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sameschmidtdiffname · 3 months

Note

heyyyy can I pls req something where Mike tries to make it up to the reader after he says something wrong in their 1st fight as a couple? like “I don’t want to lose you” as an apology and they get back together or something along those lines? tysm I really enjoy ur work :))

But of course!!!

Wanting, Waiting

Mike Schmidt x Gender Neutral! Reader

Summery: Overworked and underfed, you'll go to sleep once some decent work is complete. However, a late night turns into a day long fight.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no gender specific pronouns for Reader, pre-established relationship, argument, cursing, Reader and Mike both got some shit going on, hints of an eating disorder, overworking, hurt/comfort, crying, mentions of: suicide/death, depression, drugging, and kidnapping. Vulnerability is gross.

Notes: 'Slip' walked so this could run full speed into a brick wall. I feel as though I may have redeemed myself.

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This page is mocking me.

The hour is late. I stopped checking the clock around 2:00 A.M., and there's a cup of cold coffee right next to me on this table, several rings on the inside from where the coffee had been left sitting far too long. It's cheap, the flavor sticking to my teeth in a way that settles my lips into a slight grimace as I try to convince my hand to move my pen across the just as cheap notebook paper that has been sitting in front of me since I came home.

Come on. It's words. What the fuck is hard about this?

'It's not hard if you can actually get your head out of your ass and do something,' I think to myself. Not helping.

I have an irritating collection of drafts. Oh yes, I can start them and I can certainly plan out the works before me. But actually writing is somehow impossible, and even though I can feel how thick the block is in my mind, preventing me from communicating my feelings properly, I just can't get break myself out of it.

Come on. Finish one draft. Then everything will click together for the rest.

For the past few weeks it's been just like this. Come home, sit down with projects, and try. But no matter what I do, I just can't focus. It's as though my head simply won't allow it. And this house, quite frankly, isn't helping. It's admittedly unsettling atmosphere, the loud noises born from nothing. It's as though I can feel the weight of the dead that used to sit at the same glass table as I watching me over my shoulder, pressing their non-existent weight against me, making my chest tight with pressure I cannot voice because that's not fair to the ones still here truly haunted by their presence. I'm just a guest who overextends their stay, quite frankly.

Just a page. Just write a page and you can get up for a moment. Ignore how loud the fridge is at something clunks inside of it.

A page. Get a page. Come on, you imbecile, how hard is a fucking pa-

"I thought we talked about this."

It's a testament to my mental state how high I manage to jump in my chair, my tired and over-caffinated heart set off to make me dizzy with over exertion from fear, turning to see who has come to voice their thoughts and damn us both with them.

"Mike," I sigh. I place a hand on my chest, rubbing slightly at the spot where I feel my heart pounding against my sore ribs. "Don't do that."

"Have you slept at all?" Mike asks disapprovingly. His arms are crossed against his chest, heavy bags under his eyes from another night of restless dreams. He can't sleep, I won't sleep. If he'd allow it, we could actually get shit done this time of day.

"A little," I lie. He's just worried. About everything. He always is, which at first was something I loved about him. And usually I still do. It's an admirable trait, to care about someone and love them so much it's only natural to fret over them, to check and make sure they're taken care of properly.

Except it makes me feel guilty.

"Oh yeah? What time?" He asks, narrowing his sleep swollen eyes at me.

Details. Fuck.

"Ah, uh- I don't know, I wasn't looking at the clock," I say sheepishly, trying to flash a disarming smile and make my own bags look like ones of bare minimum rest instead of self neglect. Mike's jaw tightens slightly.

"Oh?" He says in a dull voice that is not raised, yet managed to ring throughout the room nonetheless.

I hum affirmatively, pressing my lips together and fiddling with the cheap pen in my hands, glancing down at it in an attempt at trying not to give myself away.

"Yeah, I don't know. Just like, laid my head on the book and... y'know... drifted off for a couple hours," I try to say casually.

"Ah," he says as though that were enough, leaning now against the doorframe of the hallway, looking at the other wall as though the paint were interesting. "How long after I went to bed, do you think?"

Keep your breathing even. He can smell fear. "Like, a couple," I answer with a shrug.

"Or, like, not at all," he says, turning his head back to stare down at me with a glare.

"I slept," I insist.

"Bullshit. You give me unnecessary detail about your shits post mexican take-out, but you can't tell me what time you fell asleep?" He says accusingly.

"I was asleep! I'm sorry, do you want me to lie and give some time because you need it for some reason?" I ask evenly, shrugging as though to ask what he'd like me to say, blinking at him and adding a tired tinge of a croak to my voice to match his.

"I'm sorry?" He asks, eyes still in narrow slits yet somehow widening slightly, his leg uncrossing from over the other and planting firmly on the floor as he stands straight.

He's not that tall. Kinda short. But he looks much bigger when mad. Kinda like an iguana. I told him that one time and got bit. Jokingly, of course. It's not like he'd just reach over and sna- You know what? Irrelevant.

"I'm just saying," I say, starting to turn back to my notebook as though the conversation were finished.

"No-no, I'd like to hear that again," he says. I can hear his footsteps pad against the flat, tan carpet, my shoulders stiffening slightly as I train my decreasingly neutral eyes on the wrinkled, lined paper in front of me. "I liked the part where you made me sound like some insecure teenager for calling you out on your shit. Very original."

My lips press into a thin line, my grip on my pen tightening slightly.

"It's not that serious, Mikey-"

"Don't bullshit me, and don't use some cheap nickname as a cop out via sympathy," Mike snaps, standing now on the opposite side of the table, pressing his hands now against the glass surface that dirties so easily. Trust me, we've had to clean some prints off of it.

There's a line, and at some point I'm going to cross it. The problem is it's hidden under mental sand that makes me unclear of exactly where it is.

"Michael-"

"That's formal," he says, leaning forward on the table, his tone the same as an interrogating mother just waiting for the moment where no one will blame her for finally tearing you to shreds for what you've said to her outwardly innocent statements. A trap.

"I'm sorry, I thought you didn't like cheap nicknames?" I say, fighting the irritation in my voice, barely managing to remain even as I click my pen to begin writing.

"What's wrong with just Mike?" He asks. He reaches across the table, placing all five of his fingertips on my paper firmly and dragging it back across the table towards him, withholding it from me.

"Would you like me to use just Mike?" I ask.

"I'd like you to make eye contact while you lie through your fucken teeth," he says calmly, not moving as he continues to stare me down.

"Okay, Mike. And what exactly does my sleep schedule mean to you?" I ask slowly, trailing my eyes from his hand, slowly up his arm with pronounced veins and muscles, to the white cotton shirt that was two sizes too large and usually what he wore to sleep in, until I meet his dark and slightly hateful eyes.

"We had a conversation," he starts.

"A conversation," I repeat.

"About a month ago, do you remember?" He asks, cocking his head slightly in that way it does when we both know I'm not going to dare to answer with anything other than he wants.

"You ha-"

"I had a concern," he interrupts me, now looking down at the notebook and studying it as though it were a piece of fine art. "Which involved how absolutely awful your ability is to take care of yourself properly."

"Mike-"

"Shut. Up." Mike says with disturbing calmness. "I'm talking."

Fine.

"It's fucking rude."

Not saying it's not.

"Like your attitude when I try to just help you because clearly, you can't help yourself," he says, now slapping down the notebook to gesture at me as though it were obvious why he was concerned.

I could speak. I'd like to. And he gives me a long enough silence I could. But instead I decide I will simply give him the floor.

"No opinion on this?" He asks shortly.

"No," I say with a dismissive shrug. "You seem to have them for me."

Mike laughs at this statement, and if the sparkle in his eyes didn't seem to have the same dull shine as the glass table between us I'd feel a bit better about it. But I think there's a six foot hole in the backyard I just signed a lease on that makes his disturbingly convincing smile much more worrisome.

"You're funny," he says affectationately. "Get up."

"What?" I ask, blinking.

"Are you deaf now? Up," he says in irritation, beginning to cross back around the table. "This isn't a negotiation."

Before I can speak his hands dig in under my armpits, roughly pulling me to stand and bringing me close to his chest. I should have energy to fight back, I've only been sitting after all. But a physical confrontation would be too loud, first of all. Abby is asleep in her room, and I don't want to make a scene to wake the poor child. Number two, my bones are sore, my head is aching and I generally just do not feel well enough to protest. Physically.

"Put me down, you son of a bitch!"

Verbally, I'm fine.

"You're going to bed, that's final!"

"I have twelve drafts due that I have to get done or else this project-"

"You have four hours of sleep you can get before you have to take your candy ass to work in the fucken morning, or else I'm gonna beat it into you," he hisses directly in my ear, his breath cold and loud so close to me. Jesus, fuck. What did his parents feed him as a child? It shouldn't be this easy for him.

"Oh, I don't do what you want and now you threaten physical violence. Very mature," I mock, reaching out to grip the doorframe of Mike's bedroom, purely to piss him off.

"Save me the dramatics," he snaps in a whisper, wrapping one arm tighter around my waist and using the other to bat my hands away from the frame. I can tell he's genuinely trying not to hurt me, his grip on one wrist firm but careful.

"Just let me write one page," I try.

"That's what you said last night," he says, still trying to pull my hand away. My nails have dug into the frame, making it slightly harder. I can sense his irritation growing. "You got two hours of sleep."

"That's not going to kill me," I argue.

"You haven't slept for more than two hours in a week," he says.

One nail breaks against the frame, making me lose my grip and sending pain down my arm from the awkward angle at which the pressure had snapped it off. I wince slightly, which gives Mike slight pause as he checks my hand, but decides I'm alright before he begins dragging me towards the bed in earnest.

"Why is it so hard for you to just take care of yourself?" Mike asks in frustration.

"I take care of myself!" I say defensively. Mike drops me onto the bed, standing in front of me to prevent any new attempts at escape.

"No, you don't," he says, quiet but firm. "You sit and stare at your notebook and you don't do anything else if you can help it. You sleep for two hours, you go to work, you hardly eat, you don't have energy anymore." Mike's hands are planted firmly on his hips, his nostrils flailing as he tries to take collected, calm breaths. "I care about you. Why can't you?"

"Michael-"

"Stop!" Mike snaps, groaning and turning away from me with a sharp spin on his heel. He buries his hands in his hair in frustration, now pacing between the bed and the door, quietly shutting it so we can argue in peace.

"Why are you so upset?" I ask, genuinely confused.

"Because I don't want to see you live like this. I am concerned and every time I bring it up you dismiss me, you joke, you don't care and I hate that," Mike says, temporarily stopped in his tracks to point at me as he seethes. "I'm watching you waste away and you know what? I'm starting to think part of you likes it."

"Excuse me?" I say, astounded. I cross my arms in front of my chest, cocking my head at him in a way to say 'I dare you to repeat that.'

"You heard me," Mike says, taking a step towards me. "It's like you cannot for one iota of a second conceive of some world where taking care of yourself is a good use of your time. You work, and work until you've burned yourself out so horribly you rot in bed for a month. And unless you're staying here, I hear nothing from you. Not a call, not a fuck you or whatever. It's like you're punishing yourself."

"Now who's being dramatic?" I say.

"See? I can't even point this out without you getting defensive, which just shows you know you're in the wrong!" Mike turns away from me once more, resuming his path of restless walking.

"Why do you even care?" I ask genuinely. This makes him pause again, his glare once more returning to me as he mentally questions my intelligence.

"You know what, I don't know!" Mike snaps, his voice gaining volume. "You are insistent in this fucking- slow method suicide and I'm trying to help you, but you won't let me!"

"I never asked you to care," I scoff, rolling my eyes.

"I never asked to care!" Mike nearly shouts, leaning in close to my face and sneering at me.

This breaks the tension.

His face falls as soon as the words are out of his mouth, his eyes widening slightly like my own eyes. This comment shouldn't really sting. I shouldn't let it. But it does. And for a moment, I do. And he sees that clearly.

"... oh," I say softly, my arms relaxing and shoulders sagging ever so slightly as I drop his gaze, trying to shut off my emotions before they're obvious.

"I'm sorry," Mike says quickly, stumbling to his knees in front of me. "I didn't mean that-"

"It's fine," I say, trying to remain as blank as my pages on the kitchen table.

"I just said it to be hurtful," Mike says quickly, his hand reaching up to cup my face. I take it away, turning my head to the side slightly. There's a new chill in the air, one I can feel seizing my chest.

"You weren't," I say. "I'm going to sleep."

"Please, I don't want-"

"I'm going to sleep," I say forcefully, shoving him away and turning to begin undressing from my work clothes that I still wore. Mike is silent behind me, probably thinking, and I'm close to not being able to hold myself together anymore.

"Get out!" I snap, flinging my shirt at him in a rage and beginning to stand from the bed to chase him out. He doesn't need anymore prompt, quickly scurrying out from the room to wherever it is he'll sleep now. Probably on the couch even though there's another room down the hall. A self induced punishment. Knowing him he probably won't even allow himself a blanket or pillow, feeling the cold air fitting for his selfishness.

Good.

When I wake that morning, I can smell breakfast in the air. My stomach hurts from skipping meals, but I don't want to eat. First of all, I haven't worked for a meal. There's still plenty to be done with my drafts. And food is a good encouragement to keep working. Second, I didn't ask him to care. And he didn't ask for it either. There probably isn't enough for me, and if there is, he and Abby can debate between the two who will have it. I need to shower.

I take forever washing myself. If that's what you want to call it. It was moreso standing under hot water, letting it run cold until I couldn't stand it anymore and hoping my deodorant is able to do some heavy lifting today. I barely have enough time to get to work, passing silently by Mike and not turning when he calls my name, walking out the door as fast as I can without running.

He follows me outside, something shaking in a bag behind me. When I finally open my car door I'm forced to have my gaze in his direction, his body between the door frame and my car door, presenting me with a bag of lunch.

"Please eat," he begs, placing the bag in my lap unceremoniously and then quickly stepping away and shutting the door himself.

There's a small moment where he and I just share at each other through the glass, time slipping away without notice. He hasn't slept, he'll be late for work if he doesn't get dressed soon, and the bag on top of my thighs is warm. Fresh. A petty part of me wants to roll down my window and throw away the meal, back out of the drive way and let that fester in his mind out of hate. He thinks words can hurt? Actions are so much worse.

But there's something in his eyes. Defeated, resigned. Childlike is almost the word I could use. In front of my car is the 12 year old boy who tried to chase down his brother, the 18 year old who decided to sacrifice his life raising his little sister while saying goodbye to his parents, and the 27 year old man who's just trying to keep everything together.

I don't know what to say to this child. Or to the man.

So, with the turn of my key in the ignition, I don't.

It's late when I come home. When the manager had asked me to stay late I almost called Mike to break the silence and tell him this. But there was still a part of me that didn't care whether or not he knew. Really, I didn't have to return home tonight. I could go back to my apartment and just let him rot in bed the way he claims I do. How could he say such a thing, anyways? I rot in bed? What about the days I've walked into the house and he hasn't slept all week, where he's claiming he's trying to kick his medication and he'll get the hang of it soon. Where his sister is eating every meal almost burnt because he can't think straight enough to remember time. Where I've had to coax, beg, demand of him that he just takes a pill because he's laying on the side of the bed, small and curled in on himself, dead eyed and obviously tired but still not sleeping. One time I slipped it into his food. And I felt awful. Do not think for a moment I wanted to do that. There was a betrayel in his eyes when sleep began to overtake him. I hoped he wouldn't notice, but he must've. Some tell in the drugs effect that made him aware his rest was not voluntary. But I didn't care. I stroked his hair through the night, and I'll do it again. He could hate me however long he needed to, he just needed sleep first.

The irony still hasn't struck me when I walk through the door of his house, well past dinner, Abby in the bath. The door was left unlocked, which is unusual for this time of night. Mike jumps from the couch the minute I open the door, standing with his hands by his side anxiously pulling at the edge of his oversized sweater.

Everything's oversized with him. The thought occurs to me that his father was slightly bigger.

"Don't leave me," he says quietly, his voice small and pathetic like him. But I don't say that with hate.

"I just got home," I say. "Be a bit odd to leave again."

I try a smile, but it's artificial and we both know it's only for his comfort. It doesn't touch him, his eyes glassy and lips slightly parted the same way a child's is when they're trying to breathe as their sinuses spring to life in wake of forming tears.

"I didn't mean it," he says, still standing in the same place. If I was a better person I'd probably run to him. But I'm not.

If I were a better person, I'd say I believe him. But I don't. And suddenly my throat is swollen with hurt, my own bottom lip is sticking out and now we're both trying not to cry because this is so overly taxing. We're adults but emotions are hard. Vulnerability is hard. It is a damnation that we both detest, both avoid. In better states we would joke about this, would laugh and tease the other for not having the emotional capability to voice our thoughts. But we're not. So we don't. And now we're crying openly in the off-putting, attempted to look cozy living room that we can never fully relax in.

"I don't wanna lose you," he says between small hiccups, hands now balled into fists that he buries under opposite armpits, shifting his weight so that he doesn't look so small. His glances bounce between me and the hallway table, never fixing on either of us as he tries to state his mind like an adult. "I've barely had you."

In my heart there has been a constant ache, hurt flowing and pumping through my veins like the blood that ran cold last night at his hurtful words. His apologetic words make the ache somehow worse.

"I don't mean to be a burden to you," I say softly, feeling a small, stray tear break the fluid barrier of my waterline to race down my cheek, allowing a pathway to the fatter drops that threaten to quickly follow.

Mike's face shifts, stepping towards me and holding out his arms.

"No, never," he says just as soft, trying to comfort me. I freeze as he approaches, my body stiffening as I try to swallow the lump and convince myself that I can survive his touch. His touch that I normally crave the moment I'm around him, that I seek in the dark of night even when the bed is overheating, that I'd go insane without.

"I've never asked you to care," I say, voice breaking and tears rolling freely now.

"I know," he says into my neck, which is wetting as he shakes around me, his grasp firm and careless of whether or not it's too much.

"I don't mean to cause problems. I just...." I don't know what I mean, how I wish to finish the statement. If I was clever, I could. If I was clever, I wouldn't even be in this problem to begin with.

"I'm just scared," he chokes out, his breathing horrible as he struggles to keep his crying from being obvious. "You look sick all the time and I don't want that."

He's told me the story. His mother wasting away, thinning and slipping, starving and dying. How he'd returned home to a baby wailing in her crib as their mothers body lay in a pool of blood he never really got out of the carpet. He lied to me initially when I saw it the first time, said it was wine. It wasn't until we had a few glasses ourselves that his eyes glazed over and he told me. It was disturbing how neutral he kept himself to the subject. A habit he'd developed much too long ago to break.

"Mike-"

"I try, and I try and if something doesn't give soon I'm gonna fucking lose it," he sobs into my skin, arms tightening around me.

"If what doesn't give?" I ask softly, trying to pull him away to look into his eyes. But he doesn't budge, sobbing a little bit harder and gripping a little bit tighter. He doesn't respond, simply shaking as he breathes heavily against me through his mouth.

"Hey," I say softly, trying to wrap my arms around him, failing and giving up as I realize his grip is too tight. "I'm not going anywhere."

His mouth closes a little, quieting his breathing slightly as he sniffles.

"I'm an idiot, but I'm not suicidal," I say softly, trying again for a joke. He doesn't laugh, but he does pull away slightly to look at my face, lips swollen and quivering as he blinks at me.

"You scare me," he says quietly, not quite meeting my eyes. He's watching my lips, but I think that's because that's the closest he can get to making eye contact.

"I scare you?" I ask, furrowing my brows. I lick my dry, cracked lips for comfort. "Why?"

"Because I love you," he says shakily, sighing as though it were exhausting to admit while still holding that nervous flicker in his eyes. "Because when I think about not being with you the house seems colder. And I can't go back to hating this house."

I open my mouth to respond, but there's more.

"Because I love your stupid smile when you're excited, or how you do that cricket leg thing when you're falling asleep. Or how if you want my attention you'll bury your head in my chest and pretend you're doing it in your sleep even though I won't judge you for doing it while you're awake."

"I don't-"

"I love how defensive you get over things like that," he says, bringing one hand to cup my cheek, resting his thumb that smells like the creamy lavender handsoap next to the bathroom sink on my lips. "I love how you look waking up next to me, how you play with Abby. And for a really long time I didn't see myself ever having kids, but when I see you curling her hair at the kitchen table I think maybe it wouldn't be so bad if I just took up another job and saved money so that we could-"

"Mike-"

"Stop cutting me off," he says gently, his eyes finally meeting mine with just the smallest smile. "It's rude."

At that I do stop, my body finally relaxing into his grasp as I lean into him and his touch.

"I want things I haven't wanted since before Garret went missing," he says, stroking my lip. "And I want them with you."

Dinner was just as delicious as lunch, even if it was late. And the bed is soft like our voices as we make plans for years down the line. And after a week long break, the pages are finally filled once again.

Just like us.

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Literally had a come to Jesus moment while writing this that not only do I fear being vulnerable irl, but in writing too. Nearly threw up while writing this. Book aable feet.

Taglist:

@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 @jhutchissupercool . Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

•▪︎Masterlist▪︎•

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morbid-zombii · 3 months

Text

↻ ^. "you can be the boss" [j.d/fem!user]

summary:: you meet j.d. at 7/11, and he gives you a cigarette with his number on it.

word count:: 3696

notes::

↻ ^. not spell checked

↻ ^. i think this gets cringe at some points (specially cuz i use y/n once) but HEY. shut up ok idc

After sleepless nights and a strict diet of coffee and other caffinated drinks to help you study for your midterms that seemed to be approaching quicker than you'd expected, you needed a break. A cigarette break, to be more specific.

Now under any normal circumstance, you'd just light a cigarette in your room, cracking open the window and letting the smoke drift out into the air. But, your parents had caught you smoking again. For the third time. They'd tried to lecture you time and time again, but it never worked. You always found a way to get your hands on a pack, one way or another.

If your parents walked into your room and smelled the lingering scent of the smoke in your room, they'd surely kill you this time. So, in order to not get caught for a fourth time, you take the short walk to 7/11 under the guise that you were off to get a slushie. That's how you find yourself standing behind the building where there would be no cameras, against the cool brick wall of the structure, fumbling around in your pockets for the pack you'd stolen from your moms purse.

Sure, she had tried to warn you against smoking like she did, but keeping cigarettes in the house where your kid can easily get to them wasn't too wise of a decision, was it? It's like they say, the apple never falls too far from the tree.

You finally pull them out, and open the pack. Damn, the last one in the pack. Whatever, you take it anyway. You reach back into your pocket and pull out your lighter, using your thumb to drag the metal wheel down, pressing the red ignition button.

With a flick and a spark, the gas inside ignites and allows a small, controlled flame to immerge and dance in the palm of your hand, casting a warm glow on a small portion of your skin.

You tremble slightly as you hold your cigarette in your other hand and bring it to the lighter, eager to taste the nicotine on your lips and the rush you get from inhaling the smoke.

Fuck, this exactly what you need, and—

Shit.

You dropped it.

Normally, you wouldn't care, picking it up and smoking it anyway. But it just so happened to fall in a puddle of murky water on the concrete.

"Fucking idiot," You curse under your breath, scolding yourself for your incompitence.

You huff frustratedly, about to head i side and grab a slushie to make it look like you didn't just go to 7/11 specifically for a smoke, when an unfamiliar voice catches your attention.

"You look like you need a new one, am I wrong?" The voice asks you.

You turn your head, and upon examinatiom, the voice is a 5'9" boy wearing a charismatic grin on his expression. He looks about seventeen-ish, brown hair that looks to be ruffled from the wind, and sharp blue eyes. And in his hand? A new cigarette that he holds out for you to take.

You'd always seen this kid at the 7/11 near your house. Though you'd never spoken to him directly, it seemed that any time you'd gone he never failed to make an appearance. And you couldn't tell if it was your paranoia, or the fact it was always late at night when you'd go, but you always felt his eyes on you. Stealing glances at you whenever he could, but always turning away when you'd look back. It was unnerving, to say the least.

The wind blows against you which causes a you to shiver, only just now realize how cold it is outside. You really should have brought a jacket.

You offer him a smile, taking the cigarette from his hands and into your own. "Not wrong at all." You say. "In fact, you're a lifesaver." You light the new one succsessfully after correcting him.

He does the same, taking another from his pack and lighting it in return, then he brings it to his lips and takes a long drag, letting the smoke pool out from his lips and into the night air after a short moment.

"I always see you around here." You start, sparing him a glance. "Do you come here a lot?"

He nods after a moment. "The slushies here are to die for." He states rather matter of factly.

"Really?" You question, your tone skeptical, obviously you doubt him. "You'd kill yourself for a slushie? We're at a 7/11, they can't be that good."

He raises an eyebrow, pulling out his wallet and waving it at you. "Wanna bet?" He offers, throwing a quick glance behind him, in the general direction of the front of the store.

A free slushie would be nice, but you just met this kid. Officially, at least. You'd feel bad if he spent his money on you.

"I'm alright, I have my own money." You turn down his offer politely, patting your pocket where you have a ten dollar bill crumpled up in.

"Your choice, I guess." He shrugs casually. "I don't know anyone who would turn down a free slushie." He informs you, placing his wallet back inside of his pocket.

"Well, you do now." You point out, tilting your head slightly. "I never did get your name, by the way."

He nods, inhaling another drag from his cigarette and answering after a beat. "My apologies. The name's Jason Dean," He introduces, smoke falling from his lips as he extends his hand.

"Though, I don't doubt you've already heard of that name before." He mentions casually.

"Alright, J.D." You reply, tagging on your own nickname as you take his hand and shake it. His hands are slim and pale, like the rest of his figure, as well as chilled from the cool night. "And no, as a matter of fact, I haven't."

"Son of Bud Dean, the owner of Bud Dean Construction." He explains shortly, seeming to be slightly surprised you don't know.

"Though it's more demolition than construction, seeing as they mostly blow up buildings." He adds jokingly, a small grin on his expression.

You laugh lightly at his joke, crossing your arms over your chest. "Yeah, the name sounds familiar now that you mention it." You say, nodding your head along with his words.

"Hey, I really should get going but, uh– Call me, yeah?" He suggests, wearing a charismatic grin on his expression.

"Will do," You agree, mindlessly nodding your head before you realize that you lack one crucial detail.

You don't have his number.

"Oh, but I don't have your—" You turn your head back to him, but he's already vanished before you can get another sentence in.

Huh. Weird interaction. You look down at your hand which is still holding the cigarette. You realize you had barely smoked it as you spin it around in your finger completely distracted by his interactio— Wait, what's that?

You notice writing on the cigarette, and bring it closer to your face to read. Thanks to the small lightbulb attatched to the wall above the back door of the building, it illuminates the area enough that you can just barely make out the writing.

Or, more like chicken scratch. This kids handwriting sucks. But it's not entirely illegible, you can make out a series of numbers seperated by dashes in between.

You grin. It's his phone number.

---

After you return home, you slip the now empty pack of cigarettes into your moms purse, and as you walk by you take a sip of your slushie.

Your eyebrows quirk up slightly as the taste hits your tongue. You'd planned on throwing it away at first, you don't really eat sugary things afterall. But he's right, the slushies are to die for.

You walk to your room, and it's oddly quiet as you do so. Had your parents gone out? Whatever, works more in your favor anyway, now you can call J.D.

You pick up your red rotary phone that sits on your nightstand, spinning the dial and reading (Though it feels more like you're decoding.) the digits written on the cigarette and inputing them accordingly.

Finally the phone begins to ring, and you count each one impatiently.

Ring.

One.

Ring.

That's two.

Ring.

A third. Is he asleep? You wouldn't blame him if he was, it is late afterall—

"Greetings and salutations," A voice speaks over the phone. His voice.

"Hey J.D., it's me." You pause, before realizing you should probably clarify. "The girl from the 7/11. I don't know if you remember—"

"[Y/N], of course I remember you." He responds, cutting you off before you can get your full sentence out.

You pinch your eyebrows together slightly. Your name. He used your name, how did he know that? You hadn't given it to him, had you?

"Uh, yeah.. How did you know my name?" You question slowly.

"Really? I'm offended." His voice speaks through the phone and you can tell he's being sarcastic. "We go to Westerberg, we're in the same Biology class together."

Oh. A small wave of relief washes over you; part of you believed you had a stalker for a moment. You really need to work on not jumping to the worst circumstances.

"You mean Mrs. Wilmington? How come I never noticed you before? Jeez, I'm sorry, I feel like such an asshole now." You laugh awkwardly.

"Ah, don't be." He dismisses you. "I'm not surprised, honestly. I'm usually sat in the back, I don't have much to offer when it comes to conversation, anyway."

"Nobody does; Wilmington's a—"

"A kook? Yeah, everyone says that about her." He cuts you off. Again. Taking the words from your throat before you can speak them aloud.

Can this guy go one second without interupting? In biology, he does anything but talk. But over the phone? He'll do anything but let you finish a sentence.

"Y'know what I like about you?" You question him.

"Hmm?" He hums in response, waiting for you to continue.

"How you let me finish my sentences." You tell him sarcastically, a smile forming on your face.

You assume he can hear the smile in your voice, because you can hear his as well.

"Well, you're welcome." He responds jokingly.

You bite your lip, finding yourself twirling the phone cord between your fingers. The phone call goes silent, and you speak again after a beat.

"Do you wanna come over? My parents went out." You ask him on a whim.

----

"I see you finished your slushie." J.D points out, looking over to the empty plastic cup that sits on your nightstand beside your bed.

You grin, folding your arms over your chest. "As much as I hate to admit when I'm wrong; those slushies are good." You admit, tilting your head to the left, your eyes following him carefully as he looks around your room.

"Told you so." He starts. "And– Just good?" He raises an eyebrow, judging you. "I, personally believe they're a grace from God." He grins and you take it that he's joking.

You give him a look and he laughs in a dismissive manner. A grace from God, he says. Seriously? Does this guy, like, worship slushies existance? Pray at his altar of slush?

"Been studying for mid-terms?" He questions as he walks over to your desk, obviously referring to the fact that it looks like a tornado passed through the surface area of it. Stray papers with notes rushedly scrawled on and various textbooks lay sprawled in a disorganized fashion on the tabletop, and the trashcan beside the leg of the desk is borderline overflowing with crumpled papers and empty energy drink cans.

"Yeah, been pretty stressed out about it." You exhale a laugh. "What about you? Have you been studying?" You ask him, though if we're being honest it doesn't seem like he's touched a textbook in his entire life.

"I'm not really what you would call the 'study type.'" He mentions, dropping his shoulders in a shrug and sitting down on your desks chair. "I usually take to grabbing a slushie and hoping for the best."

Yeah, you figured. "I thought as much," You mention casually.

He gives you a look. "Well, I might not be the best studier, but I'm a great stress-reliever." His tone grows suggestive and a cocky grin pulls at the corners of his lips.

You let out a sudden laugh, though it comes out sounding like more of a snort. Really? Thats all this kid could come up with? (me callinf myself out here incase you couldnt tell)

Regarding him skeptically, you tilt your head to the side ever so slightly. "That's the corniest thing I've ever heard anyone say." You state with a teasing smirk on your face. Sure, it might be corny, but if you're being honest? It's kind of working on you.

"It's true, I'm basically like a cure for stress."

"Says who?" You ask curiously, quirking an eyebrow up as you wait for him to respond.

You hear the laugh that he's trying to hold back on the edge of his voice. "Says.. all the women I've been with. Obviously." He rolls his eyes with mock-dramaticness and they sparkle in the lighting of your room. His cheeks are tinged with traces of pink.

"I don't believe you." You respond bluntly, crossing your arms over your chest as you speak.

"Want me to prove it?" He questions, never once breaking his eyes away from yours. His tone suddenly loses traces of its previous humor and the room fills with tension.

The room falls under a heated silence as you ponder your next words. You just met this kid, it'd probably be a bad idea to sleep with him so soon.

But, you feel a sly grin creep on your face as you ponder the other option here, and butterflies flutter in your stomach at the thought of him and you hooking up.

Whatever, fuck it.

"Prove it," You answer finally, subconciously biting your lip. The tone of your response almost makes it sound like you're daring him.

He grins lightly, rises from your desk chair which he was previously sitting on and begins to make his way over to you. "Well, I'm not one to turn down a challenge." He says cockily.

After a moment he stands in front of you. But not for long though, because in a second he's on his knees, his gaze is full of admiration as he looks up at you. You begin to feel a heat begin to pool somewhere within you as hs dextertous hands make quick work of your bottoms, and he slowly pulls them down and tosses out of the way.

He places his hands on your thighs, parting your legs before hooking one of them around his shoulder to make from for himself between you. He slowly works his lips on your inner thigh, planting countless kisses along your soft skin and working his way up.

Your breath hitches at the sudden tantalizing contact of his lips kissing and nipping at your skin, and you feel him grin against you as he hears the sound leave your mouth; the heated feeling within only growing more as each slow second ticks by.

Then he looks up at you questioningly, as if waiting for you to stop him. Giving you an opportunity to interject and back out. You don't, instead you nod your head. And when you do, he smiles and pulls the fabric of your panties aside.

And within seconds, he dips his head between your thighs and his tounge is on your skin, running along your folds and eventually meeting your clit. You gasp lightly at the unfamiliar feeling of his tounge making contact with your nerves as he begins to work in slow cirlces on your slick wetness.

"Every part of you tastes amazing, darling." He whispers against your skin and the vibrations from his voice send a wave of shivers down your spine that shoot straight to your already throbbing clit; eliciting a low moan to escape you. You can feel him grin, and you don't need to look at his expression to know that he's thinking"told you so".

He continues to drag his tounge along your skin, and soon you find yourself gently bucking your hips up into him, the slow pace he's currently at isn't enough and you realize you're wanting more. Needing more, actually. But it seems like he's realized this fact before you, because he places his hand firmly on your hips. Not enough to hurt you, but just enough to be able to pin you down enough so that you don't move.

You reach your hand down to fist his surprsingly soft hair, your other gripping the bedsheets tightly as if your entire life depended on it. You feel yourself reaching your climax quicker than expected due to his expert tounge on your clit.

"J.D," You moan his name breathlessly, you're about to tell him that you're going to come, but the sensations that he's causing you to feel are entirely too overwhelming and the words get lost on your tounge before you can get them out. Your vision is foggy and you swear you're seeing stars, while your mind is plagued with thoughts of just him.

And just as you're about to come..

He pulls away.

Fucking tease.

You bite your lip frustratedly. "Getting desperate already, I see?" He patronizes you with his sickeningly sweet voice that only turns you on even more.

You breathe heavily, looking down at him with a quick nod. "Come on," You plead with him, once again dragging your hips up once you realize his grip loosened around you.

He only laughs, an impish grin on his face. He enjoys watching you suffer, apparently. Bringing his face closer to yours he kisses the corner of your mouth. "Hm?" He hums, feigning innocence.

You roll your eyes.

"I fail to understand what you want, exactl–"

Interrupting by pulling away from him, you grab his chin and turn his face to make him look at you. His grin wavers momentarily as you catch him off guard and you then offer him a sharp glare. "You're so arrogant. Just shut up and fuck me already, JD." You order him sternly.

He blinks, processing your words that appear to have the same effect on him as a drug, and once he has, the grin on his face reforms just as quickly as it faded. Now it's his turn to undress himself. He rises from his knees and pops the button to his pants, pulling a condom out from his pocket before sliding the material of his jeans down along with his boxers.

You inhale quietly, watching as he rolls the condom on and taking in the length of his dick. Truth be told, you didn't really expect that much from him. And apparently, he can tell, because he lets out a laugh.

"You should see your face right now." He points out, a smug look on his.

You roll your eyes yet again. "Just get over here." You tell him, and he does just that.

He adjusts himself on top of you, kissing the bridge of your nose as he lines himself up with your enterance and slides his cock into you, letting out a quiet moan of satisfaction when he enters.

Again, you gasp, tilting your head back slightly at the feeling of your inner walls expanding to make room for him, only to clench around his length as he moves slowly in and out of you. The feeling of him inside you only sends shockwaves that make you shiver throughout your entire body.

He lowers his head as you tip yours back, his teeth grazing your skin as he places kisses along your exposed neck, and you can feel him leaving hickeys that will surely be visible for a few days, at the least.

You arch yourself slightly in a desperate attempt to take more of him. To feel more of him inside you. His hands dip down beneath the soft fabric of your shirt. His dextertous fingertips trace the curve of your body, up to your waist and back down again until eventually they find home around your hips.

He grips them firmly, again, not enough to hurt you, but enough to keep you in place as his thrusts begin to increase in pace. Your eyes flutter at the feeling of his cock continously rubbing against your inner walls and you wrap your arms around his back, bringing him closer to you.

Once he's close enough, you take his bottom lip in yours, offering a lust-filled kiss which he doesn't turn down. In fact, he doesn't waste time nor hesitate to kiss you back; instead it only seems to get him more worked up over you as his once slow and taunting pace only gets faster, more desperate, which elicits a moan to fall past your lips and into his.

Once again, you begin to feel that same building feeling within you, and you call out his name in the form of a desperate moan once more; though this time it's muffled by the two of your intertwined lips.

Your vision goes hazy and your body begins to shake as you finally reach your long awaited climax. JD's thrusts slowly begin to cease as he coaxes you through your orgasm, and once your convulsions stop and your vision comes to, he turns over and lays by your side in your bed.

The room is silent for the most part, the only thing able to be heard is the sound of your heavy breathing and hearts pounding in your chest. Until finally, JD speaks up.

"Still feeling stressed at all?" He questions playfully, raising an eyebrow.

"No, JD." You admit, rolling your eyes though letting a smile work its way onto your face at his playful tone of voice.

He rolls over to face you, planting a kiss on your cheek. "Told you so. I'm a great stress reliever."

#heathers #heathers 1989 #jason dean #heathers musical #jd heathers #jd x reader #jason dean x reader

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techwrecker · 2 months

Text

The Bad Batch + How They Take Their Caf

Hunter: Hot, one-two creams. No sugar, no flavor. He’s in it for the caffination- not the enjoyment but can’t stand black caf.

Echo: Cold, no cream. A moderate amount of sugar, and either vanilla or hazelnut flavoring. Sips it all day.

Tech: Doesn’t like Caf. Prefers a hot tea- no cream, a little honey. Typically goes for green teas (absolutely no matcha) or an earl grey.

Wrecker: Slams like 3 shots of chilled cafspresso. (bonus: sips an energy drink all day too)

Crosshair: Hot, black. No nonsense.

Omega: She gets juice :) (Wrecker slipped her a spoonful of caf once when Hunter wasn’t looking. She hated it.)

#tbb #the bad batch #tbb headcanons #star wars #tbb omega #tbb hunter #tbb echo #tbb tech #tbb wrecker #tbb crosshair #the bad batch headcanons #star wars silly #the bad batch season 3

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eddiemunsonspantschain · 10 months

Text

Sick Day - S.H & E.M

Author's Note: Wrote a short thing, now I wrote a long thing!

Pairing: Steddie x Reader

Warnings: Pure fluff, not edited at all, afab reader, no used of Y/N

For myself and @corrodedcorpses the sexy babes with colds

There was nothing that you hated more than being sick. It started as just a little tickle in the back of your throat that started at work. You knew it was the beginnings of a cold. So you drank hot coffee and tea in the hopes it staved off the growing sickness. Your efforts were futile though. When you had gotten home the scratching hadn't gotten better. Both your boyfriends had noticed as you cleared your throat for the millionth time but neither said anything, just shared a look. Finally, Steve was the first one to say something.

"It's nothing. Just some crud in my throat." You waved him off. He didn't seem convinced.

The three of you piled into bed at the end of the nigh, Eddie calling dibs on being in the middle. You didn't mind. You laid there, back pressed to Eddie's chest as he spooned you through the night.

The next morning though, you woke up alone. When you looked at the time you saw that you slept more than you usually did which meant the boys let you sleep in. At the first swallow of saliva of the day you felt the pain radiate in your throat at the movement and sighed. "Fuck." You croaked, wincing at the sound of your voice like you took a fresh pack of Eddie's Camels and chainsmoked the entire pack in one sitting. You rubbed your hand over your eyes, knowing that the boys were going to just send you straight back to bed the moment they heard you.

Deciding not to be a lump on a log, you pulled yourself out of your shared, large bed and looked for a pair of pants. You grabbed Eddie's red plaid sweatpants, pulling them up to your hips before shuffling out the door. Steve stood at the stove, poking at scrambled eggs. Eddie noticed you first, always the silent and observant one. You moved towards the coffee pot knowing the heat of the caffinated beverage would help soothe the soreness of your throat. Eddie already pulled down a mug. A black mug with Michael Myers's face on it. He poured your coffee and you leaned your body against his as he fixed up your cup of caffeine. When it was ready he picked it up to hand it to you. You gently took the mug, feeling the heat seep through the ceramic. Eddie leaned down for a kiss as he usually did in the mornings but you jerked your head back quickly. Hurt flashed across his eyes at the sight of you pulling away. You reached out, pressing the tips of your fingers to his lips.

"Don't," You croaked gently. At the sound, Eddie's chocolate orbs widened with concern hearing you and Steve stopped what he was doing to look at you.

"Oh, honey. That does not sound good." Steve set own his spatula.

Eddie kissed the tips of your fingers before gently pulling your hand away. "I'll be fine." You reassured them and took a sip of your coffee. You sighed as the heat soothed your throat.

Eddie leaned in, a pout settling over his lips as you jerked back again. "Eddie," You warned softly.

"I'll take your germs. I'm getting kisses. Germy kisses. Sickness be damed." Eddie insisted, taking your face in his hands. You rolled your eyes at his dramatics, leaning in to give him the kiss he so wanted. He grinned when you pulled apart, happy to have gotten his morning kiss he craved so much.

You looked at Steve. "Do you damn sickness too?" You asked him.

Steve laughed and leaned in, kissing you too. "I do." He answered and turned back to the stove to get the eggs out of the pan before they burned.

The three of you had breakfast. The boys insisting you have some orange juice with your breakfast for the vitamin c. As soon as you ate you felt the fatigue hit you already. You shuffled towards the bathroom, determined to shower since you felt awful. You spotted Steve changing into outside wear and stopped to watch him change. Steve looked up, chuckling seeing you watch him.

"Enjoying the show?"

"Of course." You smiled, leaning on the door frame of your guys shared bedroom.

"I'm gonna run out and get you some medicine and soup, honey. Eddie'll be with you." Steve leaned down to kiss your cheek before kissing your forehead. After a second you realize he wasn't kissing your forehead but moreso feeling your forehead with his lips. He hummed disapprovingly. "You feel warm." He murmured, arms wrapping around your form.

"'M wanna shower." You mumbled against his chest.

"Shower carefully? Maybe a bath. One that isn't too hot."

You huff and kiss his throat. "I don't want a bath. Shower."

"So shower, sweet girl." Steve answered, knowing you were likely to do as you pleased instead. When you were sick you could be a little stubborn and needy. Neither male minded at all.

"Go. Be quick." You told him, patting his belly affectionately before moving into the shower. You shut the door and started to strip, hearing the door to your apartment open and close. Once you were nude you turned the shower on. Despite usually showering in fairly hot water you made it not too hot, already feeling the warmth Steve had felt through his lips just before. You stepped into the shower and sighed in relief at the feeling. You stood under the spray of the water and heard the bathroom door open thinking nothing of it. Eddie had come into the bathroom as you showered before to pee or sometimes open the shower curtain just to look at your bare body. Especially when you were scrubbing your skin clean. So when the shower curtain opened you didn't think much of it again until you felt Eddie press against your back. You sighed and relaxed against him. You knew as soon as you finished in there you'd be crawling back into bed.

Eddie peppered soft kisses on your shoulder as he moved you both so he could get under the spray. You turned in his arms, loosely wrapping your arms around him to rest against his body. You heard the squirt sound of your near empty bottle of shampoo and then a moment later the scent of your favorite shampoo filled your nose as Eddie lathered it into your hair. He took his time scrubbing your scalp, gently running the shampoo through the ends of your hair before rinsing it out and moving into the conditioner. He took a moment to wash his own hair with the shampoo you got him for his curls before he rinsed out your conditioner and moved on to washing you. Eddie diligently scrubbed your body down to make sure every inch of you was clean with his and Steve's bodywash. Once you were clean he cleaned himself, letting you hold onto him as he did.

"Hey,"

Your eyes fluttered open as you lifted your head from Eddie's chest. Steve was now stepping into the shower. "That was fast." You mumbled as he got himself wet under the shower head.

"Had to get back to my babies." Steve chuckled, kissing your head.

You and Eddie stayed in the shower as Steve cleaned himself up too. Once you were all clean the boys stepped out of the shower. Eddie wrapped a towel around his hips while Steve grabbed a towel and wrapped it around your body. You carefully stepped out of the shower and shuffled to the bedroom. You dried yourself off, watching as Steve and Eddie both pulled on comfy clothes signaling they would be staying in with you all day. You finished drying off, smiling as Eddie approached you with one of his shirts. You lifted your arms, letting him pull his Iron Maiden shirt over your form. Steve handed off a pair of your comfy panties to Eddie who knelt down to help you step into them. Next was a pair of Steve's shorts. Once you were all dressed you were ushed back into bed. You got in, settling in the middle of the bed.

Eddie moved to the TV, rifling through your guys collection of VHS tapes you had in the bedroom as Steve went to the kitchen. When Steve returned he had a can of Coke, a bottle you recognized as cold medicine and a spoon in his hands. He sat beside you and set the can aside. Your nose scrunched knowing what was coming as Steve poured the orange liquid into the spoon. "I don't want it." You mumbled like a child and Steve chuckled.

"Well no one wants it but you'll feel better." He answered and held the spoon up to your lips. You sighed and opened your mouth. As soon as the spoon was in your mouth you whined at the taste and swolled it down. A second later the Coke can was presented to you and you chased the awful cold medicine with the sweet soda. This repeated a second time before Steve capped the bottle and gave you a kiss to sweeten the deal.

Eddie joined you a moment later as Steve went to put away the medicine. "Yucky." He murmured as he gave you a kiss, "The torture is over, for now." He smiled and gave you more kisses. You whined and cuddled into Eddie's side. When Steve came back you immediately reached out, grabbing at the air in his direction to indicate what you wanted. Steve chuckled, lifting the blanket and urging you both under it before joing you. You sat sandwiched between your boys as you watched Nightmare on Elm Street together. Nine times out of ten if Eddie was choosing the movie it was going to be a horror movie.

As you watched Rober Englund kill Johnny Depp, you felt the exhaustion pulling at you more. By the time you came back there was a different movie on and you figured you had dozed off longer than you thought as Eddie was gone. You were curled up against Steve, dropping on his chest as he watched the movie on screen. You wiped the corner of your mouth before wiping at his chest.

"Sorry," You mumble and wiggle to sit up a bit.

"Don't be sorry." Steve reassured you, watching as you look over at the clock. "We didn't wanna bother you. Eddie's making you food."

"What's he making?"

"Chicken noodle soup, dandelion."

You nod, wiggling out of bed to go use the bathroom and blow your nose without grossing out your boyfriends. Even though you knew Steve would reassure you it didn't bother him and Eddie would ask if you got any good ones out. When you finished you got back in bed as Eddie came in with a tray. Three steaming bowls sat on the tray along with more sodas and a sleeve of saltine crackers. He got into bed, setting the tray on his lap. Steve carefully took a bowl for himself and set it on the nighstand beside him before taking a soda and some crackers. You picked up a cracker and munched on it as Eddie opened your Coke and his own, too. You took your Coke and sipped it gently. You reached for your bowl, noting it was the one with the most even distribution of chicken, noodles and veggies.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Eddie took the bowl from your hands and set it back on the tray. "It's super hot, baby. Hold on," He gave you another cracker and had you wait a few minutes. Finally, when he deemed it good enough an saw Steve nod in approval in concerns to the temperature of his bowl of soup, Eddie picked up yours. He scooped up a spoonful and blew on it for a bit before touching it with his tongue.

"Eddie," You whined softly. You were hungry. Eddie blew on the spoon a bit more before eating the spoonful. He nodded and handed the bowl over to you.

"Was making sure you wouldn't burn your tongue, babe. I know you hate when you do." Eddie answered, watching you carefully take a spoonful of soup and blow on it.

"You hate it too." You noted to him and Eddie grinned.

"I know and my gorgeous girlfriend always scolds me to let things cool down and blow on it before eating it." He answered, kissing your cheek.

Steve chuckled beside you. "Remember when he burned his tongue bad enough it wasn't right to him for days." He reminded you both and all of you shared a laugh. Eddie had a bad habit when he was really hungry of just shoveling food into his mouth without checking to make sure it's alright first. You had scolded him countless times to be careful especially since he got whiny and pouty when his tongue didn't feel right til it healed.

"Remember when you choked on a baby tomato." Eddie pointed at Steve.

"Hey, that was an accident!" Steve laughed and you giggled.

"Yeah and Wayne smacked you hard enough on the back that you launched it across the room." You reminded him.

"Good thing I found it after." Eddie noted with a grin.

You all finished your dinner together. You gave Steve your best puppy dog eyes as you held up your bowl. "You want another?" Steve asked you and you nodded your head.

"I got it." Eddie answered as he took your bowl and Steve's on the tray back into the kitchen.

Steve grabbed a hair tie, moving to gather your hair and get it off of your neck while Eddie was gone. When Eddie returned he had just your bowl and was blowing on it as he walked back to bed. He gently handed it off with a cautious look before joining you both in bed again. You had switched to watching TV shows as you had your second helping. Steve took the bowl to the sink when you finished and you wiggled down into the blankets. All three of you spent the rest of the day watching TV and cuddling with breaks for more medicine despite your nose scrunches and whines. As the evening took over you curled up to Eddie as he took out his worn copy of The Shining, reading it aloud to you. Steve disappeared to get the night time medicine, spoon feeding that to you while Edie paused his reading. You chased it with some water and Steve climbed back into bed with you both. He spooned you as you cuddled against Eddie's chest, listening to him read the story to you and the rhythum of his beating heart as you dozed off to sleep only able to breathe out of one nostril.

Eddie stopped when Steve tapped his hip. He looked down to see you asleep, mouth open, on his chest. "She's out." Steve whispered, watching Eddie mark his spot in the book and set it aside. Eddie wiggled down to lay down better, chuckling as you whined softly and shifted to get comfortable again. You grabbed at Steve's arm around you before settling back down again on Eddie's chest. "She'll be better soon."

"I hope so." Eddie murmured, "Not that I don't like her being needy. I love it. But I don't like her being miserable."

"I know. Me too." Steve sighed and shifted to lean over you, stealing a kiss from Eddie.

"We are soooo getting sick too." Eddie chuckled, stealing kisses from Steve before he could answer.

Steve scoffed, giving Eddie a deep kiss. "Worth it." He answered with a grin before settling back down with you.

Eddie leaned over to shut off the bedside lamp, laying with his two favorite people until both him and Steve fell asleep with you. They knew in the morning they would be letting you sleep in and be ready with medicine early even if you hated it but prepared for another day resting with you, happily stealing kisses until one of them showed a sign of sickness, too.

Worth it.

#eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #steddie x reader #steddie imagine #steddie fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic

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