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luveline · 5 months

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i just bought the actual cutest spider-man hoodie and now i’m thinking about peter seeing reader wearing spider-man merch !!! <333

The thwack is telling. You hear the splat and your heart jumps out of your chest, that weird wet sound against red-brick wall, and then you realise what it means and start to panic.

“Hey, woah woah woah!” Peter says, jimmying open your bum window with a too-strong hand. “It's just me, don't panic.”

You clamber off of the desk chair you're in and rush into the bathroom.

“Hello?”

“Two seconds!” you shout, closing the door hard behind you. You can hear the light pad of Peter's footsteps on the floor from the window, but after that he must disguise the weight of them, and you're doubly startled by his knock. “Two seconds, Peter.”

“Uh… no?”

You look around frantically. “What do you mean, no?”

“You're freaking out? Let me in? Like, right now?”

“None of those were questions.”

Peter starts to rattle your door handle. “I'll break it!” he threatens, his voice in that funny place where he's joking but not, the same tone he uses to mess with bad guys who underestimate him. You're being teased.

You pull your shirt over your head just as he opens the door. “Hey, turns out it wasn't locked.” He blinks at you. “Um. Hello to you, too? This isn't the welcome I was expecting.”

“Cut the smarm. I got, uh. Soup on me.”

“Soup.”

You nod fiercely. “So much soup.”

“You know I'd smell it, right?” he asks, his hair damp with sweat, the mask stuffed in the pocket of his suit and threatening to fall out as he grabs your shirt. His reflexes are too fast to stop him, as he anticipates your movements before they truly happen.

You stand there in your teeny vest top, crossing your arms over your chest and staring at any spot that isn't his face as he throws out your shirt and takes in the graphic design on the front.

He looks between you and the shirt smiling like a fool. He laughs, and he tilts his head one way then the other before laughing again.

“What's so funny?” you challenge.

“Put this back on,” he says back, matching your demanding tone. “Right now.”

“No way.”

“Put it on! You're indecent. Here, I'll help.”

It's not funny how quickly you lose, shrieking and pushing backwards into the shower as Peter tries to force your arms through the shirt. You laugh as he grabs you and he knows he can keep going, pushing the shirt over your head and his knee between your thighs, and suddenly you've got Spider-Man's emblem on your chest again, the end of the shirt bunched above your stomach. You're both breathless from the scuffle. He stares at your merch.

“My eyes are up here.”

“Shut up,” Peter says just as quickly, kissing you hard. A rough and short thing, the glove of his suit on your naked hip. You breathe out in a rush and kiss back, not feverish but getting there, never not happy to feel the seam of his lips parting against yours. He yanks back, “Is this–”

You kiss him again before he can ask if it's alright. You like a good fight, and it's hard for him to make fun of you for the shirt when you're kissing. He kisses you long enough to make you dizzy, thumb under the hem of your embarrassing apparel.

He brings his hand to his mouth to bite off his glove and hits the shower with his elbow, a rain of droplets falling from the head like shards of ice down the back of his neck. He pulls away, blinking, and you laugh at his misfortune tauntingly.

“Cold night in Queens?” you ask.

He wipes at his neck. “Warm for you. You are never taking it off. Never.”

“What, you like it?” you ask.

“Just enough to chase you into the bathroom, yeah.”

“Friendly neighbourhood pervert,” you say happily.

He wipes his wet hand down your bare stomach. “And his number one fan.”

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lunitawrites · 25 days

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Heavy Rain - a Joel Miller one shot

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

rating: explicit

summary: It´s been raining for weeks when Joel finds you curled up on his couch.

warnings: reader struggles with mental health (please note that this is not based on any scientific diagnosis of a mental illness, it is coming from my experience struggling with my own mental health), crying, smut (PiV), heavy emotions

a/n: This is for @undercoverpena´s April Showers Challenge. You can find the rest of the works under the #UndercoverAprilShowersChallenge tag.

word count: 850

The rain feels heavy on Joel's shoulders as he arrives home that evening. It's not unusual for the Texan spring to be this wet, but this time the rain stretches over weeks, painting the blue spring skies grey, soaking the dusty terrain until it turns into mud under his shoes.

His house is cold, almost feels damp as the walls soak up the never-ending rain. You are lying on his couch, only lit by the fluorescent light of the muted TV, displaying commercials, long forgotten by its audience.

He can hear your quiet sobs from across the room. He knows you noticed him, but you don´t turn, just pull your blanket tighter around your chin. He walks then, slow steps towards you, seemingly afraid that he might startle you if he moves faster.

You are silent now as the back of his knuckles brush on your cheeks. I know, he whispers into the darkness, not even sure if you can hear him.

He goes into the kitchen then, quietly closing the door behind him, when he is sure it won't bother you, he flicks on the lights. Half eaten cereal and a bottle of wine, only missing a glass from the burgundy liquid. Your journal lies open on the dinner table, its pages blank. He closes that first and then slowly and meticulously puts everything in order. He heats up soup from the freezer, puts on a kettle of water to boil.

When the kitchen is in order, he puts the soup and mint tea on a tray and returns to the living room. He places it on the coffee table in front of you. You open your eyes and give him the faintest of your smiles. A smile almost just to mask your lips trying to curl down, your eyes ready to cry. You sit up, the material of the blanket bunching around your waist, revealing the stained t-shirt you are wearing. You seem embarrassed for a moment when you notice and pull the blanket up to your chin again.

He offers you the soup then. He would feed you, but he is sure you would never let him do that. You take the bowl in your hands, lacing your fingers around it, enjoying the warmth radiating from the ceramic.

He leans back besides you, taking your calves and placing them over his lap, his hands drawing slow, mindless circles on your bare skin. Both of you stare at the muted TV in silence, none of you bothered enough to look for the remote to change the volume.

You put the bowl down as you finish and curl up again on the couch, removing your calves from Joel's lap. He can see tears in the corners of your eyes again, threatening to overflow and paint wet stripes on your cheeks. You swipe them away with the heel of your palms and squeeze your eyes shut. You hold your breath to keep yourself from crying.

Joel curls behind you, his whole body hugging yours. Breath, his mouth is on your ear, leaving a small kiss on the shell of your ear. So you do, let the air flow into your lungs. You keep it in for a few seconds and let it out slowly, feeling your tears escape your body the same time the air does.

You take his hand and press it against your chest, squeezing yourself impossibly close to him. The rain is still drip-drip-dripping on the windows, a monotonous sound that you cannot escape. I want it to end, you breathe and you both know you are not referring to the rain.

He buries his face in your hair, breathing you in. You can feel his length hardening against the curve of your ass. He mumbles an apology and adjusts his position so that your bodies are no longer touching.

No, please, you push yourself back again, make love to me. The urge to have him inside you takes over your body. You push your underwear down, kick it off with your legs, and then reach behind to remove his jeans too. You hear his quiet hey, baby, stop; but your only answer is the squeaky pleas that are falling from your lips, landing straight at the bottom of his spine.

He takes his cock out, fully hard now, propping it to your entrance and entering you with one swift motion. You moan in unison at the feeling, his hands holding you close, splayed out on your stomach.

He fucks you then, no rush in his movements, peppering small kisses to the back of your neck, your shoulders. He mewls quietly in your ear every time he fills you up. He does not stop until your body tenses around him, pleasure ripping through your tired body. When he comes, it is with a soft groan buried in your neck.

At least now I have something in me that I love, you whisper. The rain has stopped now, the only dripping sounds are his tears landing on the bare skin of your chest.

Thank you so much for reading!

#undercoveraprilshowerschallenge #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel the last of us #tlou joel #joel fic #joel miller the last of us

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flamingpudding · 9 months

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Gaming Pal Prompt

A/N: Random Idea that was stuck in my head after reading about a Pen Pal Prompt

It all started with a simple accidentally created open lobby. Sam, Tucker and Danny were just playing Doom in a four person Lobby that was supposed to be passcode locked and private so that it was only the three of them playing. But one of them must have forgotten to lock it as suddenly a random player joined them as well as the in-game voice chat they were using.

"Sup. Mind if I join the game? My last lobby kicked me."

"Why? Too good or too bad?"

Tucker shot back, not minding the new player. The three would just have to watch what they talk about during game time.

"Don't know. I think they thought I cheated."

"Pff, sore losers. Maybe you can help these losers kick ass."

"Oh shut it Sam, we will wipe the floor with you now!"

"A challenge huh? That sounds interesting. I am Tim by the way."

"Sam."

"Tucker."

"Danny."

The friend request was sent after the game in which Tim did help Tucker and Danny beat Sam. Only for Sam to demand a rematch to regain her victory streak. From then on the random player regularity started joining in on their games whenever he happened to be online at the same time.

Of course the trio filtered their talks over voice chat. Making sure they wouldn't let anything atrocious slip. Though they did have some fun telling a non Amity Parker about the shit that goes down in their town and Tim always appeared interested to hear more about the things going on. Always curious and full of follow up questions, that strangely focus on who the attackers were ( always ghosts really they don't have any other rogues aside from maybe the fruitloop) and other times very much focused on their local ghost hero Phantom. He was also strangely interested in the whole GIW situation and sounded rather confused when they mentioned the Anti-Ecto Acts.

Aside from that Tim practically became a part of their little group. Their online Gamer Pal who knew nearly as much about their rogues and local Hero (thanks to all the questions he asked) like they did. A full fledged Team Phantom member who just didn't know the main secret of Danny actually doing the Ghost fighting as Phantom and being the one getting hunted by his own Parents and the GIW.

So of course the day came where Sam, Tucker and Danny forget to filter their words. It was during one particularly exhausting day when Danny had only had like 4 hours of sleep because he had studied all night for an English Test and then Skulker appeared to hunt Phantom and Danny's parents showed up too, making souping the Hunter Ghost especially difficult.

"Ancients, Skulker just had to decide on hunting you today, didn't he Danny?"

"Don't remind me. He is still souped in the thermos, but dodging Mom was harder with so little sleep."

"Should you like take a nap then man?"

"Nah I am fine for gaming night."

"Hey Danny, you did escape the blasters unscratched right? Your mom is the better shot after all."

"Nearly. Mom landed a couple of hits but it's almost healed already, just some small burn marks left."

"I am sorry, WHAT?! Did you guys just say that Skulker, the one that's hunting Phantom for sports, was hunting Danny. Danny was the one to Soup him not Phantom and Danny's Mom shot and hurt her own son with one of these ecto-blasters?!"

#danny fenton #danny phantom #tim drake #sam manson #tucker foley #dp x dc #dc x dp #crossover #Tim becomes the trios gaming pal #Tim has a lot of questions #Sam Tucker and Danny don't mind him gaming with them #They forget he isn't only a gaming pal at some point #They also forget he is in the voice chat one day #Tim was already worried about Amity before #now he got more to investigate there #should he clue in the bat fam?#dpxdc #dcxdp #prompt idea

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adonis-koo · 6 months

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sweet nothing • 7

↳ Description: being a guest at the Jeon Estate after a mishap of being kidnapped and dragged into your brothers affairs isn’t all that bad. Truth be told it brings you a lot closer to the mobster and owner of the estate Jeon Jungkook himself.

His two rules are simple, don’t cause trouble and don’t give him a hard time. Somehow you manage to constantly do both in the most endearing way despite being pregnant and waddling around most of the time.

Pairing: Jungkook/reader, ???/reader

↳ Genre: slice of life AU, mafia!AU, pregnancy, there’s like…a little bit of a plot but not a lot, future smut? maybe? it's very domestic!

Word Count: 2k

Previous | Next…

Note: IM ALIVEEE, barely, but my skin is clearing, my cortisol levels are lowering, nature is healing 🧘‍♀️ 🍃 I finally gave up and just decided that despite this story not being plot heavy, we’re still getting some plot anyways

“Are the meds not working?” You frowned, standing at the entryway of Jungkook’s bedroom, his laptop abandoned on the other side of the bed as if in defeat, he wasn’t asleep, just vacantly staring at the ceiling while laying down.

You felt an amused sense of pity for him, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so utterly miserable before.

“They are, just not fast enough.” He rasped out, not bothering to look at you as he sighed, closing his eyes, “I can't even focus on anything.”

You could feel your heart tug just the slightest for him, he really did look awful, “Well how about we watch a movie? It could take your mind off the pain.”

“I need to work.” He stressed the word as best he could despite his eyes still being shut.

“Okay well, as far as I can tell, you aren’t working.” You replied walking up to the bedside as he opened his eyes into an unappreciative glare.

You offered a somewhat apologetic smile, “C’mon it’ll make you feel better, you’ll have something to focus on.”

Grabbing the remote off his nightstand you left him little choice in the matter, he said nothing, eyes following you as you rounded the bed, huffing a little as you managed to get sat down next to him.

“Remind me why I put up with your antics?” Jungkook asked dryly.

You shrugged as you turned on the TV, “You tell me.”

Jungkook only stayed silent, even as you gave him a side glance, perhaps a little curious, after all, how could you not?

If he had an answer, he kept it to himself as you browsed through the streaming services before eventually settling on an action movie, the plot however was difficult to keep up with, Jungkook however funny enough seemed invested.

Half way through the movie you had given up, the sleepy lethargy you had been experiencing the last few days winning out as you began nodding off.

“Are you really sleeping through the climax?” Jungkook’s raspy voice made your eyes open.

“This was for you not me,” You complained, managing to grab the throw blanket that had been hanging off the end of his bed, curling up against the fuzzy material.

For a brief moment, a memory pulled a smile to your face, “Y’know….when I was little, Wonho used to make me soup- it was from a can but it was the thought that mattered, he’d always get me a fizzy soda from the corner store and we’d watch cartoons together. I remember falling asleep against him and then I’d wake up tucked in on the couch.”

Jungkook’s eyes stared at the TV but you could tell he was no longer focused on the movie, dare you say he seemed almost bothered by your words.

“What?”

He seemed to be debating something in his head, “You used to never go into detail…about your parents. Just that they weren’t around.”

You gave him a weak smile, you knew what he was asking. It rarely got brought up, but you did recall mentioning the few times he had tried to pry before, always shewing the question away with a ‘My parents were never around’.

You shrugged, “Would it be too simple to say that was the truth?”

Jungkook shifted a little to face you, “Was it that simple?”

There was no challenge in his tone, only a quiet raspy question, he was always good at hiding his intentions, shrouding it behind an unphased expression, but the more you had gotten to know Jungkook, the better you had become in the art of seeing the subtle shift in his gaze.

And right now he was nothing but curious, he always had been, but even moreso now.

Your hands had managed to hold the lower half of your stomach, otherwise you would’ve crossed them, eyes flickering away from him you gave a small shrug, “For me….”

You paused for a moment to gather your thoughts before you relented with a quiet sigh, “They were always off going to bars and clubs together, they were addicts. Wouldn’t come home for days at a time, and when they did they were never sober.” Your lips twisted into a frown, voice no louder then a whisper, “Then one day only my dad came home. Definitely not sober but he was crying, like hysterically sobbing, and he just collapsed in front of me and kept apologizing.”

“Grabbed me real tight around the shoulders and kept babbling incoherently, his mouth was all discolored and his skin was real clammy looking.” You rubbed your head, the memory leaving an icky feeling in your chest.

Jungkook looked pensive after a long moment of silence, it was as if he knew there was more, “And?”

“Apparently he overdosed on fentanyl on the living room floor,” You smiled bitterly, “In front of me…I don’t remember it though, can hardly recall the night anymore honestly. I was young, maybe eight or nine. Wonho was around thirteen at the time and he ended up intervening, he told me later that he found out my dad pimped out my mom to get enough money for the fentanyl, problem was that the dealer was apart of the Jang Hi mafia. I can’t even remember the last time I saw her before she disappeared, don’t know if she’s even alive anymore.”

“You never went to look?” Jungkook asked, a soft note could be detected in his voice.

You shook your head, “There was nothing to look for,” you couldn’t hide the sadness in your voice, your lips trembling a little, “She was never there to begin with…maybe that makes me a bad person, but I can’t imagine having a child and just…”

You couldn’t even think about it, your hands rubbing over the swollen skin of your stomach to try and calm your nerves.

“Out of all the people I’ve met- and trust me, I’ve met a lot,” Jungkook’s hand lifted, fixing your blanket back over your shoulder, “In comparison, you’re an angel.”

You stared at him for a long moment before you couldn’t help the smile that tugged on your lips, a smile of his own appearing, “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“No, I'm saying it because it’s the truth.” Jungkook replied, it was quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping, “You’ll make a great mother.”

“You think?”

“I know,” He had a confident look about him that was difficult to not believe, “How do you feel about the delivery coming up?”

“I still have another twelve weeks to go Jungkook,” You tried to push the anxious feeling from your chest, “But I am nervous, I mean, I’ve never had a child before, don’t really know what to expect, other then I’ve heard it’s excruciating, which I guess is a given…”

You squinted a little, the movie long forgotten playing in the background, “I was terrified when I first found out I was pregnant, and the morning sickness was awful. I could hardly hold anything down the first few days, I was so sensitive to smells, any kind of strong scent gave me a raging headache…”

Jungkook’s lips parted and you could almost see it, hear it, the question of who the father was. But his lips immediately shut once more, as if perhaps sensing you would be unlikely to answer.

“I thought about it…” You admitted quietly, “Getting an abortion, but…” You shook your head, “I don’t know, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Any other woman in my shoes surely would. And even now, I wonder if I made the right decision, if I had known Wonho was going to disappear like this…” You sighed, “I don’t know, I guess some silly part of me, thought that maybe, this was meant to take me to a new path in life, one where I’d work hard and I’d be able to separate myself from this life. Was that too naive to think?”

“I think anyone who values their life would want that,” Jungkook concluded easily, “Someone who isn’t meant to be in this lifestyle, who’s honest, and still has a shred of dignity left.”

It was quiet for a moment before he continued, “You were always too good for the underground. Shame you got dragged into it.”

You shrugged, “I don’t really think about it much anymore, I mean, it is what it is.” You chewed on your bottom lip, “Maybe it would be better if I didn’t keep the baby. I’m sure any couple unable would kill for the chance to adopt.”

You had never seen Jungkook straighten the way he did on this moment and you couldn’t help but somewhat regret your words, not your thought on it, but the fact that you had voiced it aloud.

It wasn’t the first time you had thought about it either, it was stupid of you to think having this baby would do anything other than pull you into the underground further.

“What makes you say that?” Jungkook’s gaze was like steel, it made you shy away a little, almost feeling the same way when you had first met.

You couldn’t keep eye contact with him even if you wanted too, “A lot of reasons,” you confessed, nothing more then a whisper, “The fact that I’m a single mom for starters? Or the fact that my brother is in serious debt and I’m being held here as a makeshift safe house? Let’s not even begin to talk about being able to properly provide for a child. I never had present parents and I don’t have anyone to ask for help.”

You felt tears of frustration fill your eyes.

Jungkook parted his lips, but quickly shut them once more, you could tell he was battling a plethora of questions, which maybe he didn’t deserve an answer too, but you could tell it was beginning to slowly eat at him.

Instead Jungkook’s lip twitched as if in irritation at whatever he was thinking about, eventually vocalizing his thought, “Is the dad really that much of a deadbeat?”

He didn’t say it but you could see it on the tip of his tongue, ‘I never thought you’d go that low’

You didn’t say anything for a long moment, carefully thinking about how to reply, it wasn’t that you were purposely withholding information, it just simply brought back uncomfortable memories.

“Far from a deadbeat. Furthest thing possible,” you shuddered, “It did cross my mind,” You mumbled, “Finding him. Them. But…” you trailed off before shaking your head, “What good would that do me? He might want the baby but he isn’t gonna want me.”

You only glanced down at your stomach, hand rubbing around the swollen skin as you felt a flutter trill across, the baby once again kicking.

It briefly made you smile, your worries put at ease.

A hand suddenly reached out, grabbing your chin along with your attention.

You nearly jumped at Jungkook being nearly nose to nose with you, his lips parted and his eyes had so

many things they wanted to say, “You can always ask me for help.”

You hated the way you felt all of the old feelings you had once upon a time suppressed into nothing more than a blur of self-gaslit delusions.

But it was never delusions, it was never just all in your head.

“Can I?” Your voice wavered.

Jungkook stared at you for a long minute, his eyes dropping briefly to your lips before he eventually, almost reluctantly looked away, only letting out a small laugh.

Perhaps a tone of bitterness if you really listened close, possibly regret?

“We’re gonna have to replay entire last quarter of the movie,” Jungkook complained with a rasp, sinking into the bed frame and suddenly you remembered how easy it was to pretend like there was never anything there.

You cleared your throat, before giving him a weak smile, “I’ll get the remote.”

The past was the past anyways, you’d just have to figure things out one day at a time, just like you always have.

#jungkook #jungkook x reader #bts #bts x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook x y/n #jungkook imagine #mafia!jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader smut

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surielstea · 2 months

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Caretaker

Pairing: Azriel x reader

Summary: Reader is sick & Az being the best bf ever

Warnings: slight suggestiveness, tooth rotting fluff

A/N: Literally wrote this when I was sick asf and high on cough medicine so I hope this makes sense 😭😭

2.2k words

My body tremors as another weak cough racks through me, my throat pulsing at the feeling. Watery eyes form tears, sliding down the bridge of my nose and dripping onto the plush pillow beneath my head.

I stare out the floor to ceiling window, marveling at the way the sidra morphs starlight into rainbow refractions. I sniffle, one of my nostrils completely closed off and making it a challenge to breathe. It was late. I didn't know the exact time but from the moons position in the sky I could guess it was far past midnight.

My mate hadn't come to bed and I debated clambering out of this all too hot bed to go and find him, wrap my arms around his waist and guide him back to our bed. But I can't expose him to whatever virus plagued me, in turn getting him sick, no matter how badly I missed his touch. It was already a risk to share the same bed, I couldn't push it.

Madja stopped by earlier and gave me a tonic to help ward off the cough but there was nothing she could do beyond that. I took the tonic minutes ago, the effects still settling in, I just hoped the cough would cease long enough for me to be able to fall asleep.

It's been days, my mate was convinced I was getting worse. He surveyed me like usual, but his gaze turned soft and pitiful every time a raucous cough came over me. Shadows kept me company, swirling fluidly against my back in a reassuring manner, the chill touch of them making me cool off from my heated state.

There was a soft knock at the door and I didn't have to look to know who it was. I adjusted under the covers, using my strength to sit up and lean against the headboard, teary eyed but making eye contact with the large winged male in the doorway. "Az." My voice was practically a whimper, a feeble excuse at calling for him.

"My love," He drew a long exhale, my sickness seemingly weighing on him as well.

"You can't be in here." I murmur, wiping my tears and wishing it was his hands instead of mine doing the act.

"I miss you." He offers me a soft smile as he tilts his head against the frame of the door, his silhouette from the hallway light made him look like some sort of angel.

"I don't want to get you sick." I shake my head, holding my arm out as if to shield him away but we both knew I held no power at the moment.

"It wouldn't be so bad," He tries to lighten the mood with a shrug. "I'd be off work, we could quarantine together. We'd read and cuddle and I could actually go within a ten feet radius of you." His words were convincing, and the idea has a smile tugging at my lips. That is until a croak of a cough rattles my body and I remember how irritating this illness is. I wouldn't want him to have this, ten foot radius or not.

"It's hard enough to stay away from you, don't tempt me." I sigh, allowing my bones to sink into the large matress.

"Worth a try." He mirrors my smile. "Do you need anything? Tea or soup?" He asks and I twist my lips to the side as I ponder what he could give me that would ever amount to how badly I want him and him alone. "A good book perhaps?" He arches a perfect brow. It pains me how well he knows me.

"A book would be nice." I hum and he pushes from the doorway, excited to accomplish a new task. His gaze lingers on me before he closes the door and his silent footsteps recede down the hall.

I look back out the window while I wait, fiddling with the mating ring around my fourth finger. My cough seemed to have settled, I'll have to tell my brother to increase Madja's salary for her admirable work — or maybe I'd pay her directly myself. As soon as I'm better I will, whenever that might be. I release a long sigh and allow my eyes to shut for a moment, I must've slept for half the day earlier but that didn't stop the rest from weighing at my heavy lids.

Before I dared slip into a sleep the spymaster opened the door with a multitude of items in his hands. I couldn't help but smile. The night courts intimidating Shadowsinger was at my door, with soup and tea and a book, taking care of me. He had one of the world's deadliest knife's at his thigh and he probably used it to cut open my tea bag.

"Az, I'm gonna cry." I warn. My already watery eyes verging on tears as I think about how much he does for me.

"No don't cry." His brows crease as he sits on his side of our bed, placing a bowl of soup down on my nightstand. "I tried to follow your mom's recipe but it won't be as good." He frowns and there's nothing more I want to do then kiss the pout off his perfect face. "And this is hot, so don't drink it for a few minutes." He places a steaming cup of tea beside the soup. "And this," He holds up a worn paper back book. "I went to Nesta and asked her for the best romance novel she could think of and she gave me this so." He places it on my lap. "Hopefully it's as smutty as you hope." He mutters beneath his breath and I flush hot but blamed it on my fever.

"Thank you." My voice was a rasp, he looked to my eyes. Hazel laced with love and admiration, the emotions reflecting on the golds and greens of his irises.

"Get some rest after eating, you have to get your strength up so I can get my sparring buddy back." He placed a hand on my forehead to check my temperature, something on his expression falls when he doesn't notice any difference from the last time he checked my temperature.

"Is Cassian not good enough anymore?" I scoff.

"He's not you." He huffs and an upside down smile spreads over my expression.

"I know you're sick but I really want to kiss you." He admits and just the idea makes me feel warmer inside. I grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him into me, his upper half hovering over me as I plant my lips onto his. I grin against the sensation, it's only been a few days but gods, how did I forget how perfect it felt to have his mouth against mine?

He pulls back first and I debate chasing him back but he pecks my forehead and I settle for it, leaning back onto my headboard yet again. "I'm going to finish up an assignment then I'll come to bed, okay?" He gets up from the bed and my eyes follow.

"Mhm." I nod tiredly.

"If I find you reading that book when I get back I'm taking it away." He warns and I bite my bottom lip mischievously.

"Goodnight lovely." A shadow tucks a strand of hair behind my ear as I watch him make his way to the door.

"Night Az." I muse in reply, already reaching for my bowl of the nostalgic meal.

—

About an hour later I had finished my entire bowl of soup and cup of tea. Both of them reminding me of my mother humming her favorite songs as she sewed her dresses, of Rhys teaching me how to fly before I could even walk, of Cassian brawling with my brother when he first moved in, and of Azriel's warm embrace.

I was curled into a ball with a mage light over my head, flipping through the pages of the romance novel Nesta lent me. It was a fantasy with just the right amount of erotica, the kind that would make any female flush. There were a few times when I'd have to close the book and take a breather before opening it back up, which meant it was perfection.

The door opened with a creak and I slammed the book shut the way a teenage boy might with a nude magazine. Azriel crinkles his brows at me and I look at him guiltlessly. "Evening handsome." I greet and he blinks at me like I'm crazy.

"Why are you being weird?" He utters, coming further into the room and closing the door behind him. I fold my lips inward to keep myself from laughing or possibly exposing that I was reading absolute filth just moments ago.

"Just reading." I shrug innocently and he narrowed his gaze in on me but seemed to let it go when striding over to the armoire to change. I watched him shamelessly as he stripped off his shirt, golden tan skin inked in swirling black. He shuffles through the drawers, giving me a full show of his muscular back and those large wings. My breath hitched as I stare without caution and a small chuckle sounds from him. He knows I'm watching, and at this point I can't find it in myself to care.

"Are you flexing on purpose?" I ask him as he discards his leathers for a pair of lounge pants.

"I'm not flexing love." He confesses and my stomach does backflips. Cords of muscle rippled from his shoulders down to his bulging arms, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at least a little turned on. And he was just standing there. He turns to look at my tinged cheeks and it only makes me blush more. The eye contact just might kill me. The nonchalance and causality of it made my stomach churn, as if he wasn't standing there in front of me shirtless.

"You're teasing." I set my book on the nightstand and sink down into my pillows.

"How so?" His question is half a laugh because he knows what he's doing.

"I can't have you right now." I whine like some sort of child, pulling the blankets up and over my head so I don't have to look at his chest that seemed to be sculpted by the gods themselves. The bed sinks and I know he's now beside me. I can't help but gravitate towards him only to stop myself because I know cuddling would get him sick.

His strong arm wraps around my waist and pulls my back to his chest.

"No, Az I don't want to get you sick." I protest, pulling away with the weakest strength since the predicament at hand wasn't all too bad.

"I already told you I don't care if I get sick." He brings me in closer and who was I to deny my mate's embrace?

It was nice to lay beside him, nice to have his warmth radiating onto me. I missed him even if it's only been a few days, even if he still sleeps beside me every night. I missed the physicality of it. Azriel's never been one for touch but sometimes I go through phases where if I don't have my hands constantly on him I'd collapse.

So I allowed myself to lean into his chest, matching my breathing to his and intertwining my hand with his scarred one. "I love you." He hums into my shoulder, placing gentle kisses to the crook of my neck and a soft smile spreads across my lips.

"Would you still love me if—" I begin but he doesn't let me finish,

"Yes." His tone is confident and didn't waver for a beat.

"You don't even know what I was going to say." I pout and I feel him shake his head against me.

"As long as you're still you, I love you." He professes and I flip around to look at his golden eyes that the stars themselves were outmatched against.

"I love you too." My voice is a mere whisper but a wide grin takes over his face, revealing his dimples. His smile was so bright I thought for a moment that sun wouldn't rise in fear of rivaling it. "And I'm totally getting you sick." I threaten but he doesn't seem to mind, especially not when I lean forward a few inches in order to kiss that grin.

"Sleep, love." He coerced and pulls me into his chest, his wing draping over me like a blanket, blocking out any seeping light from the moon outside. "I'll be here in the morning." He muses, smoothing a scarred hand over my hair. He continues to play with the strands until I'm drifting off into that touch, his warmth inviting me to sleep.

Azriel was quick to follow, once he noticed my breathing even out. Shadows settle around us as his lids grow heavy and his weight falls into the bed. With me in his arms it was easier for him to sleep, the comfort of knowing I'm safe while in his hold pushed him further into that sweet relief of rest.

#azriel #sarah j maas #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #x reader #acomaf #fanfic #comfort fic #sickfic #im so lonely #i need him #suriels tea

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randombush3 · 9 months

Text

falling (for you)

Ona Batlle x Reader

Summary: despite your precision on the pitch, you are somehow the clumsiest person ever when you are off it. your girlfriend doesn’t really mind though.

Words: 1539

Notes: kicking off the woso x reader fics with my fav obvs xx (and still pretending she didn’t leave utd)

Requested!!!

You stare at the shattered bowl in shock.

You hadn’t meant to drop it, and really it’s all the stupid rug’s fault for catching your toes and sliding on the hardwood floor. The pool of soup drowning the smashed ceramic makes you gulp, wondering what your girlfriend will say when she sees the mess you have created.

Bending down to inspect the damage properly, you lean towards the vegetable chunks swimming in what was supposed to be your lunch. The rug is ruined, that’s for sure. And, despite your athleticism, your legs creak at the position and you begin to wobble. Heading straight into the—

“Uh oh.” The only other person in this apartment has found you at the right time, pulling on your t-shirt to keep you from face-planting into the dangerous soup/bowl combination. “What happened?”

Ona laughs softly as you startle, gripping onto you harder as you almost lose your balance again. You stand, deciding it’s safer to be upright. “I dropped my soup. The rug was in the way.”

“Mi amor, most people can walk on the rug without creating abstract art all over it.” You tilt your head, hoping the splodge of brown liquid might actually complement the design. “I will help you clean.”

“I’m sorry,” you start, familiar with these words by now. However, your girlfriend, with her beautifully forgiving nature, places a finger to your lips, shushing you from rambling another hurried apology about wrecking some part of your shared home. Yesterday, it was walking into a shut door while carrying her. The day before, it was knocking the chess pieces off the board when you reached for your drink.

Ona’s love for you only grows with each clumsy mishap, though she has to frequently defend herself against Tooney’s teasing for that fact because of it. She wouldn’t change you for the world, even if you are more accident-prone than Alessia, who is infamous for that exact aspect of her personality.

…

“Your girlfriend is scary,” Leila mutters in Spanish to her friend as Manchester City crowd the Reds’ box, fighting for a goal in today’s derby. Ona glances at you, momentarily distracted from her mission to not concede. You have your hand pressed firmly against the back of a City player, your slight nudges bordering on punishable shoving.

Leila, though not usually needing to meet you on the pitch, has been tackled by you a fair bit this game. It’s no secret that you are a fierce defender. Your slide tackles are clean cut like the sharp edges of knives Ona would never let you hold, and your challenges are strong and determined and… the opposite of the lumbering person you are without a ball at your feet.

Once more, Ona is baffled by this phenomenon as you clear the ball to the feet of Russo, who sets off on the counter attack with a vicious pace. Having been instructed to press high this match, you take advantage of your slightly advanced knowledge of where the ball is, and chase after the forward, shouting at her to pass when there is a clear space for you on the left wing.

Less looks up and feigns right, the defender in front of her lunging in the same direction. Well into the eighteen yard box, she can see the goal ahead. Your continued call for the ball makes her believe you’re unmarked and in a better position to shoot. She knows you played up front in your old club.

What she doesn’t see is Leila, who you can’t seem to shake this game, stuck to your side, ready to poke her foot into the pinging pass you have just been sent. It’s a guaranteed interception.

Or is it?

Because you pull the ball back from her reach skilfully, and it sticks to your feet as you dribble towards an even better angle to kick the ball into the back of the net. In fact, Leila audibly gasps as you nutmeg her, your shoulder holding a strong foundation against the other defenders trying to get the ball off you. It must be, what? Three to one? And you’re winning.

You beat the confused goalkeeper, who has had to come out further than she’d hoped to help her defenders as they fail to do their jobs, and it’s an easy shot to help the ball find home in the other team’s goal. Half of the crowd erupts into elated cheers. The others sit back, shocked.

Your team, who had pulled out of the box to allow you the space to dribble, surge towards you as you watch the net ripple — white against the sea of red behind it. They shout in your ear, patting your back, squashing you with hugs as you catapult Manchester United into the lead. Only Ona catches your subtle trip as your studs catch the turf cumbersomely when you are walking back to your position for the game to restart. She can’t help the smile on her face from growing three sizes.

…

The POM award in one hand, and Ona’s in the other, you giddily skip to the changing room after the match, recounting each minute as though the defender hadn’t played alongside you.

“It felt so good to score again!” you squeal with excitement, still running off the adrenaline from your goal. “Like, obviously defence is gratifying in its own way, and I’m happy to play there because it clicks better with the team, but, Ona, scoring? Scoring gets the crowd to go mental. And at one of the most important games! You should have seen me, babe. I was on some next-level Brazilian fire.”

“I did see you,” Ona replies, tugging you closer so she can wrap her arm around your shoulders. Your boots clack against the hard floor in the tunnel, but the satisfying sound is drowned out as you continue to ramble.

Until you slip, your studs gliding across a shiny patch on the floor.

Ona jumps in surprise, but she manages to grab ahold of you to keep you upright.

You laugh it off together, though Ona is aware of the blush dusting your cheeks and does you a favour by asking the social media manager not to post the video she (un)fortunately took of the whole situation on the team Instagram.

As you make your way into the changing room, Ona turns to the giggling woman, holding in her own grin. “Can you send that to me?” she asks with a wink. “For the memories.”

“Definitely,” she replies.

…

Ona falls deeper in love with you when she receives it later that night, watching the video and chuckling quietly to herself as you sleep nestled into her side.

“I’m a beast,” you murmur, lips pressed into her neck. Your hot breath against her skin causes her stomach to flutter, and she shifts, offended that you have let her believe you were asleep the whole time. She’s been rewatching the video over and over for the past five minutes.

“You are clumsy.” You sit up, though the swiftness of your movement is ruined as your hand catches in a folded part of the duvet, getting stuck as you attempt to implement a distance between yourself and your girlfriend. “See.”

Her arms fold over her chest as you formulate a response that isn’t flipping her off and scrambling back on top of her.

“I’m a beast in the sheets and clumsy on the streets?” you try, but she only raises her eyebrows.

“You fell off the bed the last time we—”

“Pitch doesn’t rhyme with streets!” you interrupt, trying to defend yourself. “And, if I remember correctly, you were more than happy to continue on the floor. So who’s falling now?”

Your Spanish girlfriend looks at you, puzzled. Lost in translation.

“The girls keep saying that I’m falling for you.” Her eyebrows remain knitted together in confusion. “Baby, as in ‘falling in love’. Estoy enamorada de ti.”

“Que mona,” she giggles, squishing your cheeks together. “Your pronunciation is improving. Finally.” Your cheeks burn red, though Ona cannot see that in the darkness of your bedroom.

“My teacher works slowly because she likes it a little too much when I start speaking Spanish to her,” you tease. “I’ve had to get Lucia to help me out. Te quiero mucho, Onita. See!”

“Perfecto,” she replies with a smile, happy to take whatever allusion to a Spanish accent you can produce. But you’re not silly. Her eyes have squinted like they do when she is trying to suppress her laughter. “No, es la verdad, es la verdad,” she splutters as you hold her gaze, unimpressed.

“You liar,” you grumble, reaching over to prod her in the stomach with your index finger.

It isn’t a surprise when you misjudge the space you have on the bed, hitting the ground with a thud. Ona doesn’t try to keep quiet about how funny she finds that, but she pulls you up despite her shoulders shaking from her guffaws.

“Estoy enamorada de ti también,” she gets out between her gasps for breath, kissing away your frown as you try to come back from the embarrassment. “And I love how you fall in love with me.”

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle #woso

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moonlightspencie · 6 months

Note

wait i noticed you also tagged remus lupin?? it's okay if you don't do it but what about a lil drabble where he comes back from a full moon with a new gash that's pretty deep and he tries to hide it but he's bleeding through his shirt so you take care of him and patch him up <3

i’m barking and growling. hurt/comfort with my current favorite man??? absolutely yes

pairing: remus lupin x reader

warnings: owies (blood and patching it up)

“Remus?” you asked carefully, peeking into the room he’d just wandered into.

He turned quickly, face paler than it usually would be after a full moon. He tugged his half-off jacket back onto his shoulders, but it was too late— you’d already seen the damage done. He slumped in his posture when he saw the change in your face, looking away towards the ground.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, though the wince he gave when he tried to tighten the jacket around his middle proved otherwise.

You sighed softly, approaching him.

“Can I see?”

He shook his head. “No. I’ll take care of it.”

“It looks bad.”

“It’s not.”

“Then prove it,” you challenged, knowing he was lying. It looked like the worse one he’d had in a long while. “Let me take a look.”

He flushed in embarrassment, shaking his head slowly. You merely reached out your hand, placing it on his shoulder. When he didn’t pull away, you rounded him to slowly take the jacket off of him. He didn’t meet your eye the entire time, but made a special effort when you took in a breath at the sight before you. The entire side of his white shirt was no longer white— it was completely stained red.

“This is bad, Remus,” you said quietly. “Come. Let’s go in the bathroom. This is going to need some special care.”

He begrudgingly followed you to the bathroom just down the hall, moving quite uncomfortably with the obvious pain that was radiating through him.

“Can I get you anything to help with the pain?” you asked, shutting the door as he walked inside the small room.

“No. I can manage,” he said softly. “You don’t have to do any of this.”

“Of course I don’t have to,” you began, unbuttoning the stained shirt, “but I want to. There is no shame in letting someone care for you when you need it.”

“It’s my own fault.”

“No, it isn’t. You and I both know you don’t choose to transform.”

He finally met your eyes for the first time since you’d caught him, and you gave him a reassuring smile. He didn’t smile back, but you could see a softness begin to settle over his features. You pulled the shirt over his shoulders, helping him out of it completely. You observed the gash in his side, trying to hide your own wince at the severity of it. It was a miracle he could walk back to the house at all after that.

“Remus,” you said softly in concern, looking at his face again.

His expression had soured again upon seeing your reaction, and even more as he saw the damage in full for the first time.

“M’sorry,” he muttered.

“Don’t apologize. It’s just— I’ll have to clean this up before I can start the healing process. Are you sure you don’t want anything for the pain?”

“I’m sure.”

You shook your head as you moved behind him to get to the sink.

“Stubborn. I’m force feeding you soup after this,” you mumbled to yourself as you wet a washcloth in warm water.

This time, you caught a brief glimpse of a smile when you looked at him in the mirror.

“This is going to sting,” you warned.

He nodded, bracing himself with a hand against the counter top as you started cleaning around the wound. He tried hard not to react, but you could see it in his face every time you glanced up. It was a couple of long minutes before you were satisfied. You reached into a cupboard to take out the essence of dittany, giving him another, similar warning to the previous one.

You got to work, applying the essence and hearing a sharp hiss as it started doing its work.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, making sure you covered every bit of the gash.

“Don’t be.”

“You’re hurt.”

He nodded. “You’re helping.”

You nodded along with him, finally finishing. You took up the washcloth again, wiping any places you’d missed before, and ensured that you’d done a satisfactory job. You’d decided it was done well enough, at least.

“That should heal just fine,” you noted, glancing at him again.

He looked back at you with a small, grateful smile, and a glimmer of something else in his eyes.

“Thank you.”

You smiled back, cheeks suddenly a little warmer.

“Of course.”

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin fanfiction #lupin x reader #hp #hp fanfic #hp fandom #marauders #luna still hates jk

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thesoupisburning · 3 months

Text

right so you guys ever think about the spectre telling the narrator that hes more similar to her than to a person?

what "her" was she referring to? the fragment we call the spectre? the way he can only be perceived, not perceive himself? the ghost of him, the ghost of her? all of her?

im just. thinking. i always think about spectre. she has. a lot to say that i think is overlooked in favor of more common favorite routes like moment of clarity and the tower, but shes one of my favorites, and shes one of the only ones who SEES the narrator, save for wraith, who is. also her. or nightmare. and she says that hes not really a person. like her.

of course, that makes sense, we think shes a ghost and dead, so she is. but him. is the echo a ghost in the classical sense? is that what she meant? or are there layers?

she says he's not really like a person. what is a person to her? is she comparing the narrator to the "shards of broken glass on the floor" are her interactions with us and the voices the only "person" she knows?

i love love love when this game separates the narrator from us and our voices. i love it so much i think about it daily. props to tower for "layer of grime" that fucks so hard.

i don't have a thesis im just. thinking. how much of the narrator is left. really.

#sigh.#slay the princess #the spectre #the spectre stp #the echo stp #the echo slay the princess #the narrator stp #the narrator slay the princess #just thoughts man #my lovely partner presented a great concept today: the bird with teeth is his sona #while thats funny as hell i also think that that line of thinking makes. iogiuhuiogh it makes sooo much #like thoughts #i love the narrator i hate him so much #i need to pull him apart like a chicken bone #if that is his sona is his. echo. a comment on what we leave behind #our creations as extensions of the self?#or is it just meant to be literal. this man killed himself to destroy death for his world.#a part of him lives on in hell #infinite hims across all realities #but which part? a persona? an object? a skeleton?#how much of the echo is the creator? just how sentient is this guy #in other words. is he a literal ghost like the spectre #or is he something else entirely. a child created in the father's image #okay peace and love i will think about this For Ever <3 #soup shut up challenge #burntsoupwords

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wackapedia · 11 months

Text

Drunk Words Are Sober Thoughts

Sihtric Kjartansson x reader

Plot: Good news: You celebrate your recent victory by challenging strangers to a drinking contest. Bad news, you turn into a whiny baby when drunk and your friends do not want to deal with it at all Wc: 793 words Warnings: drinking and being drunk, mention of fights in the battlefield, mild mention of dying. Fluff tho

You sway in your seat as you down the rest of your ale and slam your mug against the wooden table. Your opponent, still quite sober, laughs at your poor attempt of challenging him in a drinking contest. You try to focus your sight, but it appears that there are now seven of them? "One more... I can take one more..." You were completely unintelligible at this point when you asked for another round. The observing crowd laughs. You decide to laugh along, not entirely sure what's funny. All of a sudden, their laughter halts. Someone had just walked into the alehouse.

You were sure something was still funny despite everyone else's silence as you giggled and turned to the man standing next to you; the amber hilt of his sword strapped on his back was unmistakable despite your drunken state. Your friend and lord pay off your tab and literally haul you out of your seat, carrying you back to camp.

"You celebrate better than a Dane…," he comments.

"Hmm? How do we know that?" You furrow your brows, genuinely wondering. You hiccup before continuing, "Do we know any Danes?"

Uthred sighs and hauls you higher over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The walk back to camp was short; you'd sobered up just a little to spot Osferth tending to a bowl of soup, which you hoped was for you.

You must've fallen asleep for a while because you awakened to the interior of your tent, with Uthred tapping your cheek and balancing a bowl of broth on your neck.

"Here. Feed yourself." He holds it steady and makes your hand hold a spoon.

"Ah, you sound like my father!" You pout, dropping the spoon back into the bowl.

Uthred sighs, quitting the task at hand. He calls for Finan, who happily takes over.

"This is why you shouldn't get drunk, you turn into a baby!" Finan takes a spoonful of broth, lifting it to your lips.

You keep your lips tightly shut as you pull the furs up to your face, hiding from everyone's favorite Irishman.

"And you're acting like a mother hen!" You mumble from under the covers.

He laughs with his entire chest. "Mother hen' isn't a new one, he gets that a lot.

"Come on, this will help you with tomorrow's hangover. We have to get back on the road." He chides, further proving the Mother Hen allegations. You remain under the furs, beginning to feel sleepy again. Finan calls out to you one more time, almost begging you to take just a few spoons, bargaining and negotiating like it was a battlefield. Somehow it was, with you being so difficult.

"I want Sihtric..." You slur under the sheets, walking between sleep and wakefulness. Finan doesn't respond.

"Sihtric is always so kind and gentle with me, even when I'm not drunk." You were talking to yourself at this point, slowly popping your head out of the covers, eyes closed. "He's always looking out for me without making me feel belittled. We work so well, especially on the battlefield." You sigh, thinking back to that morning's fight.

You were working through the open field after the breach at the shield wall. Standing back to back, you were absolutely lethal against your enemies, with bodies dropping quickly around the both of you. It felt comfortable to have him near you during fights. If you were to fall in battle, he would be the last thing you could see before passing. And somehow that, in itself, was your heaven, Valhalla, and paradise.

You were mumbling all of these thoughts out loud, unaware that the man himself was sitting next to you, holding the bowl of broth, red-faced and flustered. It also didn't help that three heads stacked through the tent entrance to listen in on your whole spiel about Sihtric.

".... He's easy on the eyes too. So please get Sihtric for me, Finan, before I-" You almost choked on your own tongue when you turned your head to see Sihtric. The bowl of broth must be boiling in his hands now at the heat of embarrassment and excitement coursing through his veins. The heads of Uthred, Finan, and Osferth by the tent entrance snicker to themselves as they watch the scene play out.

"Please say that again when you're sober, and then I will kiss you if you let me." Sihtric somehow recovers from his state, and finds the courage to express his feelings.

Immediately, you sat up and grabbed the bowl, slurping all of its contents messily, praying that it truly helped with hangovers so that you and Sihtric could have this conversation sober first thing tomorrow.

And that he'll make good on his promise to kiss you.

A/N: apparently i write for TLK now too lol

#the last kingdom #sihtric x reader #sihtric kjartansson x reader #sihtric of dunholm #finan #osferth #uthred of bebbanburg #uhtred ragnarsson #the last kingdom x reader #arnas fedaravicius #x reader

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mirimage · 1 year

Text

Just as I suspected, this whole ‘moving away from everything you know’ thing has exacerbated my many Food Problems :[

#miri shut up challenge #it’s rly annoying I’ve eaten like. one bagel today #but I am trying!!!#I’m gonna make my favourite soup tomorrow #and also some other easy things that I can put in the freezer #so I will be okay

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thebearer · 7 months

Note

casual dom carmy when his gf is sick 😵‍💫😵‍💫 like you’re trying to go back to work, or trying to move around, or trying to do something, and he is just like no wtf go rest

"Baby, I got you some- what are you doing?" Carmen's shoulders fall in defeat, eyes locked on you. More specifically, you in the living room- working.

"Hold on." You mutter, nose still stuffy and voice still hoarse. "I gotta finish this, one sec."

"No," Carmen shakes his head firmly. "You're supposed to be resting." You ignore him, dragging the image into place.

Carmen huffs, stomping towards you, large hand shutting the laptop. "Hey! Carmen, I-"

"-Are you supposed to be up?" Carmen's glare is as stern as his tone, brow lifting in challenge. "Huh? You supposed to be up?"

"I'm not up." You mutter, trying to push the screen back up, Carmen's hand still blocking you. "I'm sitting, and I need to do my work, Carmen." You whine. It was worse with the rasp in your tone, made you sound sicker than you were- well, that you would want to admit.

"You're supposed to be resting." Carmen glared at you. "Sleeping. Not working, and you know that."

"I feel fine." You mutter, rolling your eyes.

"Yeah, for now." Carmen scoffed. "And then you'll be exhausted and feel like shit later because you didn't rest. Too busy working."

"I have to work, Carmen." You croak, throat still sore.

"You have to rest." Carmen countered. "C'mon, your work knows you have the fuckin' flu. You're never gonna get to go back if you don't rest and get better."

You pouted, lower lip jutted, usually a look that had Carmen caving, giving into you easily- not today. His arms crossed, brow raised in challenge at you.

"Fine." You mutter, letting go of the laptop. "But I can't stay in the bed anymore, Carm. I'm staying in here."

"That's fine." He muttered, reaching into the bag. "I got you Pedialyte, so drink that, ok? Stay hydrated."

You reach for the drink, Carmen already fixing the blankets around you, moving pillows so you could lay. "You want some soup? Anything to eat? Stomach feel ok?"

"Not right now." You shake your head, fighting back a yawn. "Can you just... hand me the remote and sit with me, please?" You ask, eyes rounding sweetly. "I'm bored. I don't want to sit alone anymore."

Carmen grinned, sinking on the sofa next to you, your head finding his shoulder easily. "I gotcha. What d'you wanna watch, baby?"

#thebearer #thebearerblurbs #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto #the bear #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto fluff #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmen berzatto x fem!reader #carmen berzatto x female!reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto blurb

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deadbydangit · 10 months

Text

Taking care of them when they're sick. Killers.

Trickster, Pyramid Head, Mastermind, Huntress, Dredge (Platonic), Legion (Frank)

Trickster

Oh my God, please stop whining.

Ji-woon world's biggest baby.

If you get sick, he won't let you near him.

When he gets sick? Clingy, needy, brat.

Get me soup! I need more blankets! Don't leave me alone!

He's used to being pampered. So he expects you to do the same.

A sickening amount of cuddles. You aren't getting away.

You get sick? So what?

You get the honor of taking care of him.

When he's better, he'll be appreciative.

More snuggles, lots of kisses, lots of praise.

He may be annoying, but he really appreciates and craves attention.

Pyramid Head

He can't really get sick.

But he can get hurt.

Usually, his wounds close up pretty quickly.

But if he gets hurt real bad, he's going to need some help.

He isn't a huge fan of staying idle, so you're going to have to force him to rest.

He's very dedicated to his job, so keeping him still might prove a challenge.

Patch him up and clean his wounds.

Despite his lack of ability to show emotions or speak, it might seem like he's irritated.

He really isn't. Don't worry. It's actually a relief for him.

Oh, and, if possible, kiss the wound. That will really make his day.

As a token of appreciation, he'll pat your head and pet your hair. It isn't much, but it's how he shows his love to you.

Mastermind

Preposterous, he'd never get sick.

How dare you assume he's that weak.

He's Albert Wesker. He's the man that is going to shape the whole world in his image.

But, whether he likes it or not, he is sick.

The total opposite of Trickster.

A sick Wesker is a grouchy Wesker.

You're going to have to force him to stay in bed.

Because when this man gets sick, he really gets sick.

As independent as he wants to be, he needs help.

Because of the virus, he needs a lot more medicine than most to actually work.

Warm tea and enough medicine to drug an elephant usually does the trick.

After sleeping the full day he's usually recovered enough to start moving around again.

If you get what he gets, then of course he's going to complain.

"I was just fine on my own. Why can't you take better care of yourself? What would happen if I wasn't here?"

It's just his way of showing he cares and loves you.

Huntress

Oh, she's sick?

She never would've known

She's so used to taking care of herself that any sickness was ignored.

Anna doesn't mind how much you're taking care of you though. Even though she has no idea why you're fawning over her.

The attention and affection is more than welcome.

You might need to hide the medicine in a soup or something, because she won't take it otherwise.

She'd feel really bad if you caught whatever she had.

She would return the favor tenfold.

Home cooked soup. Hand hunted prey.

Lots of snuggles and kisses.

You're her little rabbit and she's going to take the best care of you.

Dredge (Platonic)

Probably shouldn't have eaten that.

Might've been one of the dead cows hanging from the trees in Coldwind.

Or maybe that horse?

Whatever he ate, it's making him really sick.

He's spewing up random objects that he's eaten throughout his lifetime.

A lot of objects that have been missing throughout history.

Airplanes, historical objects, some bodies, etc.

The biggest challenge with him is stopping him from eating more or everything he just spit up.

He is, quite literally, a bottomless pit. So safe to say he is hungry.

A hungry Dredge is not a happy Dredge.

After a day or so he'll be feeling better and willing to eat everything again. Just not the things that made him sick. He's learnt his lesson.

He'll find you some little trinkets to show his appreciation.

Just don't be offended if it's something gross. He's really trying.

Legion (Frank)

He's a stubborn little shit.

"I'm not sick. Shut up!"

It's going to take you and the rest of the Legion to make him take a day off.

"Fine. Whatever."

But he actually wanted to take the day off. He just couldn't let the others see him as weak and lazy.

This was all your idea.

Frank hates tea and soup. He'd rather have soda and crap food.

Well, tough, because that's not what you're eating right now.

And he does not cover his mouth when he coughs or sneezes. It's your own damned fault if you get sick.

He secretly loves all the attention and he really does feel like crap.

"Hey, I'm cold, come here."

You have no choice in that. You're going to have to snuggle with him till he falls asleep.

And, you are going to catch what he has.

He'll be the one taking care of you.

He knows he's the reason and he does feel bad.

He might not be the best at helping you, but he's really trying his best.

And it's all for you.

#dbd imagines #dbd killer #dbd x reader #dbd ask blog #dbd dredge #dbd huntress #dbd mastermind #dbd trickster #dbd pyramid head #dbd legion #dbd frank

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narrans · 3 months

Text

My Borrowed Son | 3 | Earning Trust

Amanda knew immediately the second she crossed the threshold of her home that she was in over her head. The minuscule boy in the palm of her hand needed intense care, and his size, being no bigger than her thumb, was going to be an immense challenge.

Still, Amanda knew she made a promise to this boy, and she refused to let him down now - especially after they first met. She had earned a fragment of trust, and she intended to keep it.

Finally making it past the mountains of boxes, she stepped into her kitchen and set her hand onto the counter. The slight jostle made the poor boy whimper pitifully.

“You’re okay. I’m here,” she reassured just as she had done the whole way home. Seeing him in full light, Amanda wanted more than anything to give him a bath, but more importantly was the fact that he needed food. One handed, Amanda fished out a bowl and a standard can of chicken noodle soup and began heating it in the microwave.

She wished she could give him something a little more nutritious and home-made, but that would have to wait. At the moment, her life was upside down. Everything happening was the last thing she wanted, but it was what she needed.

While the little boy stayed huddled in her hand, Amanda continued to work. She realized after fumbling around for a minute for a spoon that she had nothing in her house that would be small enough for the child. Amanda, as her thoughts bounced around her skull like a bouncy ball, didn’t want to scare the child with a spoon that he could sit on; but he also needed something to eat the soup with.

The boy watched with his insightful eyes, keeping eerily quiet, while Amanda searched.

Feeling the pressure of his eyes, Amanda suddenly came up with an idea, but she’d need the boy to listen to instructions for this to work. She snagged a dish cloth from her sink and ran it under the water, moving delicately to not startle the little boy. When it was just barely damp, she turned off the water and held out just a little corner for him.

“Could you rub your hands on the cloth? Okay? Rub your hands on the cloth,” coaxed Amanda as she mimicked the motion with her thumb and index finger. The infinitesimal child blinked uncertainly before inching himself across Amanda’s palm, making a tingling shiver shoot up her arm, and imitating the motion, rubbing his hands on the cloth.

Her mind was absolutely numb. This boy was absolutely amazing. At every turn, she was discovering something new about him and what he understood. Did that mean he could speak as well?

The thought was fascinating, but it would have to wait because, just then, the microwave dinged. Amanda moved instinctually at her own pace simply to look over at the kitchen appliance, but it was enough to jostle her hand and make the boy whimper and take cover against Amanda’s curled fingers.

“Oh… oh no… It’s okay, sweetie. I’m sorry,” muttered Amanda as she curled her fingers a little tighter. The boy whimpered again, hiding his soft brown eyes as he kept them shut tight. His breathing was rapid, and he was trembling ever so slightly. Amanda could feel him against her fingertips. It made her heart hurt, so she tried coaxing him a little more. “I’ll move slower. I promise. You’re okay.”

Seemingly convinced, the sandy haired boy to open his eyes once again after a few minutes and looked back up at Amanda. To her, it looked like he was seeking reassurance in her eyes, and she freely gave it.

“There you go. See? All better,” Amanda encouraged. Moving slower now, Amanda retrieved the soup, a soft drink cap, and the loaf of bread from the kitchen counter. With the items neatly organized, Amanda dipped the cap into the warmed soup and tested the temperature to make sure he wouldn’t get burned before daring to lower both the cap and the little boy to the kitchen counter.

Goodness… he’s so small. He looks like one of those little salt and pepper shakers, Amanda thought as she kept her hand on the counter, the boy still sitting on the edges of her fingers. He was looking around at all of the cabinets and drew his legs in toward him, obviously intimidated.

To make this a positive experience, Amanda acted quickly and pinched off a corner of bread and offered it to the boy. His little features furrowed in confusion as he carefully took the bread from in between her pinched fingers. He rotated around so he could face her but didn’t leave the safety of her hand.

It wasn’t ideal, but it was the only option she had. She didn’t want to force the boy off. If her hand was where he felt safe, then that was where he should stay.

Amanda moved the cap of soup onto her palm in front of the boy before pulling her own bowl toward her.

“Here now, watch me, okay? Just dip the bread into the soup, like this,” instructed Amanda. Keeping her hand steady, she took her own piece of bread and dipped it into the liquid, swirled it around, and then brought it to her lips for a bite. The soft brown eyed boy watched Amanda do this several more times before looking down at his own piece of bread and, to her amazement, dipping it into the broth in the lid, imitating Amanda’s behavior.

Thankfully, Amanda didn’t need to continue repeating the action because the moment the bread and salty soup touched his lips, the boy began to eat ravenously, broth dribbling down his front and into his already filthy clothes.

Now really able to see him, Amanda saw that the little boy’s outfit consisted of a shirt with a faded yellow button on his front that took up most of his chest and a big green button on his back that was like the one on his chest. He was barefoot, mud caked in between his toes, and his pants were obviously soiled.

It made Amanda’s heart twist in her chest. How long had this boy been out on his own?

When the little pinch of bread was gone, the most pitiful look filled his eyes as he looked back up at Amanda eagerly, to which she happily gave him another piece. He inhaled three fair sized bread pinches before he showed signs of slowing down. It was on the fifth piece that he slowed and stopped, simply holding the bread close and nibbling on the edge absentmindedly.

Amanda knew she would need to get some utensils for him, but now was not that time. Now, after the boy had some food in him, she managed to convince him to drink a little bit of water before she shuffled both of them to the bathroom.

A bath was in order.

She stepped up to her bathroom sink and began to run some warm water. She found some vapor bubble bath that would probably do the little boy some good and added that to the running water in the sink.

At first sight, however, the boy whimpered and scuttled across her hand to grasp her thumb with all of his might. He was shivering violently and fell to his knees. Amanda kept her free hand cupped near her thumb in case the little boy accidentally lost his balance. Perhaps it was instinct, but the boy’s ability to balance on such a malleable substance like a hand was incredible.

She couldn’t pause to marvel at him now, however.

With a feeling like a punch in the gut, Amanda tried figuring out how to convince this child he was alright and that the water was alright.

Did something happen related to water to make him so afraid? Amanda wondered. The horrid thought that he had been swept away in a rainstorm from his family made her heart clench. Just keep reassuring him. Show him it’s okay. He trusted you with the bread, right?

It was a weak argument, but it was all she had.

“It’s okay sweetie,” coaxed Amada, speaking once again in a low, sonoric tone. “It’s just water, see?” With that, Amanda carefully placed her other hand under the water and moved her fingers around, splashing the liquid around the sink. The little boy continued clutching Amanda’s thumb as he whimpered.

She had to try something else. Then, she got an idea.

Amanda cupped her one hand and caught some of the water in it before pulling it away from the faucet and holding it up to the little boy.

“Here, see? It’s just water,” reassured Amanda as she tapped the puddle of water in her palm while holding it up to the boy.

He turned his soft brown eyes to Amanda before looking back at the water. Tears still staining his face, he leaned forward and barely touched the water with the tip of his finger.

The miniscule boy instantly retraced his finger and huddled against Amanda’s thumb, but a smile from her and another reassuring, “It’s okay,” had the boy tapping the liquid until the tears stopped.

It would take Amanda another twenty minutes to coax the little boy under the stream of water where she gently massaged soap into his hair and over his clothes. While she worked, she watched the boy’s eyes drifting further and further down, drowsiness overtaking him. The sight was adorable beyond words. Though tentative, his trust mixed with exhaustion was making this little boy fall asleep in her hands.

Amanda dried him off, careful not to jostle his head, and carefully constructed a toga-like outfit. Cutting away the little boy’s clothes was nerve wracking and made Amanda’s heart ache at seeing all of his injuries as well as his little ribs, which were clearly visible. There were also numerous bruises on his body as well as scratches, some of which ran from the base of his back to the top of his neck.

Was he attacked by something? How long has he been out there? Where are his parents? Did he have parents?

Amanda organized a shoebox with some snacks, water, and bedding and set the unconscious boy inside. Evidently, he had fallen asleep in her hand while she put together a space for him.

His little forehead furrowed as he twitched and turned into the bed Amanda made for him.

Now, more than ever, she needed to find out about this little boy, and, beyond that, she needed to find a way to protect him - no matter what.

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

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