#and i was burning up a fever i didn’t care much how long i lived | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aliaology · 4 months

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WORK SONG

summary: jacks mind runs constantly, and you’re the reason

small a/n: per usual, readers looks wont be described, so reader can look however you want ♡ , does get slightly sensual! not tagging ppl for this one bc i forgot my taglist and im sleepy

pairings: jack hughes x fem!reader

not doing my tags bc im too lazy for this rn

boys workin’ on empty, is that the kinda way to face the burning heat? i just think about my baby. im so full of love i could barely eat

being in love was a full time job, and jack had no complaints. he loved being in love because it meant waking up next to you. it meant he was able to touch you, to feel you, to be with you. oh— how he loved it. he didn’t care if he was at practice, just thinking about you, because you were his motivator. he didn’t need drinks or food or sleep to play, just you.

you brought him the strength he craved, you were his number one fan. the one who supported him through thick and thin even when he was wrong. the one who held their hand out, so he could grab it and begin to climb. you were such an angel.

there’s nothing sweeter than my baby. i’d never want once from the cherry tree. ‘cause my baby’s sweet as can be. she’d give me toothaches just from kissin’ me.

your kisses were sweet. the way you’d pepper them against his skin, over and over and over again, made him fall deeply. you were his muse and your sound was so pretty. the way your mouth would drop open, noises escaping it. oh how you were so beautiful.

your lips tasted like cherries, a favorite fruit that he began liking the second his tongue met with the flavor of you. the flavor would linger, no matter what lips he kissed.

the feeling of your fingers on his face, or his lips, anywhere on his body, was like heaven. giving into you like a drug— he was addicted. he loved your touch, no matter if it was gentle, or the scratches you’d leave on his back. he yearned for more.

and i was burning up a fever. i didn’t care much how long i lived. i swear i thought i dreamed her. she never asked me once about the wrong i did.

jack hated being sick just because of the feeling. the feeling of a stuffy nose, a headache, the cough. all of it. but you somehow made it good. the way you would take care of him, pressing a cold cloth to his forehead when he had a fever. or when you’d make soup from scratch, your grandmas recipe that you keep a secret.

you were too good to be true. you were the embodiment of perfect in jacks eyes. everything about you. from how you spoke and how your tone was always gentle — to how you felt inside and out. every time you grip jacks hand hard— he swears he’s dreaming. you can’t be real. you were ethereal.

my babe would never fret none, about what my hands and my body done. if the lord dont forgive me, i’d still have my baby and my babe would have me.

jack didn’t like you worrying. he hated it, hated how you would get so scared that he would leave to go back to an ex. how you thought you were nothing compared to them— but you were so much more. you were his everything. the one who kept him going. you were his sun, he revolved around you. he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“baby— what if they ever want you back? they’re so pretty.”

“oh baby, they could never compare to you.”

he didn’t care what he’d have to do, but he’d do it all for you to stay happy. in his eyes, you hung the universe. you were his universe.

when i was kissing on my baby, and she put her love down soft and sweet. in the low lamp light i was free. heaven and hell were words to me.

being able to press slow kisses to your neck and shoulders were his favorite things to do. or watching your soft body rock gently with his as your sweet love lit him up. you made jack forget everything in the world no matter where you were. you made jack forget everything else just by talking to him.

skin on skin, heavy breathing, sloppy kisses, it was all sweet. it was all you, you and your love. no time with him was for the hell of it. all of it was love, pure and desirable.

when my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth. no grave can hold my body down, ill crawl home to her.

love. jack loved being in love. he hated the saying ‘til death do us part’ and it wasn’t because he didn’t believe it. he hated it because it would never apply to him. he wanted a saying that would be one he could hold onto forever, just like your hand. he wouldn’t part ways with you once death decided to take over.

no— he’d hold you the entire time. he’d be with you no matter where you were. he’d wait until you two met again— and then he’d take you to another universe because in every one of them, you were soulmates.

jack would not let a grave, or death, part you two. he would hold onto you whether it be with one hand, or with his heart.

#hockey #jack hughes #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl hockey #new jersey #new jersey devils #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x you #jack hughes imagine #jh86 #jhughes #jhugh #jhugh86 #hughes

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bratzforchris · 3 months

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Hey! Can I ask for a request of Matt caring for you when you're sick? It can be fem or gender neutral reader, I don't mind :) I feel like he's just so soft and gentle and AHHHHH 😌 Thank you and I hope you're doing good!

Chicken Soup, M. Sturniolo

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ

Summary: In which Matt decides that the best way to help your cold is a big pot of homemade soup

Pairing: Matt x feminine reader

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 993

A/N: Thank you for request! Ya girl has COVID rn, so where is my Matt to care for me 🤨

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ

You rarely got sick. If you did, it was usually just a headache and the sniffles. Rarely were you ever sick enough to stay home from school or work, and hardly ever enough to be bed bound. Everyone was bound to get sick at some point, though, and that was how you found yourself at nine am on this particular Sunday morning.

You blinked open your eyes, noting the pain in your limbs as you stretched out from sleeping. It took less than ten seconds of you being awake to notice something was off. Your head was pounding, your throat hurt, you were shivering with body aches, and you let out a barking cough as you yawned. Too stubborn in your ‘I don’t get sick’ mindset to get up and get some medicine, you closed your eyes and snuggled closer to Matt, who was still asleep, brown hair feathered across his pillow.

The exhaustion from your illness kicked in, and it didn’t take you long to fall asleep again. You and your boyfriend stayed asleep for quite some time, until Matt woke up feeling too hot. As he shifted, he realized it wasn’t that he was hot, it was your cuddled frame making him feel that way. Being so in love with you, Matt was in sync with everything about you, and quickly noticed your congested sores.

“Phew,” Matt mumbled, pressing a kiss to your forehead to check your temperature. “You're burning up.” he whispered sadly.

Luckily, the movement didn’t wake you and Matt was able to slide out of bed, pulling the covers over you. He wandered into the kitchen, making himself a bagel and looking at the clock on the microwave. You rarely ever slept past eight-thirty, which only worried him more. As if his thoughts summoned you, you appeared in the kitchen beside him when he turned, wrapped in a thick blanket, shivering and coughing.

“Oh sweetheart,” he said sadly, pulling you into a hug. “You look miserable.”

“Well good morning to you too.” You mumbled, not losing your sass in your sickness.

“How long have you been feeling sick, babe? You’re burning.”

You didn’t protest when Matt picked you up bridal style and carried you to the couch, effortlessly laying you down against the soft cushions and then snuggling beside you. “I just woke up like this.” You whispered sadly.

That made Matt worry, but he tried not to let the anxiety crease his face. “What are your symptoms?”

“Fever, sore throat, body pains, headache, and cough.” You rattled off sadly.

Matt kissed your forehead with a soft ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘Be right back’. He quickly stood up off the couch and went into the kitchen, digging around for things that would make you feel better. You could hear him bustling around, followed by a large crash, but you were much too tired to care. You just closed your eyes and snuggled further into your blanket, resting your throbbing head against the couch cushions.

“I’m sorry,” Your boyfriend whispered, reentering the living room. “I dropped a glass.”

“I heard.” You croaked and coughed, opening your eyes to see Matt balancing a thermometer, medicine, your water bottle, and tea in his hands.

Matt carefully placed the items on the coffee table, trying to be gentle. He quickly took your temperature, frowning when the thermometer read 103.2 (39.5 C). “That’s high, baby. Let’s take some medicine, okay?”

You were too tired to do much else, so you just nodded, allowing Matt to dose you up on medicine and hand you the tea. You both continued to cuddle for the rest of the morning, despite your protests. Whenever you told your boyfriend he would get sick, Matt just responded with the cliché ‘I don’t care’. That led you to now, where you were cuddled up on Matt’s chest, coughing, while some trashy reality TV played. You had moved from the couch since this morning, and it was nearing one pm.

Matt didn’t feel very good about letting you sit here and burn up with fever, so he gently kissed your forehead, rubbing your back. “Hey hun? Why don’t you go take a shower and I’ll make you some food while you do that? It might help your aches and open your sinuses.” he explained gently, rubbing your back.

“Not hungry.” You mumbled.

“Not even for soup?”

That seemed to help make up your mind. You trudged to the shower after Matt planted a kiss to your cheek. Once he heard the water start and you step into the shower, Matt padded to the kitchen, pulling out everything he would need for soup. Though he didn’t look like it, your boyfriend was an excellent cook. He had been taught well, and continued to carry those skills into adulthood. As he poured the noodles, chicken, and vegetables into the pot, his heart broke as he listened to your congested coughs coming from the bathroom.

It wasn’t long before you had finished up in the shower and entered the kitchen, wrapping your arms around Matt from behind as he stirred the pot on the stove.

“Hey baby!” he smiled, kissing your head. “Feeling better?”

“A little,” You admitted, your cheeks blushing as you sniffled. “That looks good.” You peered into the soup pot.

“This is what my mom would do when we were kids and sick.” Matt admitted shyly, a blush dotting his nose.

“AWWWW,” You started, then coughed. “Baby Matt.”

Your boyfriend kissed you again, before patting your ass softly. “Go lay down, hun. I’ll bring it to you when it’s ready.”

And as you cuddled up on the couch, eager for Matt’s cuddles and famous, homemade soup, you couldn’t help but to think about how lucky you were that you had a lovely, caring boyfriend. The fact that he was an excellent cook who also served as a cuddly teddy bear was an added bonus if you had ever seen one.

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ot8archivesblog · 6 months

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Stray Kids Sick Prompt

꒰ ͜͡➸ Pairing: ot8 x Reader

꒰ ͜͡➸ Genre: Fluff, skz taking care of reader, mentions of sickness, mentions of throwing up, a lot of cuddling, everyone being just adorable and cute, established relationship, I hope you'll love it!! <3

꒰ ͜͡➸ w/c: 3,4k

꒰ ͜͡➸ Masterlist

Chan:

Chan is normally extremely engrossed in his work. He rarely takes a day off and when he does, he mostly spends it with you. You always knew this, what you also knew however, was that Chan would always put you first, like he did now. “Baby, are you sure you’re okay? Should I get you something else?”, he looked at you, the worry in his eyes barely concealed. You just shook your head. It was one of the rare occasions that you were sick. Chan had immediately put work aside and made sure that you were warm and doing okay. Which resulted in you lying on the couch, surrounded by a lot of pillows and warm blankets. He even brought heating pads and ordered your favourite food. Your favourite show was currently on TV but you couldn’t really focus on anything but your worrying boyfriend. He always worried too much. “I’m fine Chan, I really am.” “You don’t look fine.”, he sighed as he sat down next to you so you could cuddle into his side, but you didn’t. You tried to keep as much distance as possible, which only made him raise a brow. “Baby? You okay?”, Chan knew you loved his hugs and cuddles. You always told him that. So of course he’d be confused as to why you’re not immediately jumping into his embrace. “I don’t want you to get sick too.”, you pout. Chan only shook his head, pulling you into his embrace. “I’ll be fine. Plus we’re living in the same apartment anyway, so this won’t change anything.”, he muttered softly after securing you in his warm embrace. Your back was on his chest, while you two watched the show that was currently on TV. The food had also arrived already so you were enjoying a nice evening

Minho:

Even though many say that Minho seems mean or cold, the people who really paid attention to him knew that wasn’t true. He was one of the most caring and sweet people on earth and it always showed. You were just talking on the phone with him. He was still at practice with the other members, but he felt that something was weird with how you responded to his text, so he wanted to call and make sure you’re okay. So you tried your best to not cough or appear sick in any type of way, as you knew that he would immediately come back home. “Jagi, something doesn’t seem right. Are you feeling sick?” “No, why?”, your lie was caught quickly as you couldn’t hold back a cough. “You’re sick? You seemed fine this morning?”, you could hear the other members around him and his worried voice. “I’m fine. It’s just a little cough.” “Sure?” “And a little fever but nothing more.”, he didn’t even let you finish when he started to pack up his things, apologising to the others, who obviously didn’t mind and left the studio. “I’m coming home now. Do you need me to pick something up on the way?”, you sighed. “You didn’t have to leave early because of me.” “It’s fine. I’ll get your favourite food and then I’ll be home in a bit.” It didn’t take long for him to be back home, immediately making his way to the living room as he heard the TV was on. He put the food on the table and made his way to you, to check on your condition. “You’re burning up, Jagi. That’s not a little fever.”, he raised a brow but didn’t scold you as he took the food out of the bag and went to your room to get more blankets. After turning you into a burrito he finally sat down next to you and gave you your portion of the food, before taking his. “Thank you.” “Of course, next time don’t lie. Your health is more important than practice.”, he ruffled up your hair softly before you two started eating and talking about your days.

Changbin:

Changbin spent most of his time in the GYM and he also got rarely sick, as he took a lot of care of his health. He seemed like someone who wouldn’t know what to do with a cold, however someone couldn’t be more wrong. As always, he was currently at the GYM with Chan and Minho. Your fever was pretty high but you didn’t want to worry him because you thought that it would go down by itself. However, when you started to throw up you couldn't hold back any longer and called Changbin. “Angel, is everything okay?”, he knew you’d normally never call while you knew that he was in the GYM. He mostly kept his phone on silence but you were one of the contacts who could still call. “Not really.”, your voice sounded weakened, which immediately worried Changbin. He stopped the workout he was working on. “I’m coming home. Do you need me to get you anything?” “Something against throwing up maybe?” “You threw up?! Angel, why are you calling only now?”, you could hear that he was now packing up his things faster, only shouting a quick goodbye to the boys before he left the studio. “I’ll be home in a few, please hold on!”, he ended the call after your confirmation and arrived home after only 10 minutes, making you wonder if he ran all the way home. “Angel?”, he kicked his shoes off and immediately walked to the bathroom after you called out to him. “Why are you sitting here?” “I’m scared to go to the living room because I could throw up…” Changbin nodded and picked you up easily, walking to the living room and sitting you down on the couch. He brought a bucket, leaving it next to the couch and took out a little bag with medicine. “I told the lady at the pharmacy what your symptoms were and got everything she suggested… I panicked.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at his behaviour, while leaning against him softly. You were exhausted due to all the throwing up. Changbin read through the different descriptions and then decided on one of those and you took it. He brought a few pillows and blankets, making it cozy for you before he went to the kitchen to order some stuff as he didn’t want to leave you for long. After the food arrived he settled next to you, pulling you closer to him so you could lean against him while you ate the food together.

Hyunjin:

Saying Hyunjin was dramatic was sometimes not doing him justice. He certainly was dramatic and sometimes even too much, but that was what you loved about him. He was often like that because he cared a lot. The last few months he started spending a lot of time with 3Racha in the Studio and you were immensely proud of him because of it. He had always wanted to sit there with them and produce music and you were so happy for him that it had worked out. He became immersed into writing, like he does with painting. He was very passionate about both, but he was also passionate about you and he tried to never let you forget that even though he had a busy schedule. It was rather late into the night when you became sick. A fever making its way through your system and it didn’t take long unless you had to throw up. Hyunjin still hadn’t come back, so you figured he was still in the studio. You didn’t want to disturb him, as you didn’t know if he was currently in a flow he shouldn’t be stopped at. You knew he wouldn’t be mad at you but you still felt bad. So you were relieved when you heard the door open only a few minutes after your dilemma. Hyunjin came into the room, smiling at you the moment your eyes met, however it didn’t stay for long. “Sunshine, are you okay? You look sick?”, he immediately came closer and cupped your face in his hands, paying close attention to every detail. “You’re pale.” “I’m not feeling too well.” “Since when? Why didn’t you call me? You have a fever! Did you throw up? Is the fever high? Do we have to go to the hospital? Let me call Chan-Hyung.” “Jinnie.”, I stopped him and shook my head. “I’m fine. I threw up but it’s not too bad. I haven’t looked at my temperature yet but it shouldn’t be so bad.” “How can you know it’s not bad if you haven’t looked?” He immediately got up from the bed, after tucking you in again and went to get the thermometer. He only calmed down when he noticed that the temperature really wasn’t too high. “Let me go find something that you can take for your nausea.” He came back in a few minutes and brought a pill for you to take. After that he snuggled in next to you, holding you close against his chest. “Next time you’ll immediately call me or I’ll install cameras so that I always know how you’re doing.” He pouted. “It really started a little before you came back.” You chuckled softly but Hyunjin’s playful pout didn’t leave his lips.

Jisung:

Jisung was probably the funniest and easiest person to be around. There wasn’t a moment he didn’t manage to make you laugh, but that wasn’t the only thing about Jisung you loved. There were moments not many knew about, where Han would talk about his worries and feelings. He was a very soft person who could get hurt easily. Many people saw his insecurities but he always tried to mask them behind his carefree character. “Darliiiing, I haven’t heard your voice in a while. How is my favourite person.”, you could hear the members protest in the back and couldn’t help but laugh. It was always funny listening to their bickering. Though you couldn’t completely enjoy it this time. Your head was hurting rather bad and you weren’t feeling fine at all, but you also didn’t want to worry Jisung. He always got extremely anxious and worried when you got sick. “I’m doing fine. What about you?” Your voice was slightly hoarse because of all the coughing and Jisung picked up on that. He was very perceptive. “Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t sound okay.” His voice got quiet as he was afraid his loud voice could hurt you, because he didn’t know what was going on yet. “It’s fine really. My head is just hurting a bit. No need to worry.” “You sure? You did seem a bit warm this morning… I’m coming home.” You knew there was no way to change his mind after he made it up. He was worried now and he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else until he knew that you really were okay. He ended the call afterwards, packing his things and getting ready to leave. It didn’t take him long to arrive home and your fears came true. He had a big bag in his hand as he entered the living room. “So I didn’t really know what you’d need so I got different types of food, medicine and drinks. Whatever you feel like, I think I got everything here.” “Sungie, I’m not pregnant, I’m sick. So I’m not really craving any food in particular.” You chuckle as you look at your worried boyfriend. After taking some medicine, Jisung made it cozy on the couch for both of you so that you could enjoy some TV together while snacking on the things that he had brought with him.

Felix:

If anyone thought that Felix was the cutest angel ever send down to earth, than you could certainly confirm that. There was not a person cuter than Felix in your eyes. He was always thoughtful and perceptive whenever something was going on, so it was obvious that he wouldn’t miss you feeling unwell. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? You were a little warm this morning as well.” “I was probably like that because I had just woken up, don’t worry too much Lixie, I’m okay.” You replied. He had called a few hours after he had left for the studio. You knew he’d be worried, since he didn’t even want to leave in the morning after noticing that your temperature was slightly different than normally, but you had convinced him that it was nothing. “I don’t know. Can you go look at your temperature, please? I won’t feel at ease unless I know you’re okay.” You agreed with him and after doing as he said, you noticed that it was slightly higher than you had expected. The silence worried Felix even more. “Love, is everything alright? What does the thermometer say?” You figured lying to him wouldn’t make this better so you told him the truth. “I figured. I’ll be there in 10.” With that he cut the call short, not leaving you any time to protest, as he knew that you would. He arrived in exactly 10 minutes and hugged you, kissing your forehead softly. “Let me make something for you, while you take your medicine and relax and then we can watch your favourite show together. Sounds like a plan?” You nodded and after making sure you were comfortable and warm on the couch, meaning after he covered you with a million blankets and set a million pillows around you, he left for the kitchen. “You don’t have to make anything fancy. You just came home from practice. I’m sure you're tired too!” You called out to him, worried that he might overdo it with the cooking again. “Don’t worry, I’m never too tired from cooking.” He replied quickly, leaving you no time to worry. After another 20 minutes he emerged from the kitchen with food that didn’t only smell heavenly but also looked like it. He sat down next to you, already putting on your favourite show to watch, while you two ate in mostly silence. You snuggled up against him and he smiled softly before the alarm on his phone went off around 30 minutes into the series. “Something wrong?” You asked, worried that it might have to do with him leaving the studio early. He only shook his head and went to the kitchen, returning with a batch of brownies. “Oh no, Lixie you didn’t have to!” Of course you, like everyone else, loved his brownies. But he had already worked hard enough today. “I was planning on making them anyway, so don’t worry too much and let’s just enjoy them while they’re still warm.”

Seungmin:

Seungmin’s and your relationship was always full of playful banter and insults, as you both knew that you love each other a lot and never take any of those things serious. Even though many would call that mean or weird, neither of you would care. However, what not many people saw of Seungmin, was that he was extremely caring and careful, when it was only the two of you. This was even more noticeable when you were sick. “I’m calling the boys, I’m not going to the studio today.” He declared and took out his phone. “Minnie, I’m fine really. You don’t have to worry about me.” “You just threw up? I’m not leaving. What kind of boyfriend would I be, to just leave you alone.” “But your comeback is soon.” “Soon. That means most things are already done and one day of missing practice won’t be the end of the world. Now stop worrying your head over this and lie back down.” It was a demand and you knew it. Seungmin wasn’t one to argue with, when it was about your health and well-being. You lied back down, while he called the boys. After a few minutes he returned with a heating pad and tea. “Drink this, it will help and you’ll probably get cold in a bit so keep this close as well.” “Where are you going?” “To the store, to get some things. By the way, the boys also hope you’ll feel better soon.” You smiled at that, before Seungmin left the room. He was right, after a few minutes you started to feel cold and you were very grateful for the heating pad which kept you warm. The tea was also a great help for your sore throat and your cough died down while drinking the tea. It didn’t take long for Seungmin to get back either, entering the room with a little back. “So I got snacks which help when you’re throwing up and some medicine which you should take now. I’ll make you some soup now as well and then we can watch something if you want to.” “You don’t have to.” “I know that I don’t have to.” He shrugged and left the bag with you, before he left for the kitchen. It didn’t take him long to return to your shared bedroom, with a tray of soup and little sweets. “Only if you feel like it. I know you love sweet stuff after taking in medicine but don’t risk it, if you’re feeling nauseous.” You nodded and took the medicine, taking only a small chocolate to not risk throwing up again. After that Seungmin sat down next to you, holding you close while you watched something on TV.

Jeongin:

You had always heard the rumour that Jeongin doesn’t like physical contact but you had never experienced it. Around you, he was always clingy and loved hugging or cuddling, so you figured either the members made it up or he was just shy around them or maybe they were just too clingy for him. However, Jeongin got even more clingy when you got sick, which was very contra-productive as you were afraid that he could get sick as well. This time was no exception. “Innie, you really shouldn’t be so close to me.” “Why not? We live together, if you’re sick, I’m gonna get sick eventually.” “Yeah, but we don’t have to speed up the process.” His pout was just the cutest and it always made you melt. “Shouldn’t you be in the studio anyway?” “I told the boys you’re sick and that I won’t be coming.” You had figured he would do this. It’s not like you didn’t want him around. You just feared that he would get sick as well and you hated it when Jeongin was sick. “I’ll order some food for you, or no wait, I’ll go to the store and get you medicine and food. how does that sound?” His questioning gaze made your heart melt and you just nodded. Even though Innie mostly looked cute in your eyes, there were many moments where you wouldn’t consider him “cute”. It didn’t take long for him to come back with three small bags. “What did you get?” You figured he wouldn’t keep his shopping tour “small”. Innie never did. “Well I didn’t know what you’re craving so I just got everything I thought you might want.” He put the bags down on the bed and you looked through the stuff he had brought. It was mostly food that needed to be heated up, but some sweets and snacks had also found their way into the bags. “I also got us bubble tea.” He stood up from the bed and went to get them from the fridge. After both of you decided on something to eat, he went to heat it up, while you set up Netflix to watch a movie or series. It didn’t take long for him to come back, setting everything on a little table which you could put on the bed. He then snuggled close to you, holding you softly in his arms while you enjoyed the movie, food and snacks. However, your fears came true when the next day, you woke up completely better, but Jeongin woke up with a fever.

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upsidedownwithsteve · 2 years

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Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2.7k] some hurt/comfort, a little angst and 'work song' by hozier because I can't get it out of my head after my lovely anon reintroduced it to me last week.

“I was burnin' up a fever I didn't care much how long I lived But I swear I thought I dreamed her She never asked me once about the wrong I did.”

Steve had told you everything, eventually.

A few months into your relationship and he’d sat you down in Nancy Wheelers basement, surrounded by the kids you thought he simply babysat for, a girl you’d never met making a toy robot come to life in front of you, its batteries in Steve’s hand.

It took a while, it took time but you listened and you understood. You cried when you got back to your boyfriend's house, overwhelmed by hot, fat tears and hiccups in your throat, but Steve held you through your fear, promised he’d always protect you, that he only told you so he could keep you safe.

And the next day, when he dropped you off at work with kisses to your lips, your cheek, the baby hairs on your temple, he’d gone back to Nancy’s basement and gathered his friends.

He made them all promise there and then that you would never, ever hear the words “code red.”

He kept you away from it all, kissed away your worries if he showed up with some cuts and scrapes after fighting monsters that he hoped you’d never have to see. Steve told you everything, he just didn’t need you to witness it.

But then there was the night that it all got too much and despite telling Robin that he was fine, despite Eddie dropping him home alone, the other boy pushing for him to go to you instead, Steve hid in his bathroom, bent over the sink and covered in blood.

The bites on his side were nasty, mottled skin and crimson red, hot searing pain when he tried to wrap a clean bandage around himself. Waves of nausea hit him, making the boy weak at the knees and a sickly heat bite at his skin.

It was almost two o’clock in the morning when he decided he needed you. It felt like giving in when he knocked on your door, thankful your parents were out of town. It felt like breaking a promise, taking back an oath because you were never supposed to see this, you were never supposed to worry.

Steve was supposed to protect you, you see?

He couldn’t help but lean into the door frame, eyes clenched shut in pain as he waited for you to answer. It felt cruel to do this, to put this on you, but he didn’t know what else to do.

It felt like liquid hot fire was ripping at his skin, a white hot burn of pain and Jesus fucking Christ, he only wanted you.

Steve heard the soft thump of your bedroom door opening, the softer sounds of your feet coming down the stairs before the hall light flickered on and he braced himself against the bricks.

“Hey sweetheart,” he tried to sound normal, he really tried, he didn’t want to panic you but his voice was a vice grip around your throat, squeezing panic into you. “M’sorry, I’m so sorry, I need your help.”

You had never really understood the expression when people said that their blood ran cold. But an icy sting flushed over you, gripped at your chest and twisted, because your boyfriend was barely upright, slashes of crimson painting his cotton T-shirt and his skin looked pale, shadows under his eyes smudged and dark.

“Steve,” you breathed his name, a rush of worry, voice laced with fright and the sluggish leftovers of sleep. But you helped him in, hands on his biceps, doing nothing more than guiding him to you. “Fuck, fuck, Steve, what happened?”

His hands found your waist, his head on your shoulder, the slope of his nose pressed to your neck, and for a second, the pain subsided. But then stripes of fire were licking across his ribs again and he groaned low, giving you more of his weight.

You swayed against him, hands flying to grip his shoulders more tightly, your body braces against his and fear was clutching at your chest. Hot tears brimmed at your lashes and you couldn’t help the sob bubble from your chest.

You were so scared.

There was too much blood.

“When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her.”

“No, no, baby,” Steve was mumbling to you, trying to right himself, shaking hands clutching at your cheeks as he tried to calm you. Thumbs brushed at your lashline, his eyes just as sad as yours. “Baby.”

“I’m sorry,” you tried to say but the words were getting stuck in your chest, the apology caught in a net of terror and worry, and stuttered gasps fell from your lips instead.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Steve pushed a kiss to your cheek, messy and off kilter, his mouth pressing to the corner of yours, “I didn’t know where else to go, I’m okay, m’gonna be okay, yeah?”

You weren’t sure who he was trying to convince, but the rough scratch of his voice, pressed to your jaw, grounded you a little more. So you nodded, steeling yourself and letting the boy wipe at your eyes before you took a little step back.

You tangled your hands in his, keeping a hold on him like you were his lifeline. Steve thought you were.

“Okay,” you breathed, “okay. Tell me what to do.”

It’s how you found yourself in the downstairs bathroom, the smallest room in the house and it was filled with hot steam that billowed out from the corner shower.

The water pounded down onto the tray, the only noise in the room until you had to help Steve undress and his low moans of pain seemed to shake the house. It broke you apart, tore you down, ripped you bone from bone and you couldn’t help it when the tears came again.

“I know baby,” you tried to soothe him, but your voice was a tremble, “I know, I’m sorry, almost there, almost there.”

A blood soaked shirt and a useless bandage lay on the tiles with the collection of towels you’d gathered. Your bare toes brushed his as you swept your hands over his arms with the softest touch you could manage and you both decided enough was enough when you got down to his underwear.

Steve was panting, chest heaving with the pain and exertion of it all and you felt sick, you felt ill and you had to swallow down the burning panic that threatened to tip you over the edge.

It was dizzying, the way that Steve’s pain consumed you.

It was terrifying, the thoughts you were having.

“Okay pretty boy,” you were a whisper above the sound of the shower, a hand on his good side as you helped him step into the spray, boxers soaked and stuck to his skin under the water. “Let’s get you cleaned up, huh?”

More groans, hisses of quiet agony and you could help but let the tears flow steadily down your cheeks as you watched. The skin on your boyfriends side was ripped and bitten, tiny teeth marks chewed into his body, the flesh there rippled and some of it gone.

The water at his feet was pink, flecks of dirt and dust mixed in between his toes and his forearms were braced against the tiles, his eyes closed and his hair plastered to his forehead.

When he opened them, his gaze found yours and he crumpled, brown eyes tortured and he held a wet hand out of the shower door to you.

“Baby.”

You were frozen, hands clutched to your chest, tears falling in hot puddles, your cheeks damp and salt pooling in the corners of your lips.

“Baby,” Steve’s fingertips brushed along your hand, hot heat that tore you back to reality. He whispered your name and it sounded like an apology. “Don’t cry, please don’t cry, I’m okay.”

You didn’t have it in you to call him out on his lie, not right then, not like that. So you nodded and sniffed before giving in entirely, feet tripping a little clumsily over the edge of the shower and joining him under the spray.

You were so aware of his wound, your hands careful on him, high on his chest as you tucked your front into his back, your arms around him and your own pyjamas soaked to your skin.

You lay a cheek against his shoulder blade, the muscles there rippling as Steve brought the hand that wasn’t flat against the tiles up to clutch at both of yours. Kisses on your knuckles, lips pressed to your fingers, a mouth brushed against your wrist, like a promise that everything would be alright.

When the water finally ran clear and your shorts were soaked through, you wrapped the boy in a towel and sat him on the edge of your bed, quiet murmurs of nonsense that were meant to soothe. Steve watched as you changed, movements hurried so you could go back to his side, your damp hair a mess as you pushed it back from your forehead and dropped to your knees in front of him.

There was a first aid kit at your feet, a nervous shake to your hands.

“Jus’ a couple of stitches babe, hmm?” Steve’s voice was honey, thick and sweet for you, like he could trick you into thinking that all of this was okay. “You’ve done it before, you're sweet, baby.”

He was stretched out on your sheets, the bed still messy from where you’d been ripped from it, and Steve was braced on his elbows, still undressed and with a towel slung low on his hips.

He was right, you had done it before. But somehow you were sure that the two, neat butterfly stitches you’d sewn into Dustin’s forehead after an accident with a skateboard was different from this.

The bite was clean but the skin around it was slick and wet, weeping with something other than blood. What if it was poison? What if it was something that would eat him from the inside out?

“Stevie, I really think we should get you to a hospital,” you knew it wasn’t an option, you knew why, but you said it all the same.

His hand found yours on the bed, fingers tangling and a thumb brushing over your palm.

“Can’t babe, m’sorry,” and you knew he was, Steve’s voice broken with an apology he couldn’t give you enough of. “Too many questions, and demon bats isn’t an answer a doctors gonna take.”

You blinked at him, bottom lip wobbling, but he reached out, wincing, to knock gentle at your chin.

“You got this sweetheart, yeah?” Steve smiled at you, still stupidly fond despite the pain. “My brave girl, huh?”

His skin was damp with sweat, the smell of the alcohol you’d washed over the wound burning the air but underneath it all you could still smell the summer from outside, the grapefruit body wash you’d used to clean the dirt off Steve's legs and feet.

Steve was looking at you like you’d already saved him.

So you nodded, hands shaking as you pulled the box filled with cotton and thread and needles to you, sniffing as you tried to keep another fresh burst of tears at bay.

It seemed like an age before you managed to thread the small pin, the needle a blur in your frantic hands. But Steve kept quiet above you, his foot pressed to your calf on the floor in a show of comfort and affection.

His touch was a quiet ‘you can do this.’

And then you were moving over him, careful not to dip the bed where he lay, so aware not to jostle him and cause him any more discomfort. But your hands were hovering uselessly over his side, your fucking lip trembling again and the first tear fell onto Steve’s stomach, a hot drip of panic and your throat was too tight.

Steve’s hand found your face, his fingers a messy splay across your cheek, your jaw, his thumb finding its spot over the curve of your bottom lip.

You felt his exhale of breath rather than heard it, too in turn with him by now and you followed his lead, letting out the fear and panic in a long, slow breath. It stuttered and hitched but you did it again and again with the boy, over and over until you could meet his gaze without unshed tears blurring his pretty face.

“I hate that I’m having to ask you this,” Steve whispered, voice hoarse, and he sounded pained in a different way.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you sounded so much younger than you were, voice a little broken and soft, like you were wondering when you were going to wake up from the bad dream.

But Steve and your friends had taken you by the hand and told you that monsters were real and nightmares lurked in the streets and suddenly nothing could be fixed by simply switching on the bedside lamp in the dark.

“I know,” a simple statement, a tug at your lip, soft like a kiss, soothing like a hug.

So you steeled yourself, took another deep breath and pressed the silver tip of the needle to your boyfriend's skin, stopping when he tensed, starting again when his hand tangled in the material of your shirt hem, encouraging you to keep going.

He held onto you like a lifeline in a storm.

You mumbled to him through it, nonsense and sticky sweet terms of affection, love tumbling from your lips as you tried to make it better, to make the pain go away. The thread was dark and ugly but your stitches were almost neat, the skin sewed back together in a criss-cross over his side and when you were done, the stitches covered with another clean bandage, you were both breathing hard with exhaustion.

“Love you,” Steve murmured, voice thick with sleep and emotion, relief and gratitude pulling at him. He waited until you pushed the first aid box away, the needle in the bin and he beckoned you, body lazy and desperate to feel yours against his. “M’sorry baby, thank you, thank you.”

He punctuated each declaration with a kiss, pulling you down soft and into his good side, his warm hands seeking out the bare skin he found underneath your shirt. He nosed at your cheek until you turned for him, hovering over his chest, a hand planted into the duvet underneath him.

You gave him what he wanted, a slow kiss, one that was full of adoration, coated with the last of your tears and maybe, Steve was crying too. You tasted salt on his lips, on yours, desperate hands pressed to damp cheeks, a touch that proved to you that he was still there with you.

It didn’t take much to convince him to swallow a few painkillers, the glass of cold water drained as you encouraged him to drink up when he told you he wasn’t hungry enough to eat. So you pushed a gentle palm to his forehead, his eyes fond on you as he let you fuss.

And when you were happy that his skin wasn’t as warm or pale as it had been before, you relented and found Steve fresh short to wear, old cotton ones he’d left a few weeks before that’d you’d maybe worn when he wasn’t around.

You crawled into bed, arranging yourself around the boy in a way that saved him from any more discomfort and it might have been the painkillers, but Steve was almost certain it was you, a security and comfort that helped to lull him into a comfortable sleep.

You stayed awake until the morning, until the light split the crack in the shutters, until your room and the boy in your bed glowed golden, long lashes and sharp features casting pretty shadows over his face. Sleep tugged at you then, the warmth of morning making you feel safer, like you didn’t need to stand watch over Steve anymore. The boy sighed when you curled into him, defences dropped and his arm heavy and hot over your waist, and you finally let your eyes close as you pressed your face to his chest, nose pushed into the soft space under his collarbone.

“I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me When I was kissin' on my baby And she'd put her love down, soft and sweet In the low lamplight, I was free Heaven and hell were words to me.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fic

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lilacsbeeswax · 3 months

Note

happy birthday to your account!! for your writing event, can I please have Lilies 🌺 with work song by hozier and sirius black? thank you🖤

Work Song

Part of my 2 year milestone event!

MASTERLIST

——-

Boys, workin' on empty

Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat?

I just think about my baby

I'm so full of love I could barely eat

Work, work, and work Sirius swore these days it’s all that he did. Back when his dream of running his own tattoo shop was nothing but that he had had no idea what it would entail.

For the past week, he had been clogged with appointments. So many people had wanted custom tattoos, so he was drawing constantly. Then, it came to actually doing the pre booked tattoos which could take hours. As well as, walk ins that paid well, but took just as much time. Even when sharing the work load with James it was hard. Remus was out on vacation meaning Sirius had to take over bookkeeping and running the business. He swore he’d never have to do math, but there he was doing basic algebra at 8 am.

In short, Sirius was absolutely swamped. He had even been sleeping (albeit only a few hours) at the shop. His overfull mind only becoming more painful in the hours away from her.

Her. His only paradise. His pretty baby. The only girl for him.

He got small tastes of Y/n throughout the day, but it didn’t satiate his desire for her. Everyday at 11:30 am, she would bring him lunch during her break at her own job. She could be doing anything else, but she wanted to spend her rest time on him. Sirius loved it so much he felt sick. Often, he would be thinking about her so much that he wouldn’t be able to eat. He was unable to stomach the sweetness that he felt he never deserved.

There's nothing sweeter than my baby

I'd never want once from the cherry tree

'Cause my baby's sweet as can be

She give me toothaches just from kissin' me

Sirius walked into the apartment on Saturday night exhausted. Y/n called out to him, “Siri? Is that you?”

He didn’t respond quietly slipping off his shoes and coat. She turned the corner, running up to him and nearly sliding on the laminate floor. She wrapped her arms around him, placing her forehead on his.

“Hey baby,” Sirius sighed. “I missed you.”

She leaned away and smiled at him. That sweet smile that made him feel like he was going to faint. “I missed you more!”

Sirius moved to brush a thumb against her lips relishing in everything about her, before his gently pulled her into a kiss. It was soft and sweet and if he didn’t know better, Sirius would suspect he was going into cardiac arrest.

Boys, when my baby found me

I was three days on a drunken sin

I woke with her walls around me

Nothin' in her room but an empty crib

And I was burnin' up a fever

I didn't care much how long I lived

But I swear I thought I dreamed her

She never asked me once about the wrong I did

Y/n and Sirius had met many years ago, back when he was a self-described man whore and carried way too much trauma to hold on his own.

He had been a mess. Drinking constantly, using, and not being able to hold a stable job. Despite all of his problems, she had pulled him up and out of it.

Sirius had lost yet another job the day he had started that fateful drunken binge. Maybe, it was the cheap vodka or the combination of it and the weed, but he had called her.

When she arrived at his place after a very concerning phone call, you had found him on the floor half dead. From then on she never stopped taking care of him. She never asked what really happened.

My babe would never fret none

About what my hands and my body done

If the Lord don't forgive me

I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me

When I was kissing on my baby

And she put her love down soft and sweet

In the low lamplight I was free

Heaven and hell were words to me

Y/n and Sirius got ready for bed and laid down on their soft shared mattress for the first time in what felt like weeks.

She ran her fingers over his scarred up arms and chest. She kissed his lips, while caressing the marred skin. Sirius pulled away and kissed down her neck, nipping at all of the places he knew she liked. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her smiling under the dim lamp light.

“Fucking hell, you’re heaven.” He chuckled, saying a word between every soft peck of her neck.

“I could say the same about you, Siri.” She giggled, pulling him close to her, not planning on letting go anytime soon.

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

Lying there wrapped around the love of his life, Sirius couldn’t help but smile, knowing no one and nothing could take him away from his baby.

MASTERLIST

#fluff #marauders x reader #sirius black x reader #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x you #lilacsasks #2 year tumblrversary #fanfic event

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heavenlyhandscribbles · 2 years

Text

Keep Each Other (Cold)

Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader

Warnings: Breeding kink, ABO aspects heavily used, mentions of abuse in a past relationship, sexual content, slower burn, but not the slowest, mentions of dom reader, domination and submission aspects, Shibari, werewolf au, hypothermia mentions.

FULL MASTERLIST

Summary: It's gotten a little heated, and Bucky's willing to agree

Word count: 2.3k

AN: Enjoyed writing this but I'm going to write eddie munson porn now. Completely unedited cause I'm lazy.

Bucky didn’t hate her for this, he really didn’t, but he could smell her heat. And it was killing him.

He wants to wait, to show this part of him. The possession he developed as the few weeks went on with her. This interest he’s developed in the omega is curving him away from the isolation he’d kicked himself into those years ago.

He’s kinda glad she showed up, she’s given him so much to look forward to, even if it’s small things. Each morning he wakes up to her sitting on the couch, his only other mug in her hands, cradled to her chest as she beams up at him. It’s dizzying how pretty she is, her eyes so gentle with him but not in a way that makes him feel inferior, In the way that makes him feel appreciated.

She was eager to see him each morning as well, her head bowing as he walked out of his room and her hands gripping his mug as she smiled up at him, “Morning Buck.”

He could swear his heart would stop if not for your eyes fluttering at the same beat as it, as he muttered, “Mornin’ doll.”

He’d pass her, the smell of chocolate and fire on her usually faint, a light misting of her warmth as he walked by, but this time, the scent was heavy, like a coating of the smell of savory food after he cooks in the kitchen, or the weight of Steve close to his rut, and he’d been in his house for much too long. He could cut her scent with his knife, one of the ones in the kitchen right next to him.

She shifted, subtly presenting her neck to him, unbeknownst to him, he was growling down at her. He was subconsciously asking her to present and didn’t even notice. God he was acting like a horny teen trying to get off, he had to calm down. He stepped back, muttering an apology and moving to the kitchen, “What do you want for breakfast?”

She muttered softly, “Whatever you make, I like your cooking.”

He nodded, moving to the kitchen and pulling out pans for himself, setting them onto the counter as he moved to the fridge, “What veggies would you eat in an omelet?”

She smiled, turning and looking up at him, “As many vegetables as possible.” She smiled, her arms crossing as she rested her chin onto her forearms, her lower half shifting to a more comfortable position, her hips pushing back a bit.

Bucky watched from the corner of his eye, trying to hide his hips shifting as he planted them firmly in the kitchen. He wasn’t going to act on his instincts purely because his mother didn’t raise him that way. He was told to respect omega’s, give them the space they needed, and to understand that heats are painful before they are even thought to be pleasurable. He knew that, he knew that she was getting comfortable and that he should just allow her too, because he saw what his mom went through during her heats. Painful cramps knocked her out, rendering her unconscious in their living room while he and his sisters tended to her fever and attempted to keep her hydrated. He knew what that did to an omega and swore he would never let an omega under his care go through pain like that.

Maybe it was just the alpha haze but he knew far better. His connection with this one rendered an emotion he hadn’t known in a while, so he decided that what was best was to just let it simmer. But he knew that wasn’t wise either, speaking softly, “Do you need anything? I know… your heat might be coming up, and you might want to go stay at a hotel or something.. I can help with the fever though, raised with three sisters and a mother.” He cocked a brow, glancing back at her as he sprinkled vegetables into the pan. She shifted, glancing up at him with hazy eyes, “I might just need to get some sort of fever lessener. Other than that I should be fine.”

He frowned, knowing that was bullshit as he finished cooking her omelet, plating it and glancing up at her, “I know that’s a lie, are you sure you don’t need anything else. I’m willing to run to the store for you, get you something…” he cut himself off, glancing away with a nervous expression, “Seriously, the CVS that’s on the edge of the town carries stuff for heats.” He glanced over at her finally, noticing she was staring directly at him with big eyes, “Sure- that’s fine.”

He let out a small sigh of relief shifting on his feet as he moved back to the kitchen to cook, “Okay. I’ll go do that today.”

She sat back, eating as she nuzzled into one of the blankets she carried from the couch to the table, the sight of it making him go a little wobbly in the knees as he turned back to the stove, finishing cooking his own food and moving beside her, sitting down as well, “Let me know if you want me to get you anything else, heating pad, cooling towels. Whatever I can do to help.”

She shifted a bit, glancing up at him, “Why are you offering to help?”

“Because I know how painful it can be to go through that without a mate. My mom had to do it for ten years after my dad left.” He frowned, picking at his food, “I just don’t want you to be in pain as long as you’re in my home.”

She nodded, her eyes glancing back at the food, “Thank you Bucky.” He nodded, finishing and standing, walking to the kitchen to wash off his plate, putting it into the dishwasher. He moved back to the table with a notecard and a pen he had in the kitchen specifically for grocery lists. At that thought, she smiled softly, turning to look at him, “You keep supplies for grocery lists in your kitchen junk drawer?” She let out a small laugh.

All Bucky could do was smile, “yeah- what do you want me to get? Anything at all.”

She smiled, “Chocolate, and a heating pad would be nice. And then…” She looked away gripping the blanket closer, “Could you get me some of those heat supplies?”

He nodded, “Do you- uh have a preference?”

“The knotted ones.” She murmured, looking down still.

He nodded, holding no ill will against her as he wrote it down, “Okay, do you want any produce for this week? Fruits, vegetables?”

“Could you pick up some cherries?” She asked softly, kicking her feet off the seat where she was curled up and placing them on the ground to lean forward. He noticed, glancing at her with a small smile, “Sure, cherries, some apples, some vegetables for any meals I plan to make…” He glanced up at her, smiling gently before turning back to the list, “Should probably head out now before it starts snowing again.”

She nodded, standing as well and moving to the couch again, glancing back at him gently, “Thanks…”

He nodded, opening the door and walking out. As soon as out of earshot, she threw her hands up, flopping back, “God he can’t catch a hint!”

Bucky walked to his car, starting it hopefully before hearing the engine cut off, his body tensing up, “You’re shitting me.” He slid out of the car, moving back into the house, “Okay so bad news. My car's engine just- stopped working.” He glanced up at her, shifting nervously, “I can walk?”

“No no, don’t do that- that’s at least three miles in the snow.” She frowned, “I can figure it out, just don’t walk.” She asked softly, leaning up to look at him closer, “Come on it’s cold, let's just hang out for a bit.”

He nodded, stepping closer to the couch and flopping beside her, glancing up at whatever was playing on the TV as he yawned a bit. She noticed, shifting closer to share some of the blanket and muttering, “You can sleep if you want?”

He nodded, quickly falling into her as he slumped a bit, falling asleep slowly as he muttered, “Wake me if you think you’re developing a fever.”

She nodded, leaning close as he felt his heat radiate onto her, not thinking much of the feeling that filled her chest at the feeling of his scent wrapping around her.

There is a shift beside Bucky, a small whimper falling onto his ears as he woke up. He didn’t think to find the woman he’d found on his porch only a short three weeks ago, sliding her fingers into herself, letting out weak whimpers as she preened at the sight of him awake. He tensed up, feeling her forehead and frowning quickly, “You didn’t wake me.”

“I didn’t know I was getting a fever if I’m honest.” She muttered back, her head falling back.

Bucky threw the blanket on top of her, frowning as he moved to the kitchen, pulling an ice pack back from the freezer, the sight of her dripping cunt filling his body with pure agony as he moved back over to her, sliding the ice pack onto her head. She whimpered, having seemingly not stopped her actions as she leaned up for his touch, “Please Buck. Need you…” He quickly shook his head in response, speaking slowly “No doll, you’re far too vulnerable.”

She shifted uncomfortably, growling out, “I need this Buck. Please. I am consenting. I promise you that this isn’t because of the heat- I need it.” She looked at him, expression solid and almost that resembling stone at how sharp her features were. He nodded slowly, his eyes closing, thinking about her clenching down on him so well, thinking about how he’s wanted her for the past weeks, his eyes finally opening again, “Yeah okay.”

She shifted quickly, tugging the blanket up and looking up at him with desperation, “please.. Need you in me.”

He slid onto the couch again, positioning between her legs as he looked up at her, “Are you sure? Absolutely sure?”

She nodded quickly, “I’ve wanted to fuck you since last week Buck, now put your cock in me now.” She snarled out, her legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer.

He nodded, a flush filling his cheeks as he leaned down, kissing along her neck and subtly scenting her.

She let out a small whimper, the touch of his lips on her neck alone driving her mad, but he was scenting her. God she was so far gone but that, she was going to remember that. He muttered softly, reaching down to roll her clit with his flesh hand as he positioned his tip with his metal one, having gotten hard since he caught a whiff of her slick. He spoke softly into her neck, “Let me know if you wanna stop.” He pushed into her slowly, his head falling onto her shoulder as he let out a soft sigh, “Christ you feel better than I imagined…” She smirked, glancing up at him with fever ridden weak eyes, “You imagined fucking me?”

“You’ve been at my house for three weeks straight, fucking you is the main thing I’ve thought about.” He chuckled, fucking into her to help aid some of her pain, “Better? At all?”

She nodded quickly, her legs wrapping tighter around him, “Feels so good.” She muttered, her cunt tugging him in as she continued, “Needed this, thank you Buck.”

Oh fucking god. Now Bucky knew he had some sort of praise kink, but a woman thanking him for fucking her? Fuck he might combust on spot. He leaned down into her neck again, hiding his flushed expression as he slid his thumb to her clit, rolling it gently as he kissed along her flesh, “Gonna make you feel good, I promise.”

She nodded quickly in agreement, her hips rolling up to match his movements as she let out small pants, pleasure squishing the pain in her as she felt him and only him.

Bucky let out a gruff noise, his hand sliding to tug her closer, “You close?”

She nodded quickly, feeling his finger roll her clit even quicker now. His voice came over in a haze, soft as she felt the deafening noise of her release filling her brain with red and white flashes, “Where do you want me to cum?”

She tugged him closer, his eyes going wide, “You’re not on the pill doll- I can’t.”

“Please…” She begged softly, “I’ll get a pill later, just need you in me longer.”

He shifted, tugging her back by her upper thighs slowly pressing all of him into her, knotting her with ease as he let out a low growl, his hands gripping her thighs in a bruising grasp. God he was too far gone to even check if she was okay, but the soft mewls below him all but proved she was doing fantastic. He leaned down on top of her, kissing along her shoulders slowly, “Feel better? How long should I expect your heat to be dollface?”

“Four days give or take.” She sighed, her body relaxing beneath him as he slid out of her, muttering gently, “Easy does it.. You wanna sleep, it’s late.” He looked up at her, noticing she nodded and turned away, flushing quickly.

He could talk to her about what this meant later, but now he was more worried about making sure she was resting with the fever. He picked up his t-shirt that got discarded at some point, using to wipe between her thighs before picking her up gingerly, carrying her to his room this time, noticing she relaxed in his arms at the wave of his scent that filled both of their lungs. He muttered softly, “You okay sleeping here?”

With a curt nod, she climbed into his bed, looking at him to follow.

He did so with content filling his chest, wrapping himself around her protectively, despite neither of them being marked or knowing what this all meant- content was all either could feel.

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somber-sapphic · 1 year

Note

Hi! Can I request 1, 35, and ill timed with Yelena and sick reader? Love your writing!

Old Wives' Tales

This is my first Yelena fic! This is also unedited! Mostly because it's 2am!

[[Summary]] Most of the avengers would kill to get out of a press conference. Not you. You would do whatever you could to make sure you got to go. (yelena x reader)

-----

You had been looking forward to the press conference all week. Most of the others absolutely hated dealing with the media. Natasha voiced her hatred outright and had even recruited Clint and Wanda (who were clearly only supporting the assassin because they were dating) to boycott any sort of press event. Fury had shut it down, insisting that it was a part of the job and that people needed to view all of you as a unit.

Tony loved the attention, Bruce didn’t really care about any of it as long as the big guy didn't come out, Cap was, of course, all about the people, Strange enjoyed showing off his intelligence in any way that he could and Thor always looked bored. Yelena only went because she had little choice. Natasha decided that if she had to go, so did her sister.

You, Tony, and Cap were the three who truly loved the conferences. It was fun for you, it was some of the only times that you could snap back at the public for the way that they saw some of you, mainly when it came to the three women. For some reason, they were more okay with the men destroying cities than with the rest of you accidentally knocking down some statues in a battle. Calling them out on it and watching faces go red was quite entertaining.

Imagine your dismay when you woke up three hours before the conference with a blocked nose and full sinuses. Your throat felt like someone had force-fed you gravel and your body was unnaturally heavy. Damnit. You were sick. You hadn’t been sick in years but could recognize the feeling anywhere. It went without saying that you were no longer looking forward to dealing with reporters.

With a hacking cough, you heaved yourself out of bed, swaying when your feet hit the floor. All of the blood rushed from your head, leaving you dizzy and vulnerable. You fell back onto the bed and clutched your head in your hands, groaning quietly. This was going to be an incredibly long day. Suddenly the idea of sitting under harsh lights and arguing with misogynists sounded like a nightmare.

You took a final deep, bubbling breath and stood up again before shuffling to the bathroom to get ready. Despite knowing that there would be someone to do your makeup you applied a small amount, simply enough to make yourself look less like a walking zombie and more like a semi-living human.

It was difficult to do proper makeup with shaky hands and blurry vision, but you pulled it off with minimal screw-ups. You’d thought for a moment that you could handle doing mascara and eyeliner but after accidentally drawing a dark black streak on your cheek. Then you’d had to do the makeup again, leading you to give up on doing anything close to your normal look.

You threw back a shot of cold medicine and chased it with two Tylenol tablets swallowed with a gulp of water. Your throat burned and you coughed into the sink, wincing at just how much worse that made it. The fever you could deal with, but the sore throat was really getting to you.

There was this old wives tale that you only vaguely remembered, but you knew that it had something to do with salt water. After a quick Google search, you found yourself in the kitchen mixing a teaspoon of salt into a glass of warm water. The internet had recommended less salt, but your logic said that more would make you feel better faster.

You took a sip and nearly gagged as you attempted to gargle with it, the salt burning your throat even further. You only managed to keep it in your mouth for a few seconds before needing to spit it out. Wrinkling your nose you did the same thing with the rest of the glass, managing to keep the disgusting water in your mouth for longer each time.

When it was gone you rinsed your mouth with clean water and took a big sip, thoroughly annoyed when you found that your throat seemed to hurt even worse than it had before. So that had failed. Of course, it did, why would it have worked? Why couldn’t it just make you feel better?

You checked your phone and sighed, wondering what you were supposed to do for three hours. If you had thought it over better you may have waited to do any sort of makeup and instead set an alarm that would let you sleep for a little bit longer. But no. Now you had to figure out what to do with yourself.

Then, it came to you. Some people swore by exercise to cure minor illnesses and you needed to train anyway. Screw the makeup. You made your way down to the gym and changed into a tank top and leggings, pulling your hair up in a tight bun before you entered the actual training area.

You made your way over to the punching bags and began to hit one, growing tired after only a few seconds. That didn't matter, it was good for you. It would be good to sweat out the germs and you’d get in a bonus workout.

Twenty minutes later you had moved onto the obstacle court and were drenched in sweat, struggling to avoid said obstacles. You had fallen on your ass twice and there was a fresh bruise on your cheek which would of course hurt much worse when that was the only pain that you’d have to focus on.

“Y/n! What on Earth are you doing?” You stopped and turned around to find Yelena stalking toward you, wearing a nice dress and a scowl. You opened your mouth to respond when the blonde’s expression turned to one of worry and you felt something slam into your back. The breath was knocked out of you and you fell to the ground, curling up to protect your head.

You stayed in that position until you felt calloused hands on your shoulders, coaxing you out of your protective ball.

“Idiot.” The young widow grumbled, pulling you to your feet. She held you steady and glared into your eyes, her face softening as you felt yourself wanting to cry. She could tell, of course, she could. There was no bullshitting Yelena Belova, especially when you didn’t have the energy to put on a mask.

“The germs aren’t leaving.” You complained, your voice a mere whisper. The woman raised an eyebrow and nodded, pressing her hand against your forehead. You whined and pulled away, swatting at invisible bugs as you did.

“Okay weirdo, you sure are delirious. Come on, let's go.” She ordered, wrapping an arm around your waist. You sniffled and put your head on her shoulder, nearly letting the tears fall when she pulled you closer.

It wasn’t often that Yelena would show affection where others might see the two of you, it simply wasn't the kind of person she was. But in private she was incredibly loving and attentive, she was an absolute sweetheart who would quite literally kill to keep you safe. Well, she may also kill for fun. The woman had a violent streak.

“We’ve gotta go, Lena. We have-”

“Shut up.” You shut up. It just wasn’t a fight that you would win, nor a fight that you wanted to start. You’d rather just let her do what she wanted and maybe she’d cuddle with you. She’d definitely cuddle with you, it was a matter of whether or not you’d get a lecture about neglecting your health or not before the cuddles.

Yelena half-carried you to your shared bedroom, not complaining about how much work you were making her do. It wasn’t intentional, but it seemed that forcing yourself to train had sapped every ounce of energy that you had left and you were struggling to make your body move the way it was supposed to.

Your clear lack of strength came to a head when your knees gave out under you and you found yourself crumpled on the floor of the hallway containing everyone’s rooms, Yelena unable to keep you standing any longer.

“Damnit, Y/n, are you alright?” The Russian woman asked, maneuvering out of the tangle of your combined limbs. That was it, that was all that you could take. You had been doing such an okay job at keeping yourself steady, making sure that your illness was on the sidelines, hyping yourself up for the press conference that you had been so excited for but now you were starting to break down.

Tears slipped down your cheeks and you hung your head, body beginning to shake as you let yourself give up. Yelena cupped your face in her hands, her striking emerald eyes searching every part of your face for anything that could tell her how to help.

“Hey, hey why are you crying?” She murmured, quickly rearranging the two of you so that you were leaning against her instead of the wall. You knew that your nose was running and that you looked absolutely disgusting, you were amazed that she was willing to be so close to you. She usually shied away from sick people.

“Talk to me kotenok. Tell me what’s wrong, let me help.” Her kind words just made you want to cry harder. Rather than forcing you to answer Yelena held you tighter, pulling your head down onto her chest. She pressed her lips into your hair and whispered to you in Russian, promising you that everything would be alright.

“I-I don’t f-f-feel good.” You finally managed, speaking into her shoulder.

“I know Y/n, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this sick. But that’s why I’m here, I get to help. Even though you’re kind of an idiot.” You let out a waterly laugh and smiled, sniffling thickly in an attempt to get rid of some of the snot. Gross.

“Gross.” Yelena echoed your thoughts and pulled a tissue from her pocket to wipe your nose with. Where she had gotten a tissue and why she had one you didn’t know, but you were grateful.

“Thanks, baby.” You mumbled, giving her a weak smile. She snorted and kissed your forehead, rolling her eyes at you.

“Alright germ bag. Ready to get up again?” The blonde helped you back up and the two of you went back to stumbling down the hall, your tears subsiding slightly.

Maybe you could convince Yelena to let you join the press conference via Zoom. Then at least you’d get to be a part of it. If not though, at least she was there to remind of you of your bad decisions all while making you feel like the most loved human in the whole world.

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ctitan98official · 4 months

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Alcina blinds Y/N in one eye and kidnaps them angst part 4

Alright, here’s part 4. I don’t think this is quite as dark as the last part, but it’s not much better lol. Unhealthy relationships ahoy! Read part 3 here! Let’s get into it!

You wake up after what feels like a long time. Your arm is throbbing painfully. You look down and see it’s red and swollen. Pus has started leaking out of your wounds. You are so hot despite the frigid temperatures of the dungeon. Your body is burning up with fever. You also notice that you’re drenched in sweat. Although, it’s hard to tell what’s sweat and what’s the filth of your cell clinging to you.

You sit up, but your head spins and you immediately lean over to throw up. You end up only vomiting bile because your stomach is so empty. You lean against the bars of your cell and enjoy the coolness of them on your heated flesh. You are very sick, but all you can think about is Hope. You refuse to go out like this. You won’t leave your daughter all alone.

As if on cue, the door to the dungeon opens once again. Who the hell is it? You look over to your cell door and huff. Of course, it’s Alcina. You lazily lie your head back on the bars. “Go away,” You say quietly, not in the mood to deal with her shit.

Alcina is about to reprimand you for being rude to her, but she can almost feel the heat radiating from your frail body. Your skin is pale and you look so exhausted. Are you sick? Her heart hurts to see you in such bad shape, even if she is punishing you right now. “Draga…” She says and opens the cell. She kneels down and places a hand on your forehead. You’re burning up. “Baby, you’re sick. Let me get a better look at you,” She says.

You chuckle humorlessly. “It’s your fault. Why do you care?” You snark and turn away from her more.

Alcina feels a deep pang of guilt. Maybe she has been too hard on you… But, she thought it was necessary. A means to an end.

She just couldn’t stand to let you move on without her. She is… Obsessed with you. She craves your presence. She needs you. She was hoping that she could just… Break you to get you to stay. No matter the consequences, that was her goal. She knows it wasn’t the perfect plan, but when she is determined, she will stop at nothing to get what she wants. However, she is really starting to regret her actions (Something she didn’t think would ever be a possibility).

What if you don’t… Make it? What if this was truly a bridge too far? She can live with you hating her, but she can’t live… Without you. She can’t even fathom it. She feels a stab of panic as she thinks of your fragile life hanging in the balance.

She takes a breath and stuffs down her anger at herself momentarily. She gently scoops you up and gasps as she sees the infected wounds on your arm. She… Did this. She really is the reason you’re so sick. She was just trying to teach you a lesson, but… You are so weak. She didn’t mean for it to go this way. She cradles you against her chest and rocks you. “Shh, shh, draga. You’re okay. I’m here. I’ll make everything better,” She tells you. She hurriedly takes you back to her room and lays you down on the bed. She sets about running you a cool bath, knowing that she’s got to get your fever down.

You close your eyes and sink into the softness of the bed as Alcina bustles around and gets things ready for you. But, you’re starting to hallucinate and it’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s not anymore.

Alcina comes back in and her eyes water at how drained you look. She sits down next to you and runs her fingers through your sweaty hair. “I’m so sorry, my love,” She apologizes. She had been too blinded by rage to see the true impact her actions were having on you.

Your eyes suddenly pop open when you hear her voice and you turn to look at her deliriously. “Alcina?” You ask in confusion.

Alcina chokes back a sob but looks down at you and gives you a smile. “Hi, baby. I’m going to make you feel better, okay?” She asks.

You are so groggy that you just nod your head before your eyes close again. You are really out of it. So out of it, that you aren’t recoiling at the very sight of her.

Alcina bites back a wave of nausea at this realization. She has become the most feared figure in your life. And for good reason. Damn, she is so fucking selfish. But… Seeing you so calm around her right now is… Making her feel like this was still all worth it. Like you two are on better terms than you really are. It reminds her of the love you both shared before… She needs a drink.

Alcina carefully picks you up and brings you to the tub. She sits on the ledge with you on her lap, but realizes that you won’t be able to sit up on your own. She decides to get in with you. She takes off her dress, carefully maneuvering you so you don’t fall, and steps in before sitting down and holding you.

You whine in your sleep at the cool temperature of the water but Alcina shushes you and gently hugs you closer. “Here we go, draga,” Alcina says calmly and begins washing you. She’s ashamed at how dirty you got while you were down in the dungeon. She has to scrub you vigorously to get all of the grime off of you, but she carefully avoids getting your injured arm wet. She’s dreading cleaning it. She knows it will be excruciating for you.

Finally, Alcina finishes bathing you and you feel a bit cooler than you did before. She softly dries you off and wraps you in a towel before bringing you back into the bedroom. She carefully slips you under the covers of her opulent bed and tucks you in.

She retrieves a first aid kit from her desk and gets all of the supplies she’s going to need out of it. She takes a deep breath, steeling her resolve, before cleaning your wounds.

As soon as Alcina starts, you wake up and begin to holler in pain. It’s tortuous and you don’t even know what’s going on.

Alcina’s heart breaks as she works and sees your reaction. “I know, my darling. I’m so sorry,” She says and kisses your cheek. “You’re so brave, draga,” She praises.

You continue to bawl in agony, but Alcina’s voice is actually helping. You are so sick, that now you don’t remember that it was Alcina who let you get so bad in the first place. You are seemingly under her spell again.

After a few minutes, Alcina finally feels confident that your wounds are sufficiently cleaned and begins to bandage them up.

As you feel Alcina stop rubbing your sore gashes, you open your eyes and… Admire her. She looks so beautiful. Why does it feel like… It’s been so long since you’ve seen her?

Something in your brain has clearly… Snapped. Lumping together your illness, the blinding pain you are currently in, and the sheer trauma you’ve been through, your brain has decided to put a lock on the recent misery you’ve been subjected to. At least, for the moment.

Somewhere, deep down, you know that your relationship with Alcina is not the same as it once was, but… You’re tired and… The warmth of her arms encircling your weakened body is intoxicating. You decide to deal with all of these confusing feelings later when you wake up. But, for the time being, Alcina seems like a pretty safe place to rest your weary head.

… How very wrong you are.

Note: I really wanted to tackle some of what Alcina was thinking and feeling in this one :) I “Hope” You liked it! … Hehe, Hope. Get it? Alright, I’ll see myself out.

Masterlist

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #re8 #re8 village #re8 lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitriscu x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x y/n #alcina dimitrescu x reader #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil #resident evil imagines #lady dimitrescu x y/n #angst #angst drabble

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mintywolf · 4 months

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A Long Road Home - Page 49 Author Notes

Page 49

Here we go. o.o

On Laudna’s shelf are two tabaxi dolls, either inspired by this guy

and his little sister or intended to be gifts for them. Unfortunately, some people just don’t appreciate a little hut in the woods being populated by handmade dolls. :(

Laudna hiding under the bed in fear is something tenuously connected to her backstory in scenes that may or may not actually show up in the comic depending on how much information I have when I get there. In the original draft of this page she was just sitting on the bed holding Pâté and waiting but since then we’ve learned that she spent some time in what was implied to be Lord and Lady de Rolo’s old bedchamber, either hiding or imprisoned there. (Matt and Marisha seemed to give conflicting accounts on this, unless it was both?) Either way, if she was using it as a refuge or being kept there by the Briarwoods I thought she’d probably have felt more secure underneath the bed than in it.

Regardless, Laudna tends to regress to a childlike mindset when she’s scared or upset and hiding under the bed seems like something she’d do. (Tangentially, I have wondered where Laudna slept for the few days after the gnarlrock incident, if she’d be too afraid to impose on Imogen by sleeping in what she’d perceive as her bed while she was still mad at her, and where else she’d sleep if so. I thought probably the floor next to the bed, so she could remain close to her without disturbing her, or maybe under it, which like a lot of Laudna-related details seems amusingly creepy until it’s sad, so that’s my headcanon.)

This panel of Imogen running through the woods to rescue Laudna in her jammies is one that I’ve had planned pretty much since the genesis of the comic. I didn’t give a lot of thought to her coat (other than intending for her to be wearing one) until I had to draw it and since Laudna making her a new coat when they’re living in the mountains in the next chapter is a detail mentioned now in two fanworks I have posted she can’t already have one that she cares about or at least thinks to bring with her when she leaves Gelvaan. So I thought maybe it was an old coat of her dad’s that she just throws on when she needs to do chores outside in the winter or even currently belongs to him and she just grabbed it when she ran out the door. So that’s why it’s too big on her.

I'm really bad at estimating distance but I'm pretty sure I'm breaking the rules on the limits of the message spell here. But it's an intentional callback to page 21:

Laudna: Now my thoughts will be with you even if I can’t be. Imogen: If you ever need me, you just call out to me, and I’ll come runnin’, okay? Laudna: Is that a promise? Imogen: It’s a promise.

so I feel it is justified.

Throughout this chapter Laudna has owned exactly two shirts and I knew whichever one she's wearing for this last plot arc is going to be the one she takes into the next chapter because everything else in her house gets burned, and I decided I liked the grey one better but I'd put her in the red one for the scarlet fever arc because she had been wearing the other one for several pages before at the harvest festival so I intentionally had her tear her sleeve on the fence in the last page so she'd have a reason to change.

#a long road home #author notes

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waterfallofspace · 5 months

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What A Way To Start A Year

T/im learns a little something about karma, friends, and care. Seems even J/on isn't quite as cold as he seems.

A M/agnus A/rchives fic, set somewhere pre-season 1. Shouldn't have any spoilers, but proceed with caution just incase~ (nothing late game, just character dynamic things)

Welcome to "I meant for this to be a little drabble and I wrote 3k words"~ Having a bit of hyperfixation and burn out as I started this new year, soooo I decided to make T/im suffer <3 Not promising quality seeing as I wrote this all in the span of tonight, but consider it a lil 'too long' drabble, and happy new years!

Best way to start off the new year, giving one of your lil guys a lil snz <3

Characters: T/im, M/artin, S/asha, and J/on. Word Count: 3.9k

(CW: There is some swearing, and light descriptions of high fevers)

Christmas had been good this year, maybe the best it had in a long time. Life of the party as always, Tim had enjoyed getting to spend it with his old, and new, colleagues. On top of that, Jon had been laid up with a pretty awful cold for a couple days leading up to it, so he wasn’t around to crush any brilliant ideas Tim came up with.

This led to the budget receiving a fairly substantial hit, though many researchers donated to the cause when they learned this borrowing wasn’t exactly approved. Hell, even Elias had pitched in, claiming something or other about ‘archivists fit for the job not exactly growing on trees’, and wanting to ‘save some of Jon’s sanity’.

“Tim? Are you even listening to me?”

Pulled back to the conversation at hand, Tim lifts his gaze to the taller man fidgeting nervously in front of him. Martin was never one for confrontations, and usually the first ‘no’ would have been more than enough to lead to a string of apologies for even asking. Today however, he seems to have grown a spine. At the worst possible moment.

“Oh come on,” Martin continues, missing the groan slipping from Tim’s throat. “Even Jon agreed to it!”

“I’m not really in the party mood,” Tim retorts, leaning back in his chair. “Besides, Jon didn’t agree to celebrate, he agreed not to stop the celebration. Not the same thing.”

From across her desk, Sasha gives a low chuckle. “He’s got you there, Martin.”

“Can you at least give it a little thought before turning it down?” Martin insists, completely out of character for someone usually so eager to please.

What the hell has gotten into him today? He didn’t even seem to enjoy himself that much at the Christmas party. Sure, he had a few drinks and mingled with the staff, but he’d left as soon as it was over, not waiting around for chatting like Tim and Sasha.

Clearing his throat with a grimace, Tim casts Sasha a dark look as she chuckles again. Knowing far too much, as usual. Especially when it came to him. If it was anyone else, Tim would hate it with all his being, but given that it’s Sasha… well it’s a welcome invasion.

Still, it would be nice if she didn’t rat him out. And to Martin of all people, well let’s just say he saw what happened when Jon was sick. Yeah, passing on that one. Attention is great, Tim lives for it, but the coddling? Not really his style.

“hiEH– guh…”

Damn, that had been a close one. Thankfully Martin seems oblivious, though Sasha sits up in her chair, reaching down into a drawer to fish something out.

Turning his focus back to Martin, Tim provides an offer, desperate to just have the interaction come to an end.

“Fine, I’ll show up, but I don’t want any part in planning it.”

“Oh of course, I’ll handle all the details, I mean it’s just a new years party, how much can there really be to do? I mean food, timing, gotta make sure we have keys to the building– oh but if Jon’s there, that shouldn’t be a problem…” Martin says, rambling beginning to fade into the background as Tim finds himself unable to-

“hH– ek’CHhiew!”

“-Oh, bless you!” Martin says, his own thoughts long forgotten.

Unable to get a word out, Tim merely waves a hand, ducking into his shoulder for another, “eTChhew!”

“Bles-”

And another, “iTSChh’ew!”

“Oh ble-”

And another, “ehh– kTChh’iew!”

Silently Sasha stands, handing Tim a pack of tissues. Must have been what she was looking for in the desk. Once again, knowing more than she should, of course she picked up on his patterns.

Accepting them gratefully, Tim pulls a few out and roughly rubs at his nose, pointedly avoiding Martin’s worried gaze. Gripping his still trembling nose through the tissue, Tim sucks in a tight breath through his teeth, holding for a beat, before finally spinning around in his chair for a final-

“hH’ETCSHh-ieuw! Whew, bless me.”

Martin’s hands are fidgeting again, seemingly unsure of what to do with himself as Tim gives his nose a light massage through the tissue. He’s aware enough not to point it out, but is nearly shaking with the effort of suppressing his concerns.

With a sigh, Tim meets his eyes. “I’m fine, Martin. I always sneeze like that.” He leaves out ‘when I’m sick’. It also happens if he’s suffering allergies, though he doubts that would be a point in his defense given it’s the middle of winter.

“Yeah he’s not kidding,” Sasha pipes up, throwing Tim a wink as he glares. “You should hear him in spring, once it starts he can be going for hours.”

“I wouldn’t say hours, Sash-”

“Remember the cherry blossom incident?” Sasha interrupts, sending a sugary smile over to Martin. “He was wrecked for the rest of the day, I was almost certain he was never gonna stop. Even considered giving a statement here, that reaction was almost supernatural.”

Tim winces, an audible moan slipping from his lips. “We swore to never speak of it again.”

Sasha laughs, Tim giving her another playful glare from behind his tissues. “You swore that, I did no such thing.”

Thankfully Martin doesn’t pry, having enough common sense to offer a polite chuckle, and offer some excuse about ‘planning’. Still, he can’t help himself from shooting a meek “I hope you feel better soon” over his shoulder, Tim giving him finger guns in return.

“This is karma, you know,” Sasha calls after Martin’s outside earshot. “You took pleasure in Jon’s suffering, so now it’s your turn to suffer the same fate.”

“No, thi- eTChhew! Scuse me,” Tim says, rubbing his nose with the tissue one last time before depositing it in his nearly overflowing trash can. Another tissue is plucked as his eyes begin to water, nostrils flaring with reckless abandon. Never just one.

“kTChh’uew! hh’iTChh –uew! Tihhckles… eTCHh! etchh’uh! hiehh–”

The last one toys with him, tracing the rims of his nostrils, back up his sinuses, a gentle itch that seems to burn against every inch of his nose. Finally, with a desperate gasp, Tim ducks into his wrist for the last, “heh’ATChhh –iew!”

“Many blessings. Sounds like you need them,” Sasha offers with a wince, tossing another pack of tissues over, which Tim catches with a single hand, the other still gripping his nose.

After taking a moment to clean himself up, Tim shoots her his signature smile, ignoring the eye roll she shoots back. “Where was I?”

“Admitting this is karma?”

“It’s not karma, it’s lack of common sense. Going to a party where a coworker is sick, and still drinking and eating the same meals” Tim says, aiming a rough cough into his sleeve.

Sasha winces once more at the quality of the cough, hands rummaging through her drawers once more as she tosses a reply back. “And yet you’re the only one who caught it. Seems like karma to me.”

Closing the distance between them in a single stride, Sasha places a hand on Tim’s shoulder, voice softening. “It’s two days till new years, why don’t you go home and try to get some rest? I doubt Martin will object, and I’ll cover for you with Jon.”

Before Tim can form his rebuttal, Sasha places a box of paracetamol and a jar of vapor rub in front of him. Nodding his thanks, Tim lets out another harsh cough into his arm, leaning as far away from Sasha as he can manage.

With a light rub to his shoulder, Sasha walks to the door, holding it open with a pointed look. “Go home, you sound awful.”

“Alright, alright. I got the message. hH’ETchhiew!” Tim says, gathering his care package and beginning his walk down the hallway.

“If I hear the rest of that fit happening in this building, I’m telling Martin how ill you really are,” Sasha calls after him, a smile flashing over her face as Tim holds up his hands in mock surrender, before ducking back into his arm with another muffled burst.

—

“You look horrible.”

Tim manages a weary smile from behind the tightly wound scarf. “Thagk you.”

Martin winces, standing in the doorframe, seemingly oblivious to the winter chill soaking into Tim’s bones. Even just the walk from the train station was hell on earth, standing out here is doing him no favours.

Turning away with a throat scraping cough, Tim manages to clear the congestion enough to finish the sentence somewhat understandably. A great feat, given how fast his voice is retreating. “May I remind you that I’m only here because you insisted.”

“Right, well I… I didn’t know how bad-” Martin begins, realizing spreading across his face like a wildfire as a chill leaves Tim breathless. “Oh god, I’m making you freeze to death while you’re already this sick, I’m so sorry, come in, I’ll go make you a tea.”

Tim nods his thanks as he piles inside the warm institute, cursing his aching lungs as each breath of warm air seems to burn them from the inside out. Martin rushes away, nearly crashing into a few researchers as he makes his frantic dash for the kitchen.

The scarf is reluctantly removed, a shudder running through Tim’s back as the warm air does nothing to soothe what he’s now certain is a growing fever. A few researchers wave to him, offering some idle chit-chat as he makes his way inside.

For the most part, people give him a wide berth, apparently he looks as bad as he feels. Tissues in hand, gripping them like a lifeline, Tim finds his way to a couch and lets himself sink into it. The party buzzes around him, fading into background noise.

Martin returns soon after, the mug vibrating slightly as he attempts to steady his hand. “I wasn’t sure what kind you’d want, we have a pretty limited amount, but I have a few extras in my desk– oh I could have probably found one for colds and flus, I’m not sure which this is, I thought cold before but you look-”

“Martin,” Tim interrupts, voice cutting uncomfortably through his raw throat. “Can I have the cup?”

“Oh, right, sorry!” Martin says, a sheepish grin crossing his face, nerves more than anything else, as he hands Tim the mug. Tim gives another appreciative nod, taking a cautious sip.

The warm liquid feels like heaven against his throat, and he barely manages to choke back a whimper. The flavour is still a mystery, Martin never actually got to that part. Given how little he can taste at the moment, seems it’s gonna remain that way. Still, the heat beginning to warm his chest is a welcome relief, and Tim has to fight to keep his eyes from drifting shut…

“Watch out!”

The voice rouses him, his eyes snapping open just in time to witness Jon dropping to his knees in front of the couch. The realization doesn’t sink in for another minute, Tim blinking the tired from his eyes and trying to figure out why people are staring… and why there’s a hand on his finge–

Oh, the tea. Thankfully Jon’s reflexes seemed to kick in just in time, his hands guiding Tim’s cup to the table next to him. Judgement clouds the boss's eyes as he turns back, fully ready to chastise Tim, no doubt. Jon opens his mouth, one hand beginning to point, but as his eyes scan Tim’s form, his demeanor changes instantly.

“You don’t seem well.” Jon’s voice is still firm, but with a hint of something Tim can’t quite place. On anyone else, he’d call it concern. On Jon… perhaps concern isn’t far off, though the underlying criticism of the statement irritates him.

“I wonder why that could be? It’s almost as if someone came to the Christmas party sick enough to fall asleep standing. Twice.” Tim says, sarcasm lining his words, alongside the congestion he can’t seem to fully shake.

“Well in that case,” Sasha chimes in, cheerful voice a natural antithesis to the misery coursing through Tim’s system. “Seems you’re halfway there!”

“Hey, I was lying down, that’s hardly the sahh… same thing– hH’ETchh!”

“Here we go,” Sasha says, already turning on her heel to find a tissue box as Tim’s hitches increase in desperation.

“aHTChh’ew! gn’tchhew!”

“Bless,” Jon offers, a brief confusion crossing his face as Sasha laughs, shaking her head.

“He’s not done,” She says, handing over the tissue box.

Tim grabs for it blindly, too caught up in the fit to even attempt dignity. Still, the eyes on him do leave him with a hint of embarrassment, and the onslaught is muffled as best he can manage. “hH’MMpshhew! eMPFShh’ieh! hh’MFSHhueh!”

Blessings sound out from the room, Tim managing to wave a hand towards the ones offering them, eyes still watering. As the fit seems to stall, he lowers his tissues, red nose now visibly twitching.

“Are you alright?” Jon asks, the hint of concern from before now plainly evident. That’s frankly more alarming than it should be, and Tim finds himself wanting to… reassure the boss.

“I’m okay, it’s juhh… j-just… huhh–” But it seems his nose has other plans, a tissue being raised once more as Tim paws at the appendage. “‘Scuhhse me, I still have… hahhve to… to… hiHh– eTCHh’ew! hk’ASCHh–oo!”

This time the tickle fades with the final pitchy sneeze, Tim letting out a low groan as he mashes his nose into the ever growing collection of tissues he’s clutching. A few people call out final blessings, Sasha laughing out hers as Tim’s face goes red once more.

Martin picks this time to enter the room with drinks, Tim letting his eyes flutter shut as the focus shifts off his misery. A gentle touch keeps him from drifting off to sleep, prying open an eye to find Sasha settling onto his left.

“Careful, don’t want to catch this,” Tim manages, leaning against his right shoulder to muffle another stream of chesty coughs. Sasha winces as it goes on past the realm of comfort, her hand finding his back.

“Don’t worry about me, I haven’t earned this cold, I didn’t make use of Jon’s or your suffering,” She says, the playful tone not masking the growing worry in her posture.

While she can read him like a book, she’s no mystery to him either. The tension in her fingers, absentmindedly stroking patterns on his back. The way she subconsciously tries to support his body weight, despite them both sitting. The look in her eyes when he manages to stall the coughing long enough to meet them.

With this brief respite from the attack, Sasha takes the chance to bring Tim’s tea back, his fingers wrapping around the warm mug. The first few sips burn, his lungs protesting, begging to return to their efforts to expel all the irritation. By the third, however, the warmth is spreading once more, easing the spasms.

“Alright?” Sasha asks, beginning to stand from the couch. Tim nods his reply, taking another slow sip. “Think you’ll make it till midnight? We’ve still got a few hours to go.”

He nods his approval again, not yet trusting his voice enough to make an attempt. Sasha simply smiles, easing back into the party that– Tim had almost forgotten existed. That fever must be worse than he thought, given how loud it is. A fact that’s now pounding against his head in harmony with his heartbeat.

The party continues on, Sasha and Martin taking turns checking in on Tim as he slips rapidly in and out of consciousness. Seconds turn to hours, and before he knows it, it’s two minutes to midnight.

As Tim blinks against the harsh fluorescent lighting, it’s Jon that stands before him, hand hovering near his side. Tim begins to speak, breaking off into a cough as his voice comes out rough with sleep and congestion.

“What’s up boss?” He manages with the second attempt, not missing Jon’s wince at the nasal quality.

“You simply look… well, the festivities are nearly over, I was just inquiring as to…” Jon seems to get stuck, eyes wandering down to the couch as he finishes. “I know you took the train here, I was seeing if you needed an escort home.”

“How kind, I’d be delighted to have your accompaniment,” Tim responds, the wit clouding the fact he… hadn’t actually considered needing to go home. Jon seems to take this answer as satisfactory, ignoring all the sarcasm as he gives a tight nod and an out of practice smile.

From across the room Martin calls out, something about a countdown. Tim attempts to pull himself to a stand, finding Sasha’s arm around his waist, guiding him to the wall. Leaning against it, he lets his rough voice join the chorus as they count into the new year.

Despite how the lights and noise had pounded into his skull, everyone chanting in unison helps Tim realize that… there actually aren’t that many people here. Aside from his coworkers, there’s only a few researchers, and Elias is not in attendance.

Honestly, thank whatever cosmic being may exist for that one, he had been none too fond of Jon’s arriving sick. Tim shudders to think what he would have said about this state. He shouldn’t have come, but… something about how insistent Martin was… well he just couldn’t disappoint that loveable idiot.

Somehow Tim finds he’s managed to keep up with the counting, despite being worlds away in his thoughts. As they approach the final numbers, a feathery sensation begins to spread through his nostrils- no.

Absolutely not, this is not the time. It’s never just one, there’s not enough people here, someone’s gonna notice. And I mean, it’s not like he’s hiding the fact he feels like death, but… drawing that much attention is also not the goal.

“Five! Four!”

“hiehh- h’ngTchh!” He manages to stifle the first, the congestion pounding in his head as the tickle seems to only get worse.

“Three! Two!”

“I cad’t– nNDtch! nGTCh’uh!”

“One–”

As the cheers begin to erupt, Tim ducks into the tissues with a scraping, “ehg’TCHhiew!”

“Happy new years!”

“yiEShh’iew! etchh’uh! hH’AESHH –oo!” Tim dips into his hands again, managing to sink down against the wall as he lets out a congested blow, ending the fit.

“What a way to ring in the new year,” Comes Sasha’s voice, her form blocking the light from Tim’s eyes as he looks up, fever blurring his vision.

“Shud ub.”

“Christ Tim, you sound awful,” Jon adds, his form appearing behind Sasha’s.

“Thagks boss,” Tim retorts, groaning as he notices a third form, Martin’s nervous fidgeting easy to spot even from this angle. Martin remains silent, though his eyes seem to hold more concern than any of them, and… guilt? Or maybe that’s just the delirium.

Glancing up to meet Sasha’s gaze, Tim offers a weary, “Tibe to go hobe?”

She nods softly, kneeling to help him to his feet, Martin wordlessly taking his other arm. Jon stands off to the side, hesitating. What for, who knows. All Tim can focus on is one step after the other, just gotta make it home, then he can sleep. For the rest of forever, at this rate.

As they get to the door, Martin helps wrap the scarf around Tim’s neck, forcing him to lift it from its perch against Sasha’s shoulder. Sasha, for her part, supports his weight with ease, she was always stronger than she looked.

Martin keeps casting glances towards Tim, obviously fretting over something. Too tired to manage his usual charm, Tim gives Martin the softest look he can manage. “Jusd say id, please. You’re makigg me nervous.”

“I’m so sorry I asked you to come, you’re obviously so unwell, and I know I didn’t really know that at the time, but I should have, or at least texted and checked in, I just… I wanted us all to get along so bad and I thought if you came it would mean more fun because you’re always so lively and good at talking to people and-”

Tim holds up a hand, eyes glazing over as Martin stops short, breath coming almost as rapidly as Tim’s. After a minute goes by, Martin starts to open his mouth, seeming confused by the interruption, before nearly jumping out of his skin as Tim ducks into his fist.

“eTCHh’ew! hH’YEAShh –iew! Sorry, I feld those cobigg… waid– hih’ETCHhew! heAYSHh’oo!” Tim ducks down again, Sasha grabbing him tighter to support the harsh shudders as he attempts to keep his balance.

“Oh bless you,” Martin offers, voice coming out timid. Tim gives him, what he hopes is, a warm smile despite the fever taking hold of the last corners of his mind.

“If I didn’t wanna cobe, I would have stayed hobe. I dod’t blame you.”

Martin nods silently, a relief seeming to flood his face. Taking his place once more supporting Tim, they move towards the exit. Opening the door, the first wave of cold floods the entryway, and a chill so violent runs through Tim that both Martin and Sasha take a step back to brace him.

It’s now that Jon speaks up, voice strained with a type of worry Tim hadn’t heard before. “No, we’re absolutely not doing this, I refuse.”

The trio turn towards him. Though perhaps a more accurate description is that Martin and Sasha turn, Tim simply goes along for the ride. Martin mumbles something about ‘no other choice’, but Sasha asks what Jon’s on about.

“It’s too cold out there, it’s the middle of the damn night, there’s no way I’m letting him go home like this.”

“And what do you suggest we do as an alternative? He can’t stay here-” Sasha begins, pausing as Jon turns towards her.

“Why not? I’m the archivist, this is my archive,” Jon begins, pausing for a moment, before adding, “Well, Elias’s, but I hardly think he’d suggest we send an employee home in this weather while they’re this sick. That’s just bad management, he’ll freeze to death before even reaching the train.”

As if to confirm this assumption, Tim shudders violently, ducking into his chest with a tired, “hh’eshhew! eTCHh’iew!” followed by a heavy sigh. Martin mumbles something about covering, but quickly silences himself as Tim begins to tremble again.

Sasha gives Jon a look, seeming to read him for any hints of doubt, perhaps searching for an ulterior motive. After a brief pause, their eyes meeting, she gives a tight nod, approval of some kind.

“Come on Martin, let’s get him back to that couch, he can sleep there for the night,” Sasha directs, Martin nodding his acceptance.

Tim manages to catch snippets of the conversation as they get him settled. Jon fetching him a blanket he keeps in his office. Martin providing some more tea. Sasha grabbing tissues and medication for when he wakes up. Something about Jon sleeping in his office so he’s not alone, and Sasha coming in early to help him home.

With his final bout of consciousness, Tim holds up a hand, the conversation immediately pausing. “Thagk you guys. And… esSHhh’ew! And, I’b sorry.”

All three stare at him for a minute, before Sasha breaks first. Her laughter fills the silence, Martin joining in soon after, and even Jon letting a few chuckles slip out. When they’ve finally collected themselves, Sasha gives Tim a warm smile.

“Sleep well, Tim. I’ll come fetch you in the morning.”

With a content sigh, Tim lets his eyes drift shut again, his consciousness fading to the soft hum of his friends in the background.

Alright, so maybe coddling isn’t quite so bad after all.

#waterfallwrites #the m/agnus a/rchives #was that my tag?? i think it was ahuguh #anyways i wrote this in a flurry of 'i need to do something about my hyperfixation' induced attention span #took many breaks but all in all took about 6ish hours (including the breaks)#and im kinda proud of myself for just! doing it!!#props to my friend for telling me to 'just write something with no pressure and let it be what it is'#so this is a drabble that turned into an actual fic bc i didnt! pressure myself!#if it sucks it sucks- if it doesnt it doesnt- whatever it is i made it and im gonna be happy with that #plus its t/ma which rn is just... SOOO it for me. i am so hyperfixated #and t/im is my beloved i love this man #and i may possibly try to write about j/ons version of this cold and maybe The Cherry Blossom Incident #but i actually have a different t/ma fic in the works so that one comes first <3 #anyways yes here you go!! i toss this into the void! and see if! anyone wants it!#t/ma #t/im s/toker

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agentmarcuspike · 1 year

Text

"i crawl home to her"

“And I was burning up a fever, I didn’t care much how long I lived. But I swear I thought I dreamed her, she never asked me once about the wrong I did."

synopsis: after being stabbed, joel floats in and out of consciousness, between then and now, before and after, and his two daughters, both saving him in their own ways.

cw: time jumps, descriptions of pain and injury, grief w/c: 1.3k

playlist 🎶 moodboard 🖼️

When Sarah was little and cried because she’d scraped her knee, Joel always wanted to cry too. He couldn’t of course, and he didn’t; he shushed her gently, telling her she’d be okay, however big or small the hurt was, while trying to absorb her pain through his fingertips, carefully brushing her brown curls away from her face.

But while her face contorted in the most pain her little body had experienced in the short duration of her life, he couldn’t help but shamefully feel like he had failed her. He could have been quicker, caught her, told her to be careful yet again. Every time he’d put a bandaid on, kiss it better, and she would quickly move on, and every time he’d file the accident into his mental folder of reasons why he was a bad parent.

But then she’d smile up at him, amber eyes full of awe, and he’d forget all about it.

One time on Sarah’s birthday, she must have been three or four, she had insisted on blowing out her birthday candles by herself. She got two on her first blow, but on her second puff of air, she leaned too far over the flame, and Joel’s hand instinctively reached out to shield between his daughter and the fire. He burned his hand, but didn’t pull back until his other hand had moved her out of the way.

Joel softly whines as the memory is replaced by a similar burning, this time in the form of a sting in his midriff. He can feel someone scuffle next to him, he thinks it might be his daughter, but his eyelids refuse to open. All he wants is to look at her. The feeling of not knowing what’s going on, the urge to be in control, of knowing his kid is safe, builds in him, and he fights with his body to open his eyes.

Through a squint, he can see she’s kneeling next to him, pulling at a thread going down into his stomach. He tries sitting up to look at what she's doing, even though the unmistakable agony of a needle piercing through his skin over and over speaks for itself, but engaging the muscles in his abdomen sends a wave of nausea through his body, and he groans, lying back down, as the pain whisks reality away from him again.

Sarah was 10 when she decided to take up soccer. Both Joel and Tommy had tried talking her out of it, seeing as it was no less than the fourth hobby she’d wanted to try out that semester, but like always, she didn’t take no for an answer.

So soccer it was.

Joel would take her out in the back garden to practice. They would mostly shoot penalty kicks at each other, and Sarah quickly decided she didn’t like being goalie, so Joel would stand in front of the make-shift goal he’d built for them using left-over plank from a job, while Sarah shot the ball at him.

In the beginning, he would let her score every now and then, just to boost her confidence. But after a couple of weeks he found his body tender and sore from devotedly throwing himself to the ground over and over again to keep her focused kicks from landing the ball right in the net every time. She was getting really good.

Sometimes Tommy would join their little matches. Unlike his older brother, Tommy had actually played in his youth. Joel remembered going to his games growing up, feeling both pride and jealousy at the crowd of parents and other on-lookers cheering his name as he celebrated goal after goal out on the green.

On a particularly sunny Saturday, the three of them were outside kicking the ball around as usual. Tommy and Sarah were both aggressive on the pitch, the uncle in general less careful than the dad, dribbling around his niece, playing dirty, shoving her to the ground. Sarah would laugh and get right back up, while Joel would sigh at the thought of getting the grass stains out of her brand new light wash jeans.

In a moment of Joel’s distraction, while he looked towards the house trying to remember whether they were out of laundry detergent, Sarah decided to boot it, landing the ball directly into the side of Joel’s face. Between the ringing in his ears subsiding and the pain in his head increasing, he found himself pretty impressed with, and slightly proud of, the power in his daughter’s kick.

23 years later and his ears are still ringing; a sound he briefly revisited immediately after deciding his life without her was a worthless one. It might as well be three seconds later the way his head is aching, pounding, throbbing with pain. Just moving his eyes hurts, but he can take it, and looks around.

He’s on the floor in the middle of a room, a staircase in one end. No windows. Basement. There’s not much else to see from his position, and trying to sit up isn’t even worth a try. He feels paralyzed, and wiggles his fingers and toes to check.

There’s no Ellie. Which is good, a voice in his head chimes in. Ellie shouldn’t be here. She should be in Jackson, with Tommy. He finds consolation in the fact that he can’t see the rifle anywhere. Consolation, but also disappointment. If she hadn’t needed it for protection, it might have been of better use to him, he thinks, gravelly revisiting the day after his 36th birthday.

A wave of strange relief washes over him as he realizes her life is not in his hands anymore. Relief and disappointment. But Ellie’s a smart kid, he calls to mind, as the comfortable numbness of unconsciousness overpowers him again, and he falls back into reverie.

She’s a smart kid.

Sarah was always a smart kid.

From the second she was born he knew. She was a late talker, but an early walker, and she didn’t have any issue communicating to the people around her what she wanted without the use of her words. She was a smart kid, but that didn’t mean that she wouldn’t sometimes let her heart be louder than her head.

Before soccer there was horse riding. And before horse riding there was drawing. But before she could even hold a pencil, there was swimming. Sarah swam until her lips turned blue, refusing to come up even though she was freezing. After hours in the pool, in the ocean, in the pond, Joel would have to wade out to get her, her little body clinging to his, smiling through clattering teeth. He’d wrap her up in a towel, and rub her back to get her warm, while she’d rest her head on his shoulder, exhausted but happy.

When Joel comes to, he's wet and clammy all over, a tinge of salt from sweat or blood on his lips, but he’s no longer alone. His daughter is there, still resting on his shoulder, just like before. It’s still twenty years ago, and everything is fine. His inner soliloquy tells him this is it, this is the moment, this instant is all he has, all he ever has had and ever will have. His daughter, safe, in his arms. At the end of the day, his suitcase with memories of her may not show up at baggage claim, but the allegory isn’t even relevant anymore. Planes haven’t flown for decades.

A jet plane couldn’t have woken Joel up thirty years ago, and when his daughter was born he had to force himself away from being a deep sleeper. Sarah would still have to wake him even though his alarm had been blaring for ten minutes. “Dad, wake up!” she would shout at his bedroom door. And at the sound of her voice, he would jolt awake. He can hear it now. “Dad, wake up! Wake up! Joel! Wake up!”

It’s not Sarah. But it is his daughter. And her voice pulls him in.

“Joel, wake up!”

She pushes a blade into his hands, alarm in her voice. And while he can only catch every other word of her warning, he gets the gist of it.

Danger.

He grips the knife. It’s time to come back. His kid needs him.

a/n: i love pain. hope you like flowery language, cause i do. don't know what the market for father daughter angst is like atm, but i will always be a whore for woe, so you better eat up. thanks for reading xx

#tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #sarah miller #ellie williams #joellie #joel and ellie #tlou angst #the last of us fanfiction #my writing

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bylrlve · 9 days

Text

the heart and the light

You Are in Love - one night, he wakes, strange look on his face, pauses then says: “you’re my best friend”… you understand now why they’ve lost their mind and fought the wars, and why i’ve spent my whole life trying to put it into words

Don’t Blame Me - something happened for the first time in the darkest little paradise, shakin’, pacin’, i just need you

Francesca - though i know my heart would break, i’d tell them “put me back in it”… i could find you, darling, in any life

The Great War - and maybe it was egos swinging, maybe it was her… my hand was the one you reached for

To Be Alone - honey, when you kill the light and kiss my eyes, i feel like a person for a moment of my life, “maybe, we should run away”, not a trace of me would argue

Everything has Changed - all my walls stood tall painted blue, but i’ll tear ‘em down, tear ‘em down, and open up the door for you, and all i feel in my stomach is butterflies (the beautiful kind, making up for lost time)

evermore - it was real enough to get me through (i swear you were there)

I’m a Mess - and oh, i’ve known it for the longest time, and all of my hopes, all of my words, are all over written on the signs when you’re on my road, walking me home… and though i’ve only caused you pain, you know, but all of my words will always be low of all, all the love you spoke when you’re on my road, walking me home

Hello - i’m in california dreaming about who we used to be when we were younger and free… i must have called a thousand times to tell you i’m sorry for everything that i’ve done

As It Was - tell me if somehow, some of it remains, how long that you would wait for me, how long i’ve been away

High Infidelity - do you really wanna know where i was april 29th? do i really have to tell you how he brought me back to life?

Are ‘Friends’ Electric? - so i open the door, it’s the friend that i left in the hallway… you know, i hate to ask, but are ‘friends’ electric?

Separate Ways (Worlds Apart) - someday, love will find you, break those chains that bind you

Breakdown - i’m not afraid of you running away, honey, i get the feelin’ you won’t

Cosmic Love - i heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness, too, so i stayed in the darkness with you

Boys Don’t Cry - i would break down at your feet and beg forgiveness, plead with you

Smalltown Boy - the love that you need will never be found at home

You Spin Me ‘Round (Like a Record) - i got to be your friend now, baby, and i would like to move in just a little bit closer

First Light - and i can scarce believe what i’m believing in, can this be how every day begins?… and after this i’m never gonna be the same, and i am never going back again… like i’ve lived my whole life before the first light

My Love Will Never Die - you’ve done me wrong for a long, long time, but after all you’ve done i never changed my mind (my love will never die)… pick a blossom and hold it, hold it, to your breast, and you’ll know that’s my love bursting loud from inside (my love will never die)

Achilles Come Down - remember the pact of our youth: where you go i’m going, so jump and i’m jumping, since there is no me without you

Everybody Wants to Rule the World - holding hands while the walls come tumbling down, when they do i’ll be right behind you

Kettering - but something kept me standing by that hospital bed (should’ve quit but instead i took care of you)

Work Song (Live) - i was burning up a fever, didn’t care much how long i lived, but i swear i thought I dreamed her (never asked me once about the wrong i did)… if the lord don’t forgive me, i’ll still have my baby and my babe will have me… in the low lamp light i was free, heaven and hell were words to me

Take Me To Church (Live From London) - should’ve worshipped her sooner… we were born sick, you heard them say it, i was born sick, but i love it, command me to be well…. my lover’s the sunlight

Sunlight - i had been lost to you, sunlight, flew like a moth to you, sunlight… a soul that’s born in cold and rain knows sunlight… at last can grant a name to a buried and a burning flame as love and it’s decisive pain… strap the wing to me, death-trap-clad happily, with wax melted, i’d meet the sea under sunlight

Heroes - and we kiss, as though nothing could fall, and the shame, the shame was on the other side, and we can beat them forever and ever, and we can be heroes just for one day

I cannot fix on the hour or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation.. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew I had begun - Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen

If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more - Emma, Jane Austen.

The first night they allowed me above decks on the voyage to Villa Nueva del Grao there was a full moon. Do you remember—of course you do—how we all used to sleep on the roof at Caprarola, and you would creep under my blanket and ask me all the questions that were racing around your head and stopping you falling asleep? How could bats see in the dark? … Could you marry me when we grew up?… One night, when the moon was full, I explained to you about how the moon controls the tides, and you said I was like the moon and you were the sea, always following me about. And I said nothing, because I knew it was truly the other way around.“ — Sins of the House of Borgia, Sarah Bower

#byler #mike wheeler #will byers #byler moodboard #byler playlist #my edit #jane austen #hozier #taylor swift #otp: heart and light

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kieraelieson · 4 months

Text

Patton knelt beside the child’s bed. They were feverish, covered in sweat, and struggling to breathe.

The parents stood at a small distance, huddled together in an attempt to comfort each other.

Patton reached out a hand, waving it gently over the child’s chest. He could nearly feel it. The illness, like a thick slime filling the lungs, tendrils squeezing at the throat. The heat of the fever and wetness of the sweat he could physically feel, even without placing his hand onto the child’s skin.

He closed his eyes. Visualizing what he could feel.

He lifted at the slime. It stuck to his hand, leeching into his skin. Patton kept pulling.

It wasn’t holding tight to the child, pulling it off was easy, but it was slippery and drippy and hard to gather together. Patton had to use both hands, shaping the slime into a rough ball in the air. As long as he kept it moving he could somewhat control it, but let it still and it would drop back into the poor child.

Patton’s sinuses began to itch. His chest felt heavy. He forced himself not to cough at the phlegm in his throat. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Still, he focused on the child. On clearing every bit of the illness he could. If he missed just a little, the child’s immune system might be able to manage it. But too much and it would multiply, taking over again. And this time wary of being removed.

The slime continued to seep into Patton himself, and he allowed it. He was no true healer. He couldn’t banish an illness like some could. He couldn’t seal it away either. But he could pull it into himself, and deal with it there.

When the child took a deep, full breath, and opened their eyes, the parents broke from their huddle, taking their child into their arms.

Patton’s stomach churned as he tried to excuse himself. They wanted to give him thanks, a reward or payment of some kind. But he couldn’t stay, he didn’t want them to see the same symptoms displayed in himself.

He made his way home, struggling more and more.

Finally he’d made it. He locked the door and pulled closed all the curtains.

Here was the part he couldn’t allow others to know about. The village thought he was a healer, nothing more. If they knew how much less he was…

“You really ought to be more careful,” the fire hissed. Or rather, the demon within the flames.

Patton tried to answer, but fell into a coughing fit, dropping to the rug by the fire.

A tendril snaked out from the fire, touching him on the knee. It didn’t burn him, almost never had.

Once he managed to stop coughing, Patton gave the fire demon a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine, you’ll make sure of that, right?”

Janus hissed grouchily, coiling up under the log.

Patton closed his eyes, feeling within himself. The slime was far more stuck to him, annoyed at having been moved once. It was like tar now, stuck everywhere.

He pulled and coaxed a bit off the whole, and flicked his wrist, sending it into the fire. Janus snapped at it before it had even landed, and swallowed it down. The flames became tinged with an icky greenish color.

Patton pulled a bit more, drawing it up through his throat, tricking it into believing it was merely moving through the body, rather than being removed.

Janus ate or burnt every bit Patton tossed to him. He lived on bad things. Never had Patton offered him an illness or a pain that he had refused.

Finally, Patton felt he had removed it all. He took in a deep breath, held it in his lungs, and blew it out into the fire.

The flames flared all around Janus, who was fatter from all he’d eaten.

“I think I need a bit of a refresh,” Patton said, still feeling a bit weak even after all the illness had been removed.

Janus slipped behind the log. “Just don’t do that one near me.”

Patton went outside. He stretched and took in a deep breath of the fresh air.

The sky was full of oranges and pinks in the sunset. A perfect focus for a refresh. He fixed his eyes on the beautiful colors.

He felt for his own essence, tendrils woven through his whole body. He took in another breath, the pure air, the gentle humidity, the scent of nearby flowers, and the colors of the sky. He washed it through his body, cleaning and refreshing all the threads of his being, then let it out.

It took a few cycles for him to feel properly himself again, and the sky had turned to purples and blues, the land around him mostly shadows.

“It’s worth it,” he murmured into the air. “Always.”

#my own work #sanders sides #patton sanders #janus sanders #fantasy au #I impulsively wrote a teeny fic!

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creative-jackalope · 8 months

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*chanting* Ford Pines ! Ford Pines ! Ford Pines !

(for the headcanon game LOL)

HI THIS WAS SENT TO ME A REALLY LONG TIME AGO AND I FORGOT TO POST THE RESPONSE,,, This has been in my drafts for like a year I think oopsie. Aaaaaaaaaaaanyway--

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[Send a character’s name to receive four different headcanons!]

OH BOY do I have many a thought about this man. Picking just four is tough and these are going to be so long so I’ll place them under a read-more.

Heads up - significant Gravity Falls spoilers!

Headcanon 1 - Canon-Compliant:

This is a relatively common headcanon already, I think, but Ford is absolutely covered in scars from his time in the Multiverse. He also already had some from his years in Gravity Falls. If you can name an injury, Ford's probably experienced it at some point - bitten, stung, broken bones, shot, stabbed, fallen from a height, poisoned, burned, he's seen it all. (Thankfully he's managed to keep himself away from fatal or debilitating harm, but there's still time! :D His common sense and self-preservation instincts leave something to be desired and his hero complex never quite went away.) He isn't too fussed about others seeing the scars, usually, but he tends to be evasive if asked about them - he prefers not to think about his time in the Multiverse in too much detail.

Headcanon 2 - Hilarious:

Ford is resolutely convinced that, throughout his time working with Fiddleford, he did an astounding job at hiding Bill and their partnership. He is 100% certain that Fiddleford couldn't ever have known, not in the least! It does, however, turn out that Ford is a terrible liar and has about as much subtlety as a fork in the garbage disposal. That's not even counting the moments (that Ford is unaware of) when Bill would talk directly to Fiddleford, making no pretenses but never telling Fiddleford exactly who he is other than a 'friend' looking after Ford and helping build the portal. At one point Bill even tried to directly tell Ford that Fiddleford knew, hoping they'd get to stop the charade - Ford just laughed and brushed it off, saying, "Don't be ridiculous, he doesn't suspect a thing!" Bill didn't care enough to push the topic.

Headcanon 3 - Painful:

[CW: Substance misuse, life-threatening physical illness, mental illness, paranoia] Being possessed repeatedly by Bill had serious effects on Ford’s body which neither of them expected. Towards the end of their partnership, his body essentially began to treat Bill like a parasite - his immune system began attacking his nervous system. This caused swelling in his brain, accompanied by fever, hallucinations, chronic headaches and light sensitivity, and just in general an awful time all around for him. After the betrayal, it didn’t matter if Cipher was actually tormenting him or not; hallucinations of him were enough to fuel Ford’s paranoia, and depriving himself of sleep to 'protect' himself from these hallucinations did extremely little to help. The one saving grace is that Ford began to self-medicate with steroids in an attempt to keep himself awake and alert for longer periods, which had the (accidental, on his part) side-effect of slowing/reducing the swelling and suppressing his immune system's attack on his body - and likely saved his life by keeping him going until he finally ended up in a hospital. He has long-lasting damage from this, though thankfully things have improved with time, and he has learned to live with and work around the lingering symptoms. He's still not certain how much of the torment in those years was actually Bill, and how much of it was his own paranoia and illness... If he's honest with himself, he'd rather not know.

Headcanon 4 - Canon Is Dead:

Stanford Pines likes poetry and I will die on this hill. I know this directly contradicts Journal 3 (”I never understood poetry, to be honest") but, in my eyes, Ford loves self-expression through written and visual mediums. He is a man who has always struggled with expressing things like emotions verbally, which is part of the reason he ends up using his Journals more as a diary than as a record of research methods and discoveries, and so art as an expression of things you can’t otherwise put words to fascinates him. The written word, in general, is something he loves - whether fiction or non-fiction, poetry or prose. Poetry in particular is something that helps him with recognising his own emotions and understanding them. As such, I explain the Journal 3 comment either as “-plugs ears- he didn’t say that” or “he’s being deliberately snarky because he knows what the Hand Witch is implying and he doesn’t like it or want to admit/acknowledge it”.

...

Now I’m. Stretching the rules a bit lmao.

Here are some in-depth extras that are important ones to me, but don’t particularly fit the above categories.

Bonus Headcanon 5 - Trauma, coping mechanisms, and the importance of social support after so much isolation:

[CW: Discussion of PTSD symptoms] Basically implied in canon already, he has some pretty serious PTSD as a result of his years spent paranoid and alone in the Multiverse, and suffers from frequent nightmares as well as occasional flashbacks, amongst other things. One of his biggest coping mechanisms for the related anxiety is being armed so he can defend himself at a moment’s notice. At first after returning, Ford never went without his weapon belt, not even at the Shack, and all it took was an errant floorboard creak for his hand to fly to his gun. After a long while, he steadily got used to the idea that he was home, and he was safe, and started to forgo the belt more and more whilst in what he felt were safe places (ie. in the Shack or on the Stan O’ War II). Despite that, he still feels the need to be armed for reassurance whenever he goes out, even if it’s just to the town - and there are days where he will, without explanation, carry a weapon in his safe places too, something that Stan tactfully doesn’t mention. However, later on those same days Stan will usually a spot a new anomaly and insist they need to stay home so he can tell Ford about it, then spend all evening spinning a grand tale of how terrifying and fantastical it was in great detail, until Ford either is listening with complete awe or is terribly unamused and poking holes in the blatantly fabricated story - either way, the gun often ends up on the table, forgotten.

Bonus Headcanon 6 - Probably the most important one to me and plays a massive part in how I characterise Ford as a whole - I apologise for how LONG this one is but I have so so so many thoughts about it:

Ford is autistic and was diagnosed as a child, in the 60s. He grew up masking a lot of the more “obvious” traits, like repressing many of his body stims, because of bullying and family pressure - he was already “weird” and this just made him stand out more, so he tried to hide it. Big traits he had as a child that carried over to adulthood were his bluntness, difficulty in relating to others, sensitivity to sensory input (noise and texture were the main ones), and how he would focus intensely on particular topics that interested him. Behind-the-scenes he also received a lot of support from Stan (who I headcanon as ADHD and autistic, though his traits present very differently to Ford’s and he was never assessed or diagnosed, instead just treated as a ‘problem child’), and as such, began to struggle a lot more than he thought he would once Stan was no longer in his life and couldn’t secretly help him through things. As an adult, since he started living alone and had embraced his polydactly and made it his, Ford steadily started unmasking and just let himself exist in all his “weird” glory; including being more vocal about his own limits and needs, both personal and social. He stims a lot with DD&MD dice (which he is an avid collector of) as well as whatever little desk toys he can find (especially physics-based ones), and also has several hand-based stims like tapping or rubbing his fingers. One of his anxious stims, picked up during the nights where he was trying to keep himself awake, is tapping his thumb against his fingers sequentially and counting along “one, two, three, four, five”. Counting is general is an action he finds very soothing when he’s stressed or anxious. Finally, one thing that has never, ever changed about him is that once he gets focused on something he Will Not Stop - he’ll forgo food, sleep, and anything else because he simply forgets he needs it once he gets into the zone, and he’s terrible at reading the signals from his body informing him he is hungry or tired. Having others around, like Fiddleford and Stanley, to prompt him to look after himself is something he benefits from heavily.

#hunter posts #hunter flaps #asks #ask game #headcanon ask game #gravity falls spoilers #stanford pines

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matsmurdock · 2 years

Text

obligatory sick fic

Hi again, today I come to you with a sick fic!

You can also find this fic on my ao3 <3 Enjoy!

Words: 1051

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Female reader

credits for the picture: murdocklovebot on twitter

The first thing you felt when you woke up was how gross and clammy you felt. It was apparently early morning, your alarm hadn’t even rung yet, so you were annoyed by that too. You moaned when you tried to turn around to face Matt but realized your entire body ached, the sheet was sticking to you body and you felt cold because of the dry sweat. You saw Matt starting to wake up but couldn’t keep your eyes open because of how tired you were.

“Good morning” Matt said, leaning in to kiss your forehead, that made you moan again because it felt like your body would break just from the featherlight kiss. “God, you’re burning up sweetheart” Matt whispered.

“No, I’m cold” you mumbled in the cover.

“I think you might be running a fever, you’re very sticky” Matt said brushing your hair out of your face. “I’m going to get you some water and Tylenol.” You mumbled a thank you as he got up and left to go fetch you a glass of water in the kitchen.

You felt as though your brain was trying to escape through the front of your face with how much it was aching. You reached for your phone to look at the time and groaned when you saw that it was nearly time for you to get up and start working, you tried sitting up in bed, but felt what little energy you had drain out of you. You heard Matt coming back from the kitchen, and went to get up from the side of the bed when you heard him exclaim his disagreement.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked coming towards you, “You shouldn’t be moving right now.” He laid the glass of water of the side table and pushed you back down on the bed. Everything started spinning, so you welcomed the comfort of the bed under you.

“I have work soon.”

“I’ll send them an e-mail or something, you’re not getting up until your fever’s down”, he said, reaching for the glass and helping you take your Tylenol pill.

“I’ll be fine, this is going to help thank you.” He shook his head. “I’ll take a vitamin tablet too and I’ll be alright in no time I think I’m just tired but I’ll be fine Matty.”

“Either you’re staying in bed or I’m calling Claire”, he threatened.

“I haven’t seen her in a long time, maybe we’ll drink coffee together and make you look like a clown because I’m just having a slow morning.”

“I think you caught Peter’s flu, and you saw how sick he was” Matt said, rubbing his finger up and down your arm. “I don’t want you to be that sick if we can avoid it.”

“It won’t be that bad” you tried, but knew it wouldn’t work. “Maybe I can just work from the bed.”

“You’re not going to work at all, you need to sleep this off.” Matt said. “I’m going to call Foggy and tell him I’ll be working on my cases from home.”

“You don’t have to stay home for me, I can manage.”

“I don’t trust you to take care of yourself, actually.” And ouch, that kind of hurt but you knew he wasn’t wrong. “Y/n, please let me take care of you today. If you feel better tomorrow, then we’ll see about work.”

You thought about it and how anxious it made you to miss work. You had never missed work; you even went to work on a sprained ankle one day to spare yourself the stress and trouble it would entail. Part of the reason why you never missed work was because you knew your boss was a hardass when it came to sick days. But to be fair, it was probably irresponsible to work when you were this sick. The room wouldn’t stop spinning, so you didn’t even know how you’d manage to write emails all day long. You could try for a half day, but you knew Matt would sooner call your boss and let them know how he felt about this than let you do it. You sighed. “Okay, yeah, let me just send an email.”

“I can do it for you.”

“Matt, please.”

“I’ll get you your laptop but then you’re going back to sleep.”

He went back to the living room to get your laptop from the little desk area you’d arranged for yourself after Matt once again forced you to, because you didn’t want him to think you were taking over his own space. He’d shut that shit down so fast you didn’t even have time to blink before he moved some of his stuff over to make room for yours. He got you your laptop, you sent an apologetic email to you HR telling them you had the flu and would be up and at it again tomorrow, but until then you were on forced bed rest. You were so tired that you couldn’t find it in yourself to feel bad about it for now, only thinking about the nap you were going to take as soon as you were done with this. You closed your laptop again and put it on your side table. You put your head back on your pillow and wrapped yourself in the duvet cover. Matt kissed your forehead before going to fill up your glass again. A whine escaped your lips without your consent when he made to leave, he stopped in his tracks.

“Do you need something, what’s wrong?” he asked, a frown between his eyebrows.

“Can you stay with me for now?” you asked, feeling shy suddenly. This was humiliating. You hated being sick because it made you feel and act like a helpless child. “I’m cold and I’m sleepy” you continued, feeling small and keeping your eyes closed to not face Matt’s judging face.

“Oh sweetheart,” you heard him say, and you opened your eyes again. He was coming to sit next to you, his hand coming to brush your hair. “Of course I’ll stay with you.” You thanked you and took his hand to hold it. You turned a little to face him, still holding his hand and before you knew it you were drifting of to sleep.

Thank you for reading, hope you liked it!!

#daredevil #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x female reader #daredevil fanfic #marvel fanfic

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