give ushi— i mean.. wakatoshi a bento to thank him for taking care of me this one time." your face went aflame at the memory of him patching up your knee with a cute band-aid.

you bashfully rubbed the back of your head, "but i don't think my current cooking skills will be enough to satisfy his taste buds."

"that's true, you're a terrible cook, y/n!" a friend walking by teased you while you tried to defend yourself, failing miserably in the process.

"anyway, that's why i came here. to get better." you said, determination in those eyes of yours. it moved the cooking club's members, and they adored your resoluteness. "okay, we'll help you!"

once you mastered the recipe, you added your own twist to be original and brought ushijima a bento. it was bundled up in a pastel wrapping cloth with a cute pattern on it. your classmates marveled at it, awaiting for the two of you to speak.

"what's this?" ushijima asked.

"it's.. hayashi rice. i made it. i hope you like it..!"

you left the classroom quickly to protect yourself from his reaction, which could only go both ways; good or bad. "i don't think my heart can take it if he dislikes my cooking.." you thought.

ushijima had already really liked the hayashi rice being served in the cafeteria, but since this was made by you, he supposes that he can take a bite or two.

and oh, did he love it.

it was similar to shiratorizawa's hayashi rice, but the flavor was more prominent, and the taste was much richer. i guess this is what happens when you have a bit of allowance left from your parents. aka the ingredients were pricey, and you had access to more spices since the shiratorizawa kitchen was a bit limited.

but not only that, he could tell that it was made with love (as if the heart-shaped rice wasn't obvious enough). ushijima had noticed your fingers being covered with small cuts earlier, probably from slicing the ingredients. it showed him that you really worked hard to make it.

he kindly asked if you could make another.

whenever you and ushijima are sitting next to each other in the cafeteria, you'd play with his large calloused hands for the fun of it. he doesn't mind, really. it's almost as if a kitten was massaging some bread on his palm. quite therapeutic if i do say so myself.

a bold move of ushijima that you'll never forget is the time he hugged you from behind for the first time. he was tired from practice and wanted to rest a bit, so he used you as his pillow. rest assured that he was feeling well-energized with you in his muscular arms.

you warmed up to ushijima and managed to earn yourself a soft spot in his heart. even ushijima's fellow volleyball members have noticed how relaxed he's been lately.

the day of termination has come, and both sides were more than happy with what they profited. ushijima had gotten more magazine gigs for the sports section, and your family had gained more than enough money to last them until the next generation.

you and ushijima were in your father's spacious office room with the contract laying despairingly on the table in front of you. your father, himself, was sitting on the opposing side of the both of you.

thinking of this all ending makes your heart heavy, but ushijima never did this for love, so i guess it's to be expected. being loved back is asking for too much, so the least you could do is respect his own feelings.

"i'm thankful for the past few months."

you reluctantly signed your signature on the left side of the contract and waited patiently for ushijima to pick up the pen and do the same.

but he never did.

with a sigh, ushijima speaks up, "is it possible to renew the contract? i don't think i'm satisfied yet."

your jaw drops, and you face your father, whose expression seems to be a playful one. "oho~ and what have you still not gotten out of this that isn't to your heart's content? a sports scholarship for college? or perhaps a partnership?" he lists.

"your daughter's real hand in marriage." ushijima states.

"huh?!" you face ushijima to see if this is just some kind of cruel joke being played on you, but ushijima wasn't one for funny punchlines. in fact, he was always very straightforward.

"that is if.. y/n is okay with it." and now, ushijima and your father are looking at you for your answer.

you nod shyly and look down at your own lap.

"very well then! i'll check this with my lawyer and my wife to see what we can do." your father walked out of the office room, leaving you with ushijima.

you play with the hem of your dress nervously, not knowing what to say. "i saw the way you hesitated to sign the contract earlier," ushijima started, and you turn to him, surprised by how on-point his assesment was, "so i thought that you'd be okay to continue being engaged."

"truthfully, i grew comfortable with your presence. and on days when you weren't beside me, i'd wonder where you were and how you were doing."

"there was never a day where you weren't on my mind." he admits.

now you were feeling dizzy from his words. "i- i see.."

"is that all you have to say to me?" ushijima asks, hopeful, as he leans close to you. "w- well..!"

you muster up your remaining courage and silently mumble, "..thank you for loving me, wakatoshi."

ushijima smiles gently at your verbal reply, it being exactly what he wanted to hear.

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callsign-rogueone · 3 months

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under the weather

fourth wing boys* x gn!partner!reader *Aaric, Bodhi, Brennan, Dain, Garrick, Liam, Ridoc, Sawyer, Xaden! y'all seemed to like excuses, excuses, so here’s something in that style because I don’t feel good rn, but I want to write :( and I added Aaric this time too! words: 645 🏷: no spoilers. just some thoughts on ways our boys would take care of you when you’re sick 🥰 descriptions of sickness (cough, fever, dizziness, etc.) doctors visits, medication. I've been ripping shots of nyquil all day and I’m not all there rn so I really hope these make sense lol

Aaric lets you rest your head in his lap while he reads to you, either from a textbook (the grind never stops with this one) or whatever fiction novel he’s reading. the words go in one ear and out the other in your soft delirium, but it’s still nice to hear his voice and feel him stroking your hair as he reads. if you fall asleep on him, he won’t move until you wake up, or unless he absolutely has to — but heaven help the person who makes him move.

Bodhi insists on cuddling you back to health, curling up with you and letting you rest your aching body against his while you settle in for a long afternoon nap, because sleep is the best medicine. he completely ignores your protests that you’ll get him sick too (you do, and then it’s your turn to play nurse next week, but he swears it was worth it).

Brennan spends as much time with you as he can, bringing his paperwork and things to your shared room so that he can be there when you need him, while still tending to his duties as a leader of the revolution. he checks your temperature and pulse etc. every hour, monitoring you carefully, but he’ll make up for it with lots of forehead kisses.

Dain excuses you from training until you’re better, insisting that you stay in bed and devote all your energy to recovering. he frequently comes to check on you throughout the day, and you better still be in bed when he does, or you’ll be getting a gentle lecture about the importance of your caring for yourself and how much you mean to him — he needs you to be healthy, okay?

Garrick carries you around whenever you need to go somewhere, because he doesn’t want you collapsing after that dizzy spell you had. he doesn’t care if it’s only twenty feet to the showers and back; he’s scooping you up and walking over himself. he also insists on supervising your shower, but no funny business — you’re sick. once you’ve recovered, however…

Liam draws you a warm bath, letting you soothe your aching muscles for a while before washes your hair and your back for you, being incredibly gentle all the while. he’ll dry you off afterward, letting you pick any of his clothes to wear to sleep if you want, and helping you through the steps of your nightly routine — brushing your teeth, etc., before giving you your medicine and letting you fall asleep on his chest.

Ridoc goes with you to the healers, rubbing your back and making soft jokes all the while to distract you from the discomfort — apologizing when your laughs turn into a coughing fit. he also tries to make you feel normal / less gross when you’re stuck in bed, helping you with basic self-care: brushing and braiding your hair, taking your makeup off if you wear it, helping you do your skincare…

Sawyer does all the things that you can’t do while you’re sick — goes to class and copies an extra set of notes for you, does your laundry, straightens up your room, etc. that way you can focus on recovering, but also, once you’re back on your feet, you won’t have a huge mess to deal with and you won’t be behind on your studies. he’ll help you review what you missed, as well.

Xaden is protective to a fault, but when you’re sick, it’s a whole new level. he doesn’t leave your side unless absolutely necessary, ignoring any form of protest. follows the healer’s instructions to the letter — antibiotics every four hours? he’s waking you up at two am, glass of water in hand, helping you sit up so you can take them. he’ll also use his shadows to dim the room so you can sleep through the day.

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dreamescapeswriting · 1 year

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BTS Reaction || He Thinks You’re Cheating [Mafia Edition]

⤜MASTERLIST

SEOKJIN:

It had been bothering Jin for a while now and he'd finally had enough of your sneaking around and decided to do something about it. Usually, if he wanted someone to watch you he'd send one of his men but it appeared you'd managed to bribe them into lying for you and it was starting to get on Jin's last nerve. If you were cheating he wanted you to tell him or for him to catch you in the act, it was going to be the only way any of this came to light.

"Checking in?" A voice asked from behind the front desk of the hotel, Jin's eyes snapped over to the small man and Jin quickly shook his head as he watched you climbing into an elevator taking note of the pushing you pressed before he clambered into the second one.

"Yn! It's lovely to see you!" A man called out when Jin got off the second elevator a mere two seconds after yours had arrived and he watched you closely, his eyes glued to you as you walked into the arms of an elderly man. This was who you were sneaking off to go and meet all of the time?

"It's lovely to see you too," You giggled holding up a small basket that you'd been carrying since that morning. When Jin had seen it in the kitchen he had originally thought it was for you and him to share, something you used to do together but now it seemed those times were few and far between.

"You bought more snacks? I say Alex is going to fall deeper in love with you," The elder began to chuckle as he walked with you into a venue room, Jin's steps following close behind as he watched you walk into the room with a giant smile on your face. Who was Alex? And why were you bringing him treats and not your boyfriend?

"I'm sorry sir, you need to sign in before you come into the visitor's lounge." As soon as the voice sounded from behind Jin he knew he'd fucked up, you and the elderly man turned to see who was coming and your eyes widened just a fraction to see your boyfriend standing there.

"Jin? What are you doing here?" Your voice cracked out of panic, the last thing you wanted was for Jin to follow you here on your last day.

"I came to see what you were doing...Who's Alex? Is he your new boyfriend?" You could already see the hurt on Jin's face and you felt your heart crack just a little. It didn't seem to bother you that he'd just accused you of cheating, you knew he had his trust issues and for the last four years of your relationship, he had done everything to work on them...You could see why he would think you're cheating.

"No," You giggled a little slowly, taking his hand into yours and pulling him toward Alex who was sitting in the corner of the room hooked up to an IV drip as well as a heart monitor.

"He's on his last day of treatment...Like me," You said slowly before looking up at Jin. The two of you were close and practically told each other everything and anything but your being sick was something you had hidden from him to try and lessen his stress load.

"Like you?" His eyes found yours and you smiled a little, you knew it was going to be hard to hide it now he was here. You'd had a small infection in your kidney that was refusing to go away with simple at-home antibiotics and you'd had to seek treatment through a doctor who set up at a small hospital for those who couldn't make it all the way to the hospital once a week.

"I'm fine, it's nothing to worry about." Trying to put his mind at ease as it was nothing for him to worry about, something that was now on the mend and you had a handle on.

"Nothing to worry about? You're sneaking off to some hotel to get a treatment!" His voice raised and you got a few looks from those around you so you were quick to take him out of the room and stood in front of the elevators together.

"Jin, I had a small sickness but I'm better now. After today's last antibiotic session I'll be fine," You promised him as he shook his head at you. He was more concerned with the fact that you'd hidden something so big from him,

"Why didn't you come to me? I could have taken you to a fancy hospital, you would have gotten the best treatment ever."

"I got that here. Baby, you were stressed enough with the meeting with the yakuza next week. You'd been planning for months, I wasn't going to be the one to ruin that." Jin shook his head at you, pulling you into his arms and letting out a small sigh, the last thing he wanted was for you to hide something like this from him.

"I'm your boyfriend, you're supposed to come to me when you're sick...Please," He pleaded with you before you nodded, quickly kissing him on the lips and smiling as you felt him relax in your arms.

"I promise if I get sick again I will come to you," You ran your hand over his cheek and he smiled weakly, cuddling into your touch as you stood together for a while.

YOONGI:

Things had gone unnoticed for a while, you'd managed to get in and out of the grasp of your security guard so that you were able to go to the hospital without Yoongi finding out. It wasn't that you didn't want him to know you were sick it was just that he tended to freak out a little whenever you had a cold, so telling him you were seeking treatment at a hospital was a huge "no" for you. Besides, it was only a kidney infection that had required a closer look from doctors and you were hoping you were getting close to the end of your treatments as Yoongi was starting to get suspicious of you sneaking around.

"What did you get up to today?" Yoongi questioned at the dinner table, you were staring down at the food not daring to touch a single bite of it which was worrying for Yoongi. The treatment you were having caused you to lose your appetite so eating had become something you'd try to do but either ended up being sick or not being able to touch any of the food. But Yoongi had made your favourite - well, rather, he'd ordered someone to make it for you - he was attempting to make you feel guilty and to tell him the truth. Had you been sneaking around with another man and eating with him? Today he'd noticed you'd slipped the hands of your guard for the fourth time this month and it was starting to bug him.

"Hongjoong and I went shopping," The lie fell off your lips with ease and Yoongi slammed his hand onto the table making you jump ever so slightly.

"Where were you? Hongjoong told me he lost you when you went into the mall, don't lie to me." You could hear the frustration seeping from your boyfriend's lip and you sighed a little knowing it was time you told him the truth about everything.

"I'm sick." You admitted, your eyes not daring to look at him as you finally let the words fly out of your mouth. Maybe a part of the reason you hadn't told Yoongi was so that you could keep lying to yourself about it all. When the doctors first told you that you'd had a severe kidney infection you'd been stupid enough to think it was easy to beat but as it turned out you were wrong. You'd barely been able to move within the first month of having your infection, but as soon as you started treatment you were feeling better.

"Sick? How sick?" Yoongi had raised from his chair and was slowly making his way over to you, sitting in the chair beside you as you slowly looked up at him with tears running down your cheeks.

"My kidneys had shut down...T-They told me I could have died," The words came out in a choked sob toward the end but you were quickly wrapped in a tight embrace of your boyfriend's arms as you began to sob.

"Fuck, why didn't you tell me? I could have done something," He rubbed your lower back as you continued to cry into his chest finally letting everything you'd been holding back for months erupt out of you.

"Like what?"

"Steal you a kidney," He teased trying to make you laugh but you let out a small giggle before cuddling into him staining his shirt with your tears but it was the last thing Yoongi cared about right now.

"How long do you have left of treatment?" He quizzed, his eyes looking down at you as you swallowed the lump in your throat.

"One month. I have an appointment once a week." You told him as he nodded at you, smiling as he knew what he was going to do.

"I'll be there, at every appointment."

"You have a business to do-" Another reason you hadn't told him was because you knew just how busy he was with his day-to-day life and the last thing you wanted was to add to his stress levels. Yoongi stared at you as he cupped your chin between his thumb and finger and smiled,

"You're far more important to me than some stupid meetings I can simply rearrange." You practically melted into his hands and he smirked a little.

"Do you think you can eat a little? Or shall I pack it up and we can eat it tomorrow." You looked back down at the food and slowly picked up your fork, you could try and eat a little, causing Yoongi to smile proudly at the sight of you.

HOSEOK:

Hoseok had been so busy with work that he'd barely noticed your absence until one of his men brought it up in a meeting he was having. Your relationship with one another was still fairly new to his men and they had all been apprehensive around the two of you being together, some of them barely trusted you and had been wanting Hoseok to leave you alone.

"Yn has been sneaking off lately and it's worrying me. What if she's sneaking off to give information to other mafia men?" Chan said from the other side of the room, all eyes turning toward him as Hoseok slowly lowered the pen he was holding and waited for the man to continue.

"She's been slipping out of the guard's eye view and disappearing for hours on end. She's acting like someone with something to hide," Hoseok swallowed the lump in his throat and did something he was praying he wasn't going to regret later down the line and that was a lie for you.

"I know where she's going," He stared back down at the papers in front of him and hoped everyone in the room had believed what he was saying while he planned to come up with something to get answers out of you later in the night.

[x]

"Where were you today?" Hoseok asked when you walked into the bedroom or rather snuck in. You'd expected Hoseok to be sound asleep by now and you'd had to hold back a scream when he turned on the bedside lamp so he could stare at you.

"With some friends." You lie and he could tell it was a lie by the way your eye twitched ever so slightly and he shook his head at you.

"Am I not good enough for you? Am I too busy?" The line of questioning made your stomach churn as you stared at him,

"Where did you meet him? Is he better than I am?" Within seconds you were by his side and holding his hand in your own. You'd been hiding the fact that you were sick so as to not worry Hoseok but it appeared you'd achieved the opposite of that.

"There's no one else Hoseok, it's only you. It will always be only you." You squeezed his hand but it seemed as though he still wasn't convinced and you sighed a little.

"I've been sick...It's nothing to worry about, I've got it under control." You told him but he was shaking his head at you. How could you be sick and not tell him?

"Did they find out what it is? Did you go to my doctor or to some loser who has no idea what he's doing?" Hoseok was convinced that everyone but his own doctor was incompetent which made it hard for you to find someone willing to take you on when they knew who you were dating.

"No, I found someone and she's incredible Hobi. I'm getting good treatment," You told him while trying your best to convince him of this, he was very weary of who he could and couldn't trust - and with good reason. He didn't get to be one of the biggest mafia families in the world just by trusting everyone who he came into contact with.

"What's wrong though?" He stared at you and you smiled a little, shaking your head. It was something so small you couldn't believe you'd had to go to the hospital for the treatment in the first place.

"It's nothing. Just a small chest infection that needed treatment at a hospital with some extra strong antibiotics on a drip...They work faster or something." You shrugged and Hoseok let out a small and relieved sigh when he realised it wasn't as bad as he was imagining.

"So you've been sneaking off to get antibiotics. You could have had them sent here and had the treatments done here," You smiled and cuddled into his side,

"I have a few more treatments left, I can ask if it's a possibility-"

"It will be." He growled a little, he was no longer going to let you sneak off for treatment, he wanted to be there for you.

NAMJOON:

"How was your day?" Namjoon questioned as he crawled into the bed behind you, it had been so long since the two of you had gotten to fall asleep like this and he had missed it. You cuddled into him and smiled tiredly, ever since starting your new medication you'd gotten more and more tired but you knew it was because they were starting to work.

"It was fine, Yoongi and I went for food today." As soon as the words came out you felt Namjoon tense up from behind you and he frowned at you. That morning you'd told him that you and your girlfriends were going for brunch, come to think of it. Lately, you'd been getting more and more inconsistent with what you were telling him you were doing and it was starting to scare him. Were you with another man? Maybe you were treading secrets with the police?

"Yoongi? I thought you said the girls were going for brunch?" Your eyes shot open as you stared at the poster on the wall in front of you, trying to rack your brain with a lie you could tell him but it felt like everything had gone from your mind. Yoongi was the name of your doctor and you'd been so out of it from the medication you'd let the name slip without thinking clearly.

"You've been lying more and more to me," Namjoon stated plainly as he took his arms off you and moved away from you, refusing to hold you until he had some straight-forward answers out of you/

"Joonie-" You sat up in the bed and turned to face him but he was shaking his head at you.

"Don't, you don't get to lie to me and crawl into my arms like nothing fucking happened. Who is he? How did you meet him?" He raised his eyebrow at you as you looked down at your hands, you knew it was time to let the cat out of the bag but you'd been careful not to tell him for this reason. The last thing he needed in his life was a sick girlfriend,

"If you can't tell me I'll call someone to find out-"

"Yoongi is my doctor," You shot out before making yourself look at Namjoon whose frown had appeared to get deeper at the thought of it.

"Doctor? Are you sick?" His hear began to pound against his chest at the thought of you being ill, how hadn't you told him about it until now?

"It's nothing, just a bug that I couldn't kick. I'd needed a few courses of antibiotics and some painkillers...S-Some tests," You explained hoping it would relax Namjoon but if anything it only made the panic inside of him worse.

"I never wanted you to think I was cheating, I just didn't want you to know I was sick." You explained before he pulled you into his arms, your head coming to rest on his chest as he shook his head at you.

"I want to know when you're sick...You're my wife, I'm meant to take care of you and look after you when you're sick...In sickness and in health." He reminded you as you whined a little cuddling into him as you nodded your head.

"You're a busy man."

"Not too busy to look after my wife." He shot back at you, shaking his head as he made a mental note to take the next week off from work so that he could go with you to your doctor's appointments and find out everything he could as to why you were sick so he could help prevent it in the future.

"Joonie, you're doing that plotting thing inside your head...What are you planning?"

"Do you think your treatments could be moved to home? That way I can watch over you within the safety of our own home. I can't believe you've been going out without protection." He scolded a little, making you giggle as you saw the protective side of your husband coming to the light.

JIMIN:

It had been weeks since Jimin had been able to take you out to dinner and he was more than excited to be able to show you off to his favourite restaurant owner tonight. You were excited too but for another reason, after five weeks of being treated for a sickness bug you'd finally gotten much better and you were able to enjoy food once again. Jimin held up his glass and you smirked holding up your own,

"To be finally able to take my girl out on a date," Jimin chuckled clinking the glasses together right as a couple walked past the table. Typically everyone who saw Jimin would ignore him and you because they liked to keep themselves very much alive but tonight it seemed different.

"Yn?" Your whole body felt as though it was numb at the sound of your doctor's voice, you could have sworn you were now sweating buckets and you turned to see him standing with his wife and smiling brightly at you. He was very new in town and he had no idea you were dating Jimin, it was one of the reasons that you had picked Dr Choi because you knew he wasn't going to be scared of treating you since he had no idea who Jimin was.

"Who are you?" Jimin's voice was cold as he stared at the man who was quick to send a smile his way and hold out his hand. When he saw the man coming up to you so friendly he instantly let his mind go to you cheating, he knew deep down that there was no way you would cheat on him but his mind still wanted him to think that way.

"Dr San Choi, it's lovely to meet you. Are you Miss YLN boyfriend?" If you weren't sweating before you were now as you saw his hand reaching for Jimin.

"I'm Park Jimin...THE Park Jimin," He spat out before nodding at two of his guards to come over to him but you were quick to your feet.

"Jimin, don't. He doesn't know you," You quickly defended the man, Jimin's hand raising to still his two men who were watching you inquisitively now while Dr Choi looked as though he was about to drop to the floor from shock.

"And how, my dear love, do you know him?" You could tell by the tone of his voice he was accusing you of something and you also knew you had no right to be angry with him since you had been the one sneaking around behind his back.

"He's my doctor. I've been sick and I knew if I went to someone you knew you'd find out and so I went to someone new."

"You've been treating her?" Jimin asked as he stared at Dr Choi who was quick to nod his head and whimper a little,

"How do I know he's even good enough? Did you look into his background? What if he was working with someone to kill you?" Your mouth ran dry at the line of questioning, it wasn't something you'd thought about until now and you bit down on your lip.

"My card is here, please...Feel free to run an intensive background check on me and I'll be more than willing to answer any questions you have." Dr Choi said as he finally found his voice and handed Jimin his card as you bit down on your lip a little.

"Thank you," Jimin said coldly before the man left leaving you alone to answer every question Jimin was going to have about you being sick.

TAEHYUNG:

"I can't just tell him," Your voice came out in a hushed whisper and Taehyung froze outside of the room you were in. He'd come to find you after you disappeared from the party he was throwing and he suddenly felt intrigued by your discussion. For the last couple of weeks, you'd been secretly taking calls and texting back and forth with someone, not to mention sneaking out every now and again. Telling Taehyung you were going to one place when secretly going to another and it was beginning to bug him. At first, he thought it was your way of getting some space but it was starting to get on his last nerve.

"You say it's easy but you have no idea what he's like. If he finds out, he'll kill Jungkook," You whispered making Taehyung's frown further deepen. Jungkook?

"You're cheating on me?" He called out as he walked into the room, no longer caring that he was eavesdropping in your conversation he wanted a straight answer out of you.

"I'll call you back," You hung up the phone and stared at Taehyung, there was a huge party full of people waiting for him and you weren't about to fight upstairs and have them overhear.

"Let's go back to the party, everyone will be wondering where you are." You tried to suggest but he stood firmly in place, folding his arms over his chest as he waited for you to tell him the truth.

"So who's Jungkook? Are you fucking him instead of me?" It had been weeks since the two of you had been intimate, had this Jungkook been the reason why?

"What?! No! You think that little of me?" You scoffed staring at him, you knew why he must have felt that way but it still hurt.

"What else am I supposed to think? You're sneaking off all of the time and then I hear you talking about some other man?" It was obvious that there was going to be no other way out of this situation and you were going to have to come clean about it.

"Jungkook is a doctor." You explained hoping he would drop the matter but it appeared he was latching onto his cheating theory.

"Brilliant, I hope you're very happy together then," Taehyung's words were spat out with venom and sarcasm making you sigh.

"I mean, he's MY doctor." Taehyung stared at you for a second and frowned,

"What would you need a doctor for? You have mine."

"And he would tell you if I went to him." Taehyung's mouth had run dry at the mere thought of you being sick and having to hide it from him.

"What?" He stared at you, his heart beginning to race rapidly against his chest. He'd never been able to deal with people around him getting sick, it was something he'd always feared because he'd seen some of his closest friends and family fall ill only to die. It was one of the reasons you hadn't told him, you hadn't wanted to be the one to cause him more stress in his life.

"I'm fine, I had a kidney infection that had led to them almost failing but I'm okay...T-That's the reason I haven't had sex with you, I needed to rest." Taehyung shook his head at you,

"You don't need to justify us not having sex." Taehyung shot out as he walked over to you, holding your face in his hands as he stared down at you.

"I'm sorry I accused you." He held you close to him as you sniffled a little,

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." You whined before he kissed you deeply, forgetting the party altogether as he began to question you on everything that had been happening while you were ill.

JUNGKOOK:

Things had been strained between you and Jungkook for a few weeks now and it was beginning to worry him. Had you managed to find someone with a less dangerous position in life? Had you found someone that would take you out more? He wanted to get to the bottom of it but first, he wanted to take you out, maybe he was just paranoid and you weren't acting different...Maybe it was all in his head.

"I was thinking we could go and see a movie this weekend," He called out to you while you were in the bathroom, your stomach churning as you did your best not to throw up.

"Hmm, you hate the movies." You reminded him as you stared at yourself in the mirror, a thick layer of sweat was beginning to form on your forehead and you were beginning to panic a little at the sight of it. The doctor had warned you that when you came off your medication there could be some slight side effects but you were worried your sickness was coming back.

"I want to take you out, don't you want to?" Jungkook asked as he went to walk into the bathroom, only to find it locked which was something you'd never done in the past. It wasn't like you to lock the bathroom door, sometimes you wouldn't even shut it since the two of you were that close to one another.

"Yn?" He questioned when he noticed it was locked up, he turned the handle thinking maybe he'd just turned it wrong.

"I don't want you to see me...I-I'm-" Instantly he began to think of all of the things that could be wrong. You'd been wearing longer shirts and turtle necks, did you have hickies?

"What are you hiding from me? Another man's marks?" You scoffed at the thought of it, you'd been hiding the needle marks you'd gotten from your IV bag and you'd had to drag out all of your winter clothes to do so.

"Are you insane? You think I would cheat on you?!" You cried out at him, a wave of dizziness taking over you before you sink to your knees in front of the toilet. Jungkook's response was drowned out by the way his head was beginning to spin,

"Don't come in!" You begged him when you suddenly threw up into the toilet, within seconds the door was kicked in, the lock flew somewhere inside the room and Jungkook was kneeling beside you.

"You're sick?" He questioned as he rubbed your lower back, looking at the state of you. You were shivering and sweating all at the same time,

"I've been sick for a while, it's an infection...I've been getting treatment but-" You were suddenly sick again and Jungkook continued to rub your back, reaching for the bottle of water you'd been nursing for a while.

"You'll be getting more. Who's your doctor?" He questioned as he did his best not to panic. He'd never been good when people around him were sick, his mind always went to the worst-case scenario but you needed him and he could see that now.

"He's the most recently called number. He said this would be a side effect...I-I'm scared Jungkook." You managed to choke out as he pulled you into his arms,

"I'll make sure you get better, you have nothing to be worried about." He promised as he began to call your doctor, holding you close to him the entire time.

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adventuringblind · 4 months

Text

A Little Sick

Carlos Sainz Jr. x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Sick fic

Summary: Carlos' struggle to take care of his girlfriend who's both sick and regressed. Lucky for him, he knows how to get her to nap.

Warnings: Agere/age-regression, non-sexual ageplay, non-sexual use of daddy, sinus infection, fear of doctors, mentions of past trauma

Notes: Haven't written for Carlos in so long T_T

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

Carlos knew the second he heard sniffling that something wasn't right. The way fatigue seems to drip from his lover didn't go unnoticed.

The problem is that was two weeks ago. She'd claimed allergies or a minor cold. Her disgust at anything having to do with sickness and doctors showing through her lack of acceptance.

Carlos has half a mind to just lay on top of her and force her to rest. Alternatively, if he could get her to regress, this would be immesley easier.

He can see her forcing herself not to. The delicate line between headspace getting blurrier with each day.

It's when she wakes up in tears, the Carlos knows something has to be done.

"Princessa?" He rolls her over and bundles her up into his arms. Her entire body is on fire and when he touches her face, she wails in pain. "We should go see a doctor, amor."

She's non-verbal all morning, trying desperately not to slip in headspace. Until Carlos finally take the initiative. He hates doing this, but he's been doing this long enough to see when she needs to slip and let Carlos take care of her.

Carlos starts small by picking out her clothes. Comfortable, obviously, since they are just going to the doctor. Then he puts her shoes on for her and ties the laces. By the time he's done, he can see the look in her eyes. The one that aches with the need for comfort. Desperate to not face the object of her nightmares.

Carlos grabs her comfort item and places it gently into her hands. He kneels down in front of her. "I won't leave you alone, okay? I'll be with you the entire time. Can you be brave for me?" She gives him a shy nod in response.

Carlos gets her into the car and buckles her seatbelt for her. He turns on soft music and she bobs her head along to the words. He coos at her with how adorable she looks at the moment.

She freezes up the second he pulls into the parking lot. The fear in her eyes says everything. She's on the verge of a breakdown, but Carlos is there to calm her. He holds her hand and helps her breathe before helping her out of the car.

He manages getting her checked in since she's still non-verbal and on the verge of tears. Eyes glassy with terror over being in the place she despises.

Carlos runs his fingers along her spine. "You're doing so good, carina."

She freezes when her name is called. Her body trembling in fear and squeezing the life out of Carlos' hand with her own. He swiftly wraps an arm around her and whispers into her ear some reassurance.

She doesn't say a word to the doctor, only watches him with suspicion. He ends up prescribing antibiotics and sending them on their way.

She wails the second they are in the safety of the car. All the nerves she'd been biting back finally able to burst free of their confines. Carlos has to get her to breathe. The hyperventilation nearly making her sick. He doesn't let go of her hand the entire way home.

He carries her inside, still sniffling from the overwhelming emotions from earlier. Carlos feels awful for having to put her through such a thing. The fact he knows full well why she hates it making it even harder to do.

He settles her on the couch. One he can see her from despite being in the kitchen and hastily throwing together soup. The television is playing her movie of choice. The background noise has become soothing to both of them.

He ends up having to feed her the soup himself. Not that he minds, it just means having to change her clothes afterwards. Which is no easy task considering she's deadweight in his arms. On purpose, mind you, but she's giggling about it, so Carlos makes no complaint.

Carlos puts the movie back on afterwards. Her head resting on his lap as she curls up on the couch. The mountain of blankets obscuring her body and stuffed animals she dutifully brough with her.

"I did good, papá?" Her squeaky voice carries from where the blankets muffle it.

Carlos keeps a steady rhythm, fingers running against her scalp in a comforting manor. The repetition has always put her to sleep within minutes. "The best, amor. Sleep now, the more you rest the sooner you'll get better." Ke kisses her forehead. Her eye's drifting off into a peaceful slumber.

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mochinomnoms · 5 months

Note

Ok so this is totally inspired by the Ruggie being sick thing but sick Ptm Jade and Yuu taking care of him!!! I feel like somehow Azul would trick them into taking care of Jade (say he was busy or something with housewarden stuff). And when asked why Floyd can't take of his brother he'd butt in and say he hates how whiny Jade gets when sick. Idk I just have a feeling Jade would play up the dramatics when he's sick. And poor Yuu! Stuck watching the sick eel while endless fantasies go through Jade's head about a domestic lifestyle with them! And hopefully (but not likely) they won't have to see any nsfw thoughts this time!

-✨👀

Jade rarely gets sick, so when he does it's a whole ordeal of figuring out who takes care of his usual tasks and who will wrangle in Floyd (despite him and Floyd both stating that he's not Floyd's keeper and he thinks he's hella funny when he's up to shit.)

If we're setting this in ptm, then I can state with confidence that a second-year student named Marino De Reyes takes over Jade's tasks at Azul's request. And he does so beautifully. However, having someone to wrangle Floyd is a whole nother issue. Our sharky friend Tony is pushed to keep Floyd in check, as they're friends and Tony is typically more level-headed. However, when the two get together, their collective brain cells kinda die out and the two become menaces that actively encourage the other to get into shit. Honestly, Azul shouldn't be surprised, last the two were left to their own devices without someone to properly supervise, Floyd and Tony got tangled by a jellyfish's tentacles because, “they kinda looked like kelp and we wanted to see if they tasted good”. They got stung for over 15 minutes before Jade found them and had their fathers get them untangled.

They a little bit unhinged, to put it bluntly. So Azul and Aspen get busy wrangling their two friends from accidentally killing themselves parkouring on the roofs, So Azul, knowing that ptm!Yuu was taught first aid and care from the nurse, asks (begs) them to nurse Jade back to health. He can feel himself aging by the second, please Prefect, HELP.

So they do, and Jade is actually living in a delirious version of domestic bliss. Like, he actually thinks that you two are married and in your cottage by the forest and seaside. It makes the other students in the infirmary confused as hell, and the nurse giddy and teasing. Jade's not just wearing rose-tinted glasses, he got lasik surgery to have rose-tinted vision, because you can do no wrong. The fantasies he's having are actually quite sweet, just dreams of you two living together. You wake him up to take his medicine? He's visioning you hand feeding him breakfast in bed. Pushing his bangs away from his face to place a new wet towel on his fevering forehead? He's imagining you brushing your fingering through his hair. If Jade's sick enough to need someone else to take over tasks and have Azul owe you a favor to care for him, then he's just a bit delirious. For once, he's not filtering his words from his thoughts and just out right saying everything that his mind conjures.

“You're so pretty. A pretty, pretty pearl! Nurse Goethel, aren't they just beautiful? Ethereal, like seeing our galaxy in the night sky.”

“Pfft-oh? You're very correct Jade, wouldn't you agree, Prefect?”

“Um, well I—”

“I love your voice, my pearl. I can hear you speak all day…”

“Aw! How cute, did you know this Prefect? He's such a gentleman, you should go out—”

“You're so cute and sweet, I bet you taste sweet too~ I'd love to hear you moan for me as I—MmPH!”

Smothering a sick man with a pillow is not typically recommended by medical professionals, but you needed to preserve whatever bit of dignity you (and Jade at this point) had left. You thank the Seven that it was only you three in the room at that time. The week ends with Jade discharged and sent to his dorm with some antibiotics, but the nurse's teasing and swoons of young romance were just beginning…

(Now the real debate is whether or not Jade was actually delirious, or if he was pretending so he could say what he thought and gage your reactions. What do you think?)

#mochi asks #twst #twisted wonderland #jade leech #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jade leech x reader #ptm #✨👀 anon

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crazyoffher · 1 year

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WATCHTOWER. - 2

jenna ortega x fem!reader

summary: the same late-night visitor meets with you once again, this time with a goal in mind.

warnings: unedited. somewhat long, which i'm very sorry for i just love attention-to-detail sometimes.

word count: 2600+

part one part three

Scandal was playing on the TV, but you weren’t paying attention to what was happening — not that it mattered because you replayed the show so much you could name an episode's events off the top of your head. It was a rather chilly Thursday night for springtime, and you lay on the couch all sprawled around with a massive headache and a runny nose.

You had allergies, and they acted up harsher than usual, causing you to take the entire week off of work. You wanted to stay around in case Jenna came in that week, but you felt like fainting the first Monday, and you had been told to go home by your manager, Derek.

You were mindlessly scrolling through your phone, looking through Jenna’s entire Instagram your feed, when you were interrupted by a caller screen. It was your regular closing buddy, Jack, calling.

“I told you, the cleaning supplies are stocked under the boxes on the shelf next to the cooler.” You sighed, assuming that he was calling because he couldn’t remember the location of where you put the items.

“No, bro, it’s not that.” He practically screamed into the phone, erupting a groan out of you. “Keep your voice low; I have a massive fucking headache.”

“Well, I'm sorry that I can’t contain my emotions after just dealing with Jenna Ortega, who was looking for you.” That got you to sit upright. You have to be fucking kidding me.

You sighed heavily. “You can’t be serious! Ugh.”

“What? You were expecting her? God, I hate when you keep exciting secrets from me (Y/N), like when you literally served Zendaya and I had to sit and gawk at you when you were telling me you and her had a conversation!”

Rubbing your eyeballs, you put the phone on speaker as you pulled yourself up, turning to clean up the mess of tissues and plates that had accumulated over the past two days. “What did you say to her?”

“I told her that you work Monday, Thursday, and Saturday every week, but that you’d be gone the rest of the week because you were sick. When the fuck did you meet her?” You loaded the tissues (and empty ice-cream pint) into the trash and set the plates into the sink, saying, “Two weeks ago, when you decided to do the easiest job on Earth and leave me to do all of the cleanup work, you assface.”

“Man, you better be good by Monday because she looked pretty down when I told her you weren’t here.” You sighed at that; it only made your hatred for your pollen allergy worsen. “And she told me she’d be back on Monday if she wasn’t too busy that day.”

“I’ll take this as a sign to actually start taking my antibiotics.” You filled a cup with water, grabbing a Tylenol pill for your headache. “Why haven’t you been taking them in the first place?”

“So I’d have an excuse to take more than four days off. You just have to hate working at a Michelin star that celebrities love to raid sometimes.” You downed the pill, or more so, tried to, as it came back up, making you cough.

“Yeah, well, you tell that to Marissa, who’s been covering your days. She looks like she’s on the edge of a breakdown constantly.”

You attempted to swallow the pill again, this time successfully, as you downed the entire glass of water before placing it in the sink, joining the dirty plates. “Well, she’d be more accustomed to it if she didn’t decide to work only once a week and constantly coax me for a share of my tips. Now go back to cleaning up.”

Leaning against the counter of your kitchen, you hung up the phone, saying your goodbyes to Jack. Couldn't she have come around next week?

On Monday, you returned. In your nice suitwear, you made sure to groom yourself extra well in the morning in case Jenna did make her return to you that day, and she did…not.

To say you were disappointed was an understatement; you even stayed out five minutes past twelve to see if she’d walk in, but to no avail. Closing the doors to the restaurant with Jack, you took each step to your car with a form of anger.

“Are you alr-”

“You said she was going to come today!” You huffed. He shrugged, choosing the right words to reply to you; otherwise, you’d go insane.

“If she wasn’t too busy, she said. She probably just had an overwhelming day.” He assured you, but you weren’t necessarily in a positive mood. You mimicked him, putting your hands on your face and rubbing your eyes.

“Or she just didn’t want to see me. She probably saw that I wasn’t there and was like, “Oh, well, fuck that girl then.” Ugh, I hate sickness.” Sneezing right after your sentence, Jack shuffled away from you slightly before climbing into your passenger seat when you unlocked your car.

You had promised to give him a ride because his car’s engine sounded off and he didn’t want to take it to work. “I call the music!”

“It's my car, asshole.” You jumped into the driver's seat without fighting Jack for the Bluetooth, as he had already been connected. “All I’m saying is, you shouldn’t worry. Celebrities, especially rising ones like her, are always busier than we are. Plus, you’re not all that special; I know I wouldn’t willingly go to a restaurant to see you at midnight when I’m a second away from passing out from tiredness.”

You shoved him, one hand on the wheel, as you rolled out of the parking lot and onto the immediate freeway. “And you’re so amazing?”

“I’m perfect, thank you very much.”

It took you about thirty minutes to drop off Jack at his apartment, seeing that it was in a different town, and he made you stop at a gas station for a bag of Munchies. As soon as you fell onto your bed, you were out like a light.

When Thursday came around, you weren’t so optimistic about Jenna showing up. Actually, you debated calling out just because you didn’t feel like working that day, but you knew that your request would probably get declined because it was last-minute and it wasn’t for an emergency, so you got ready.

To your surprise, the day was calm. There were only about two well-known celebrities, and they were enthusiastically nice to you and tipped generously, leaving Jack to complain about your tips for the day, considering that he had almost half less and had a drink thrown on him by a TikTok influencer.

“Why do you always get the nicer tables with big tips while I get stuck with cows who try using their “influence” to get out of paying for their seven-fifty ($750) dollar meal?” He huffed, pretending to be busy because he was currently dealing with — actually, not even a D-lister, just somebody who was in the background of a Marvel movie in 2015.

Meanwhile, you were on your thirty minute break, munching on a burrito you had bought before walking into work that morning. “Because I’m nice and charismatic, even to those that throw their food on my clothes. You, on the other hand, have no charisma at all, and you purposefully set a bitchy tone whenever someone’s mean to you. Nobody’s tipping a man who looks to be on the verge of throwing them onto the highway.”

“Well-”

“Carlile!” Derek called out Jack’s name — or technically, last name, “Back to work, there’s a girl that came in, I’m thinking B-list but on her way to the A-list.”

“I’m dealing with some background extra right now!” He called out, buttoning up his vest he had unbuttoned earlier to breathe, and Derek came into the back where you guys were. “They wanted to leave, so Harvey gave them their check and took your tip from them while he was at it, so go and serve the girl!”

Derek left, and Jack huffed. “God, I hate that fucker. I’m getting that tip back.” And with that, he disappeared as well, anger evident in his step. You just laughed at him, twenty minutes left on your break as you laid back on the chair, tearing up the bulky burrito.

Not even five minutes later, Jack came rushing in, sweat beads on his forehead as he had a large smile on his face. “Guess who’s here.”

“Mmm, by the way you’re smiling, I’d say Spencer Charnas.”

“No, dumbass! Jenna’s here.” You coughed, choking up the burrito chunk you tried to swallow. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Getting up, you viewed yourself in the mirror. Your hair was messed up, tie in disarray, and your shirt sleeves slightly wrinkled from having them rolled up. You were not looking sharp.

“Yes, I told her that I’d switch her table over to you after getting her the drinks she and her — might I say, massive bodyguards, ordered. So go!”

He ushered you out of the backroom, hands on your tie fixing it into place and undoing your sleeves, fixing them down to your wrist. “I thought she was gonna come after we closed, like how she did before.”

“I guess she couldn’t wait to see you, buddy. Now you go and get your first girlfriend, yeah?” He patted your back, and you slapped him on the arm before heading into the dining section. Luckily, she was sat at the edge of a window where there was an empty walkway to her table, avoiding you of any interruptions by surrounding customers.

“What would you like to get started with?” You adjusted your vest, not making eye contact with Jenna just yet. Any observant person could tell you were nervous. “Well, hello to you too.”

You looked up, meeting her eyes and smiling. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there last Thursday, got a little sick and thought it was best to not infect everyone, especially you.”

“It’s fine. Oh, and here.” She reached into the bag sat next to her, pulling out the book before handing it over to you, urging you to take it due to the weight of it. “Thank you. I didn’t expect you to finish so early, you said you’re busy constantly, after all.”

“I read it on the days I wasn’t all too busy, mostly on the way to meetings and in my trailer on set.” Jenna shrugged it off, adding, “And you were right, it’s a really good book.”

“Well, if you ever need any more book suggestions, I’m here. You want to get something to eat, or do you want me to come back in a bit?”

“Mmm, give me like five minutes, yeah?” She flashed you a smile that you dumbly nodded at, turning on your heel and heading into the kitchen, meeting Jack halfway there and you practically jumped on him.

“Someone’s giddy.”

“Oh, shut up. She’s making me nervous, Jack, she keeps eye contact — do you know what it’s like to hold eye contact with a pretty girl?”

“I’m assuming it’s nervewracking.”

“Oh right, I forgot. You can’t talk to girls.” You put his hand on his shoulder, sending him a fake sympathetic smile that he glared at.

“So, when are you asking her out?” Jack grabbed a couple plates, presumably for the table he was serving and you just laughed, causing him to send you a look.

You stopped upon seeing his confused glare. “Oh, you’re not joking. She doesn’t like me, I think I’d know if a girl likes me.”

“But, you wouldn’t. You’ve never had a girlfriend in your life, despite your many talking stages, all of which were online. You’re not experienced in body language, bud. Go out there and take her order, and see how it goes from there.” Leaving you standing in the busy kitchen, you thought about it.

Taking advice from Jack wasn’t the best idea, though. He dated a catfish for five months, for fuck's sake.

Walking back into the main room, you walked over to the shelf and put the bulky navy-colored book back in it’s former place, shifting some books to slot it in. Eyeing Jenna’s table, you saw how she sat there, hands clasped together, talking to her bodyguards.

“You ready now?” You walked up to the table, hands together behind your back, and gave her a small smile.

“Yeah, I’ll have,” Jenna re-opened the menu, pinpointing her option as “Lobster ravioli with Mascovy duck breast, whatever that is.” She laughed slightly, a smile still etched on your face, and said, “And…a date with you.” She spoke lowly, as if she were purposefully lowering her voice so you couldn’t hear her.

“And a what? Sorry.” You apologized, leaning in slightly closer to hear. “A…chance to hang out with you, if you’re up for that. Other people, like friends, can be there too, of course.”

Your mouth gaped open, and the longer you took to answer, the more anxious Jenna became.

"Definitely, yeah, sure.” You managed to get out, nodding your head extensively, and Jenna’s anxiousness faded.

You got her bodyguard's order as well, practically running to the kitchen to give your paper to a chef before scanning for Jack and watching him eat a lobster that one of the cooks seemed to have prepared for his break time. “Did you ask her out?”

“No, but she asked me to hang out with her.” To your words, Jack shot one hand up and mumbled something that you couldn’t recognize, lobster in his mouth.

“She practically wants you.” He repeated, this time more recognizable. “Yeah, yeah.” You waved him off, pacing around with your hands glued together, thinking.

“No, think about it.” Jack set his plate down, swallowing the last bits of his lobster. “She’s busy, right? She’s got like five thousand movies coming out this year and next year, which means that she’d be making time through her busy schedule to be with you! She likes you a lot.”

You stopped, your hands transferring over to your hips. You eyed him, skeptical at first, before sighing. “You think so?”

Jack nodded. “Definitely, go get her tiger.” He pushed you away, hearing the sound of your name being called along with four plates being set off to the side.

You took the plates, setting them on a tray before balancing it on your hand, suddenly a lot more paranoid about dropping them than you’ve ever been. “Here you go.”

Bringing the tray into both your hands, you set the plates aside one by one before tucking it under your arm. “If you guys need anything else, just call me over.”

“Well,” Jenna’s voice stopped you from walking away, “In order for me to see you again, I’d need your number.”

“Right!” You said rather enthusiastically, taking her phone that she held out and typing your number in, sending her one last smile before retreating back into the kitchen.

Sadly, that was the last time you saw her that day because Harvey decided to steal your table, as he did to Jack earlier, to try and capture your tip.

“(Y/N).” Derek called out for you, walking into the room to catch you wiping up tables. “That girl you served earlier, the one that Harvey stole, told me to give your tip to you. She definitely caught on to him.” He laughed, handing you a stack of money before waving goodbye.

You gawked at the amount, five-hundred dollars as a tip was probably the biggest you ever got, and it was from a girl who, besides you, took an interest in you that she was sure to soon act on.

☟ ☟ ☟

i feel like part one was written remotely better than this part, but regardless, i hope you enjoy this :)

#jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #wednesday addams #bodyguard #celebrity #actress #jenna marie ortega #celebrity x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #restaurant au #wattpad #fanfiction #lesbian

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