#Mild Hurt/Comfort | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

admrlthundrbolt · 3 months ago

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Run Run Run (Eddie x Chubby Reader x Venom)

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You were someone he could always depend on. The kind neighbor that kept him in mind. So when Venom comes into the picture, it's hard for him to not obsess over you. This perfectly plump morsel waiting to be devoured. He need only to convince Eddie that you belonged with them.

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Hey guys, I'm back at it again. In all honesty Venom and Eddie have to be one of my favorite duos. So with the new movie coming out soon. We'll I just couldn't resist writing something for them. Hope you enjoy.

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You sighed as the mail locker stayed jammed shut. No matter how much you yanked or jiggled. It never seems to budge. Hotel Schueller had never been the nicest apartment building. But it was a short walk from your job and had some great people around it.

The front door squeaking open caused your head to shoot in it's direction. Speaking of, your favorite upstairs neighbor just walked in. “Hey Eddie, do you think you could give me a hand?” You were hopeful as you called out to him.

Without sparing you a glance he darted to the stairs. “Can't right now. I think I made a break through with this newest story.”

Your face dropped as he brushed you off. “Oh, OK then.” Trying not to let it get to you, your shoulders sagged. Turning back to the locker, you were surprised to see it open.

Picking up his pace at your downtrodden answer, he frowned. So focused on his annoyance with the situation. He didn't notice a black tendril merging back, coming from the lobby.

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Venom was seething. Not only had he been plucked from his home planet. But his host was forcing him from one of the most perfect beings. And for what! He didn't trust the symbiote to keep you safe. That was the only thing he wanted. Your safety was at the top of his priority list. Next to finding out if your soft flesh felt as luscious as it look. Oh to feel his tendrils caress your thick thighs. Spend enough time wrapped around you to know your smell…your taste. His body trembled at the mere thought.

Until he remembered that Eddie would never allow such things. He knew how the man treasured you. How he didn't even realize that the two of their thoughts aligned. The night he had merged with the man, you had been on his mind. The alien had then brushed the thoughts away. A being if Earth was no concern of his. Then you showed up at his door, worried beyond belief. It was endearing to him. To have such a caring person seek him out. He and his host shared the same thoughts in that moment. You were a Saint and they were the Sinner unworthy of you.

Still it didn't stop him from pouting. “Why can we not meet them Eddie?” He could feel an annoyance fill his host. But he pressed, he could not ignore him forever. “We wish to bask in their company. To hear her sweet tones. Feel the warmth of their plush skin.” The heat that began to spread across the man's body was delightful. It wouldn't be long before he could convince him to bring you closer.

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You had been on his mind constantly lately. Between trying to avoid your presence and Venom's pestering. There didn't seem to be a moment that you weren't running through his head.

Even now, as he tried to drift to sleep. His thoughts were plagued by you. Your caring nature and sweet laughter. The way your eyes crinkle when you smile. The suppleness of your hand when it happened to brush against his. The warmth of your presence was enough to blind him.

But you were to good for them. You had a normal life that didn't need them to ruin it. If you had only met sooner in life things may have turned out differently. Rolling over, he felt sleep began to wrap around him. The image of you wandering in his subconscious, lulling him.

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Another day and another argument. “You can't eat every inconvenience we have.” He shook his head as he slammed the apartment door shut. Throwing his things towards the couch, he glared as they fell to the floor instead.

“What is the point of protecting the city if we do not also benefit.” His floating head frowned at the man. It wasn't enough that he was confined to this body. But the moral code of his host was stifling.

“They are a civil servant. Their job is to enforce the rules and keep people safe. A ticket sucks, but it happens.” As much as he likes to take the high road. There was a part of him that agreed with the parasite. He had gotten back to his motorcycle before the guy had finished the ticket. Didn't stop him from finishing and slapping in on the seat. Still being a douche wasn't a crime. A fact that really made Venom rage.

His eyes narrowed at Eddie, then a vicious grin curled on his lips. “If we cannot eat them, then let's go get some chocolate.” He knew changing the subject from violence usually got him his way. The thought of heading to Mrs. Chen's, while it also happened to be time for you to get off work. Well, let's just call it a happy coincidence. Until he let his thoughts get a bit to loud in his excitement. Allowing his host to hear his line of thought.

His head shook in resolution. “No way. You are not getting a chance to get them involved.” He moved towards the bathroom, but was stopped. His feet had become enclased in black tendrils. His body marched to the front door. Reaching for the fridge, he barely caught the handle. Though this didn't stop the alien. Instead the appliance toppled over with a crash. They argued a bit longer, each fighting for control. Until a frantic pounding came from the door.

Morphing back into his host, Venom growled. This wouldn't be the end of the conversation. Though his annoyance shifted into elation as you called out.

“Eddie! Are you ok?” You sounded out of breath. It was a safe guess that you rushed up stairs. It warmed both of them to think that the noise from their argument made you check on them. But that didn't stop the grimace from settling on the man's face. He debated whether or not to open the door.

“Please Eddie. I just need to know you're not hurt.” You were desperate. The image of his sickly face not to long ago flashing in your mind. Your upstairs neighbor that always had you back. He looked as if he was on death's door that night. He may have pulled away from you lately. But that was no reason to not worry about a friend.

He crack the door open, his heart thruming chaoticly. Though for all of his anxiety, the sight of your soft face calmed him. Pulling the door wider, he gave you a sad look. He wanted to tell you everything. Knowing you would embrace him, with your soft warmth. Reassure him that everything was fine. You would help him and be there. Instead he stared at you and forced a small smile onto his lips. “I'm OK. Just some problems with the fridge.” He steps back and you blink at the overturned appliance.

Your shoulders sagged, the tension finally releasing. Clutching the flashlight tighter in your hands you sighed. “What about the voices?” You hated to pry, but his safety was more important than etiquette.

He glanced at the flash light in your hands. It was odd that you had it. Shaking the thought away he pointed to the TV. “I must have had it up to loud. Sorry about that.” A second to late Venom pointed out his mistake. ‘It is off Eddie.’ His face pinched at the obvious lie.

You looked him over and didn't see any signs of distress. So with a nod and a relieved smile you went on your way. Not wanting to be a bother.

The pair looked after you longingly. Each wishing they could truly tell you.

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Venom stared longingly out of the window. He kept glancing down, hoping you might step out on the fire escape. It was a rare occurrence, but he cherished any time he could spend with you. Even if you weren't aware of it.

He still hadn't convinced Eddie to pursue you. The idiot didn't understand! If there was danger then they could save you. The safest place you could be was in their arms. He would wrap himself around your plush warmth. Sink his tendrils into your lusciously pliable skin. The three of you could enjoy so many wonderfully lazy days together. A pur flowed up his throat at the thought.

This sound caught Eddie's attention. It was an odd noise to come from the symbiote. Glancing at his watch, he decided it was time for a break. Pushing away from the desk, he made his way over to the floating head. “Watcha see Ven?”

The alien sighed wistfully. “I am thinking about (Y/N).” He glanced at his host from the corner of his vision.

The man's expression dropped a bit. For as much as he protested, he actually agreed with the parasite. You were amazing and he would love to be with you. But the thought of them causing you pain. It was to much to bear. “I know buddy. We need to think about them though.”

Before he could reluctantly agree, they were pulled from their conversation by yelling. There was a man threatening a woman outside the window. “Look lady, you better hand everything over!” He was waving around a knife as he frantically demanded her stuff.

The alien perked up, nothing would brighten his mood more than criminal brains. “Eddie we must go help. That lady is in danger.”

He was reluctant to jump into action. But the weapon was making it hard to stay in place. Then it became impossible to not intervene. When your voice answered the mugger. “OK, just let me get out my flashlight. I can't find my wallet without it.”

They shifted as the violent man told you to hurry up. Not bothering to open the window they explode onto the fire escape. This distracts the robber, but not you. They see you pull out the same flashlight as the other day. Their confusion soon turns to surprise as you jab it into the man's stomach. He doubles over in pain and groans. You don't give him a moment to catch his breath as you bring your knee to his nose. A sickening cruch echoes through the alley. The man's body drops unceremoniously with a hard thud. With him taken care of, you turn towards the heavy breathing behind you.

They stared at you in awe. Their sweet, soft little neighbor had just downed a threatening man with a weapon. Venom's mouth parted in a wide taunting grin. “And you thought she was helpless.” He would have continued his gloating. If not for the fact that you had turned the taser towards them.

“If you take a step closer I won't hesitate to use this on you.” The man on the ground shifted a bit, but made no other move. You glance at him, though you never fully turned from the being in front of you. “What, are you guys some sort of team. One of you makes threats while the other gets behind the victim?” Your grip tightened on your weapon, sending another short shot of sparks out.

He stepped forward shaking his head. Then stopped as you held down the button. The taser may be small, but it sent a barrage of electricity out. “No, you have it all wrong.” With great reluctants, he shifts back down into his small counterpart.

A beat of silence goes by, then another, your eyes widening all the time. Then your hands come up and tangle in your hair. “This explains so much.” It was said so softly that he almost didn't catch it.

Taking a tentative step forward, his brows pinched in confusion. “It does?”

Your eyes shot in his direction. “Of course it does. I thought I may have been putting you under pressure. But the sudden change in attitude and schedule. It was a clear lifestyle change. Although.” You gave him and the being hovering near his shoulder a once over. “I wouldn't have guessed exactly this.”

The symbiote wasn't sure his smile could get any bigger. “We are happy to see that you are not angry with us Morsel. It was Eddie's stupid idea to avoid you.” He glared at the man accusingly.

He pointed his finger into the parasite's face. “It's not that simple and you know it.” He turned to you with tired eyes. “I didn't want you getting involved in this mess. You shouldn't have to worry about taking care of us.”

You shook your head with a hard look on your face. “Shouldn't I get a say in this. I've always considered you a close friend. And when you pulled away, I worried. Were you going through something or had I done something. Then the other day, there was obviously something going on. But you didn't trust me enough to tell me. It took someone attacking me to bring out the truth.” With a sigh you looked between the pair and moved a few steps forward. Your expression had softened by the time you stopped in front of them. “I understand that you wanted to protect me though. To be honest, I would have probably done the same if I were in your shoes.”

Wrapping your plush arm around his and gave it a squeeze. You were a bit shocked at the black tendrils that laced around your fingers. It was an odd sensation, but not an unpleasant one. “Why don't we head to my place for some tea and talk about this?”

The duo nodded quickly. As they latched onto you, not willing to leave your side. They couldn't help to reflect on how they should have confided in you sooner. But they wouldn't make the same mistake in letting you not be a permanent facete in their lives. One they were willing to do anything for.

#chubby reader #plus size reader #eddie brock #venom #venom symbiote #eddie x reader #venom x reader #eddie x reader x venom #pining #mutual pining #minor violence #mugger #broken nose #self defense #taser #mild obsession #mild hurt/comfort #emotional hurt/comfort #fights

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leighsartworks216 · 1 year ago

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The Sound of Being Loved

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Possibly OOC. I'm posting this at like 12am and I am so tired sleepy but I needed to finish this Or Else

Warnings: some hurt/comfort, talk about The Scar™️

Word Count: 737

Masterlist

AO3

Astarion let out a stiff breath as your fingers brushed over the scar. The poem. The sigil. Whatever it was Cazador'd carved into his back.

You'd asked him about it before. He'd answer curtly and bitterly - as he’d always done when his master was the subject of conversation. But that was so long ago now. At least, it felt quite long ago. He couldn't really be sure. All he knew was things were finally dying down and becoming normal. As normal as things could be, anyway. And you couldn't stop yourself from asking again.

That's how you ended up straddling his thighs as he laid chest-down on the bed.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," you reminded him softly. You kept repeating the phrase when he tensed beneath your fingers, or got that quiet, distant aura about him.

He hummed, turning his head to peek over his shoulder at you. He offered the most reassuring smile he could muster. "Go on," he encouraged. "He's dead - it doesn't matter anymore."

You tilted your head. Sharp eyes studied him, searching for any hint of a lie. He sighed quietly as your hand massaged the back of his neck. "But it still happened," you said, "you still hate it."

He smirked, but his quiet voice gave away the false confidence. "You know me too well, darling."

"Yes," you leaned down to kiss his cheek, "I do." He turned his head slightly more to catch your lips for a momentary kiss. Your lips hovered over his, eyes boring into his soul, searching. "I can stop."

"No. Please. I... I want you to know every part of me. I trust you."

You kissed him once more, languid and sweet, before sitting back up. He closed his eyes and tried to relax under your fingers. They danced across his back, tracing each line in their circular pattern. One hand slid to his waist to thumb circles into his side. He wondered why for a moment. Surely it would be easier to feel each infernal letter with both hands? Then he realized: it was a distraction. You were giving him something to focus on while you studied his back. His undead heart stuttered in his chest.

“I could translate it,” you whisper. It’s a gentle offer. “If you wanted to know what it says.”

Cazador is dead, he reminds himself. Whatever the bastard carved into his skin, it shouldn’t hold so much power over him anymore. But the thought of knowing exactly what was written there… His lips pursed.

You pressed a kiss to his spine, in between the circles of text. He lets out a breath. “No. Let it die with him.”

You’re quiet as you go back to tracing. He wonders if you’re translating it in your mind. He… doesn’t mind the thought - not as much as he thought he would. He trusts you, enough to know you would take the words to your grave. They would never be used against him, held over him as leverage. They’d just sit in a corner of your mind and collect dust, until their meaning is lost forever. He doesn’t mind that at all.

Once you’ve felt all of the letters, your hand traces the circles themselves. Starting right at the center, you go out ring by ring. Where scarred lines branch off, you ghost your touch up and down the ridges. There are several at the bottom of the scar. It almost looks like dripping wax, sealed into his skin forever. Imagining what it was like hurts too much.

He peeks over his shoulder again as he feels your hands, full, flat-palmed on his skin, sliding over his sides. You lay on top of him, sliding your arms around him, squished between his stomach and the bed. You’re so warm. Your head rests between his shoulder blades, breaths sliding across his back and shoulders like a warm summer breeze. His body fully relaxed into the affection. All tension faded away, and he allowed his eyes to close in the comfort.

“I love you,” you hum near his ear. “My beautiful star.”

Astarion smiles. “I love you, too. My dearest blood donor.” He relishes in the way you laugh against him, full and bright and free. And he hopes, when he’s lived for centuries more, and loses the spark of life in his eye, he remembers exactly how it sounds to be loved.

#fanfic #fanfiction #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate astarion #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #mild hurt/comfort

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steviewashere · 7 months ago

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If Found, Return to Me

Rating: General CW: Implied Sex (Mild), Mild Panic Attacks Tags: Post Canon, Post Season 4, Established Relationship, Humor and Hijinks, Eddie Munson is a Little Shit, Steve Harrington is a Little Shit, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Panic Attacks, Dork Eddie Munson, Dork Steve Harrington, 3+1

Okay, the idea was going to be a 5+1, but I couldn't get past three ideas without feeling the crawl of burn-out, so I lowered it to three. But this is based on This Post from @apomaro-mellow

👕—————👕 1. He grips the hem of his shirt and tugs. Chin tucked into his neck so that he can read the text, which is bold and black and dark on the white background. ‘If found, return to Steve.’ Eddie groans. “Do we seriously have to wear these?” He whines.

Steve stands in front of him. Hands on his hips. One foot cocked. “Yes, Eddie,” he answers emphatically. Even a little annoyed. Which, sue Eddie for having to ask over and over, but it’s sort of embarrassing. Especially when his boyfriend is wearing a similar shirt that just reads: ‘I’m Steve’. Makes Eddie look sort of childish, if you were to ask him. “If I’m taking you out of town, to a place I’ve never been before for a convention—something I’d probably never even go to—you absolutely have to wear that shirt. Knowing you, you’ll see some action figure stand and I’ll be abandoned by the comic books.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Or, y’know, we can just link arms and walk around the convention center?” Steve only widens his eyes and raises an eyebrow. He groans again. “Okay, fine! We’ll wear these stupid t-shirts.” His head tilts back, eyes to the ceiling of their hotel. Huffs through his nose. “I don’t even know how you got these,” he grumbles, “I’d rather not know.”

Sure, Eddie’s prone to running off. He gets excited, okay? Especially when it’s something he knows a lot about, or something he’s been hunting down for literal years, or if it’s a thing he can surprise the people around him with. Thinking of the last time he wandered off and Steve had to practically scruff him, it’d been while he was purchasing a dice set for Dustin’s birthday. So maybe Steve has a point. And maybe it’s sort of a genius idea. Eddie just wants to be stubborn about this, it’d save him the humiliation.

Except, he’s still wearing the shirt (Steve in his matching one) when they finally get through the doors of the convention center. There’s people in costumes all around them: Spock and Kirk, Marty McFly, Indiana Jones, Predator, and a few kids with their dads all dressed like those ponies that Erica likes. Something in Eddie trills. And he’s already a few steps ahead of Steve before he knows it. Steve trails behind him, wonder and awe shining in his own eyes, trying to keep up with Eddie’s frantic nature.

But then they’re not even close to each other. They buy lunch a couple hours in. Steve gets a large lemonade and downs it like he’s never had something to drink before. And then Eddie’s being told, “Please wait here by the bathrooms. Don’t go do anything stupid.”

He’s leaning against the wall that reads: ‘Restrooms’. Arms intertwined over his chest. Legs crossed on one another. In the distance, his eyes lock onto a Dungeons & Dragons booth. There’s tall shelves stocked with every mini figure he could ever pray for. A few long tables that showcase various maps, dungeon master screens, and little trays for dice. However, there’s an odd rack in the booth. A hat stand. And on it, he spots the perfect thing for Steve. It’s probably expensive, Eddie debates with himself, but it’s Indiana Jones’ hat. His feet are moving before he registers the people walking past him.

And then he’s there. Holding a classic fedora hat between his hands. Turning it around in his hold. Thumbing at the material; marveling at how smooth and buttery soft the fabric is. He spots the price tag, ‘$8.00’. It’s not a terrible price. Isn’t damaged in any way. So he keeps it in his left hand, grabs a paladin mini figure in his right, and purchases both items. Bag in hand, he moves to leave the booth, but is stopped by a gentle hand tapping on his right shoulder.

He turns and is met with a girl. She’s level with his chest, eyes wide and calculating, hand retreating back to her side. “Hi—um—you don’t know me at all, but I found somebody named Steve looking for you,” she states, “I saw your shirt and figured you were the guy he was talking about.”

Eddie slumps. A part of him can’t believe the stupid shirt even worked. “Yeah, it’s probably me that he’s looking for,” he sighs. “Take me to him.”

She’s hard to follow in the crowd of people. Shorter than most and extremely quick. But she links his arm with hers and practically drags him back towards the bathrooms. And there he is, Steve Harrington with his hands on his hips, a furrow to his brow, mouth thin-lined. “Eddie,” Steve greets. He smiles, though it’s not all that sweet, but kind enough for this stranger that had to shepherd Eddie. The girl leaves them. And Steve steps closer to Eddie, crosses his arms over his chest, and then has the gall to snort. He raises a hand and plucks at Eddie’s t-shirt, directly on the word: ‘Found’. “Looks like my stupid t-shirt worked,” he snarks. The sass to this guy is unbelievable.

“Yeah, har har, laugh it up,” Eddie says dryly. “Maybe you don’t want the little gift I got for you.”

Steve perks up. Eyes glowing with curiosity. “What’d you get?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and smirks. Digs into his bag and flaunts the hat. “Saw it at a D&D booth, surprisingly. Probably would’ve been something we walked by, had I not…wandered.” He steps a little closer into Steve’s space, sets the hat on top of his head, and nods in approval. “Think that this purchase was a success. You look dashing, Mr. Jones.”

In a flurry of movement, Steve snatches the hat from off the top of his head. Gaping at it. “Eds,” he breathes, “this is so fucking cool.” He places it back where it was, pulling it tight to his hairline, and grins brightly. “Thank you, but also please don’t leave me alone here,” he says, “I got worried.”

“Sorry,” Eddie murmurs sheepishly. “Just thought about how excited you’d be about the hat and couldn’t resist. Won’t happen again, promise.”

Steve chuckles. “I know it will, but that’s what the stupid shirts are for. Anyway…Can we go look at the Lego set-up that we passed by in hall E? I think I saw a spaceship and—“

“Lead the way, Indy.” He might have to buy his own shirts with how Steve bounds away from him.

——— 2. “If…Lost?!” Eddie exclaims. “Steve, what the fuck? Why—How—Where the hell are you getting these t-shirts?” He asks. They’re at Steve’s house, getting ready for a day trip in Chicago. And, sure, Eddie’s never been in his life. Doesn’t know the streets of Chicago like the back of his hand. Maybe Steve does know more about where they’re going, but that doesn’t change just how ridiculous this shirt is. How it glares at him in the bathroom mirror.

Steve sidles up next to him. His t-shirt the same as the one from the convention. He wraps an arm around Eddie’s waist. Rests his head on his shoulder. “I have my ways,” he states ominously. “And, again, I know you. Your sense of direction is practically non-existent. You can’t deny that, baby. The only reason you found Skull Rock is because you stumbled upon it.”

“I was on the run, couldn’t exactly look at a map,” he grumbles. “But do we have to—“

“Yes,” Steve sighs. “Now, can you come out to the car with me? I’m ready to go.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but does as he’s asked. Sits in the passenger seat. Shuffles through the radio stations. Teases Steve for his taste in tapes. But then they’re parking, getting out, walking around the city.

He follows Steve…for a while. Into a record shop. In the back of a diner, playing footsie under the table. Then he goes down a side street. Following a guy in a white t-shirt, hair high on his head, Adidas sneakers on his feet. However, the guy turns slightly. And…that’s not Steve. Eddie’s not sure how long he’s been following this stranger, or when he started, or from where he started from. Tries to rake through his brain to the last time he heard Steve talk about the street they were originally on, but there’s nothing. The words and names escape him.

He’s stranded in a city he’s never been to. Down a street he should’ve never come across. Wearing the most humiliating t-shirt known to mankind. Somewhere, again he’s not sure, behind him Steve is probably standing by some shop entrance, hands on his hips and a scowl perfectly framed on his face. And Eddie can’t help but panic. Standing with his back against the nearest wall. Breathing through his mouth like he’s about to beef it on the sidewalk. Eyes darting over and under and left and right. Trying to find semblance of normal, any little speckle of Steve. Something.

It’s not until he’s nearly sick to his stomach, churning and flipping and knotting, that a different stranger makes their presence known. They gently invade his space. Voice soft as they notice his panic. “Hey man, are you Eddie?” They ask. He nods way too quick, but sidelines the blur to his vision because talking to this stranger seems hopeful. Especially since they know his name. “Okay, cool,” the stranger mutters, “I ran into your…friend. Steve was on the verge of a nervous breakdown when I spotted him, said he couldn’t find you, but didn’t know where to look. So I volunteered to find you. And—well—judging by your shirt, I can gladly and safely reunite you guys. If you…If you wanna follow me.”

“Please,” Eddie murmurs, “I don’t know where I am.”

The trip back to Steve is arduous. Through crowds of people and past noisy cars. Bustling shops and the waft of various seasonings from a number of restaurants. But sure enough, Steve is on some precipice. His hair a mess and face pinched nervously. Then, he spots Eddie. Eyes lighting, clearing and glistening. A look of ‘I want to touch, but know I can’t.’

When he sidles up next to Steve after the stranger leaves, he carefully joins their hands. “I followed a complete stranger for probably thirty minutes,” Eddie admits, whispering. “His hair looked similar. And he was also wearing a white t-shirt. I got so scared, Steve.”

“Well, at least our stupid shirts worked again, right?” Steve asks, breathless and still verging breakdown.

Eddie squeezes their hands. “Can we go home, please? This is gonna sound crazy, but I think I prefer middle of nowhere Hawkins. At least I know where everything is.”

Steve nods rapidly. “I need to touch you in ways I can’t right now. Let’s go.” And then he tugs their hands, pulling them along sidewalks and through groups of people, down a couple side streets. It’s partially worth it, in the end. Definitely with the way Eddie’s skin is now decorated with Steve’s love, sticky and warm with it, too.

——— 3. The shirts end up following them to the Indiana State Fair.

Steve stops them at the front entrance, right after the ticket booth, and makes Eddie face him. “Listen to me,” he murmurs, voice low and near demanding. “If I turn my back for a second and you are gone, I will lose my absolute shit. Got it? Do not make me have to keep a rope tied to your belt loop.”

Eddie groans. “I get it, Steve. Can we at least try and enjoy ourselves?”

And they do for the most part. Steve plays at a few game stalls. Eddie carries the prizes. Their legs interlock underneath a picnic table, sharing greasy funnel cake and way too sour lemonade freezes. They watch a few performers, pet some fair animals, judge prized pigs like they know what they’re doing.

But then the ferris wheel comes up and Eddie sees an opportunity already forming. Like dots connecting or the stars aligning. He wants to drag Steve through the line and sit with him in one of the seats, wait for the wheel to stop at just the right height, and kiss him as the lights dim low and the darkness of the sky envelops them. Though, because he always misses a few steps in his plans, he doesn’t tell Steve that they’re going to the ferris wheel. Just starts walking. Shoving past other couples and accidentally sidelining a couple kids. He sneaks around large families. Maybe bribes a few people to let up on the ride’s queue.

Then, Eddie turns to his left. Where Steve is.

Or…Where Steve should have been.

“Shit,” Eddie spits. “Steve?” He calls over his shoulder. Frantically, he whips around in line. Eyes wide over people’s heads. Shoving them out of the way, albeit a little rough. Spreads the line into two little rows. But he comes up unsuccessful.

Until, right on cue, a stranger is tapping on his shoulder. Instead of letting them go into their whole spiel, he just sighs defeated, “Take me to him.”

There are no words exchanged. Not when Eddie follows behind, head bowed to the ground, dragging his feet like a petulant child. And then he stops where he sees Steve’s shoes, the bright blue Adidas sneakers he’d recognize anywhere.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Thought you were with me.”

Steve just sighs. Something kind of disappointed that shrivels Eddie slightly. “Where’d you even go?” Steve calmly asks.

Eddie finally looks to him, his eyes pleading. “The ferris wheel, but…But! In my defense, I thought you were with me. And I was going to get us a seat on the ride. Was gonna wait until it got up to the highest point and do something cheesy like kiss you…or blow you, whatever. But I—“

“Why didn’t you just ask me, Eds?” Steve laughs with his full body, deep from within his stomach. “We can do that, babe. All you gotta do is ask, y’know?”

“I didn’t think—“

“I know you didn’t,” Steve teases. “Seems like my stupid t-shirt idea worked again. That’s three times, you dork.” Eddie can only groan. He knows that he has a bad habit of wandering, doesn’t mean that the idea is any less annoying or dumb. “Come on, Eds. Stop throwing a fit. Let’s do your thing.”

“You sure?”

“Eddie, if you don’t kiss or blow me on that ferris wheel, I’m banning D&D at my place for a month. Let’s go.”

When they get off and start walking back to the car, Steve tugs on the back of Eddie’s jeans. He yelps, startled, but quickly shuts his mouth when he’s faced with a stern look. “You know what I just remembered?” Steve asks him. There’s mirth in his eyes. Eddie doesn’t trust this at all. “Earlier, when I was telling you about wandering, I mentioned maybe tethering you to a rope. I might have to do that. Since you can’t behave.”

Eddie heats from the inside out. A coil tightens in his stomach. “You couldn’t even if you tried,” he bites back.

Later, he finds out, Steve is exceptional with rope. What a fucking boy scout.

——— +1 The Mall of America didn’t earn its title for nothing. The place was huge, that much Eddie could discern. Which made perfect sense when buying the new and improved: ‘If found, return to…’ shirts. However, this time, it was Steve with ‘If Found’ t-shirt.

At first, Steve didn’t know how to feel about the new shirts. Simply because he didn’t seem to see a reason for why he’d get lost or wander or be found in any capacity. But given the surprise Eddie had for him, the reason definitely fit the bill.

What Steve didn’t know, that Eddie one hundred percent knew, was that a Lego store was opening up at the mall. Or, has been opened at the mall. It was the perfect time for a little road trip. A little Fall of 1992 trip to Minnesota. Driving by trees and such. Parking in the Mall of America’s lot. Figuring out what stores to hit first, what food they wanted to eat, where the bathrooms were located. Typical day out sort of things.

However, one moment Steve was with him and the next…Eddie was scouring the food court for his fiancé. Trying not to throw up the meager lunch he just had. Swallowing down panic after panic after panic that rose in his chest like tsunami waves. This place was too big for either of them to wander or get lost or have a mind of their own. Not with the way they impulsively purchases things, an awful habit they both exuded—today is the worst day to do just that.

Which leads him to tapping on the shoulder of a guy around his age. Who’s carrying two large yellow Lego bags. Just sitting back in one of the food court chairs, minding his own business. Until, he whips around to find Eddie startled and red faced. “Uh…Can I help you, man?” The stranger greets.

“Sorry, hi,” Eddie says. “I just—You look like somebody who can maybe help me. I’m looking for my…friend, his name is Steve. Uh—White, around my height, dirty blonde hair. He’s wearing a pair of near skin tight Levi jeans, light wash and a white t-shirt that matches mine. Except, his says ‘If found, return to Eddie’. I’m Eddie, by the way. Anyway—Uh, you probably just came from the Lego store, yeah?”

“Sure,” the guy says, completely unsure of this interaction. “Why do you need to know—“

“So you can like lead me there? I’ve never been there. And like he’s really obsessed with those damn sets and like that’s really cool or whatever, but I need to know where he is because we’re from out of town and I have no fucking clue what I’m doing in this mall or where to—“

“Alright, dude, calm down,” guy placates. “We’ll find your friend. Just…That store is pretty fucking busy. Really popular, you know? I’ll take you there, but with how panicked you are, it would be best if you waited by the entrance of the store. Is that…”

“That’s perfectly fine to me!” Eddie nearly shouts.

He follows on this person’s heels. Bobbing and weaving through crowds of other over-consumers. Maybe shoving a few of them out of the way just so he can stay with that guy. But eventually, they make it to the outside of the rather precarious Lego store. Its yellow storefront nauseating to Eddie. Almost—Genuinely frustrating him beyond belief. And he sees Steve. Standing near the back of the store. Staring up at one of the shelves, but he lets the stranger he found grab Steve for him. Because no way in hell is Eddie going to survive being swallowed up by the awfully large crowd swamping the store.

Steve emerges from the crowd, a bit offended and a lot upended. But then has the gall to appear sheepish when he’s led directly to Eddie. With a nod and a tight smile, Eddie waves the stranger off. Almost wants to run back and get his name, send him a thank you card from the Hallmark store he saw on their way there.

He turns to face Steve, though. Leans them into the wall. “Jesus, Steve,” Eddie groans. “Is this what you put up with?”

“Is what—“

“The fucking panic? The—The whirling around and checking in the weird obscure places? Tapping on stranger’s shoulders only to see if they have a single goddamn idea where anything is…ever? Like—“ He sighs. “I thought that I’d never find you, Steve! You could’a at least told me you were going to go somewhere on your own. Maybe give me an idea of where you’re going?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Oh, so now that’s important to you?” He petulantly mutters. “Can’t go off and have fun without being pestered—“

“I’m not pestering, Steve!” Eddie grits. “I’m being concerned! I’m—You scared me,” he admits quietly. “And you ruined my surprise.”

“Ruined?” Steve echoes, confused. “What do you…oh. Oh. I—“ Then, Steve looks down to the floor. Eyes ashamed and arms tight to his body. “I didn’t…I was just excited, I’m sorry. The store was on the directory when we first came in and I like—“ He chuckles a little bit, loosening up. “—I fucking memorized where to go. What path to take. Because I just really wanted to look in there. They’ve got—Eddie, they have this one set in there, it’s a freaking spaceship and it’s called the…The Galactic Meditator or something? I can’t—That doesn’t matter,” he rambles. Takes a deep breath and pushes himself tighter into Eddie’s space. “I’m sorry, baby,” he murmurs, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Eddie gives a single nod. Closes his eyes and staves off the rest of his panic and anger. He’d be a hypocrite if he lashed out right now. He knows that. And, honestly, seeing Steve geek out about toys…of all things…is kind of endearing. Maybe even doing something for Eddie.

He puts on his best smile, something genuine and pulled from within him. “It’s alright,” he whispers. “I—I should’ve known that you were going to come over here.”

“I mean, you did a little bit, right? Had to find somebody that led you here?”

“You got me,” Eddie breathes. “Y’know all my tricks.”

Steve hums beside him. “I’m actually sorry, though, that I ruined the surprise you had in mind. This is a pretty cool thing.”

Eddie smirks. “Steve Harrington admitting to a geek thing being cool…When did the tables turn?” He teases. “Seems like God has heard my prayers,” he jests. With a quick sneaky look around, he grabs Steve’s hand. Squeezes firmly and exhales the last bit of his panicked nerves. “Does my fiancé want to…Oh, I don’t know…Get a Lego set?”

The hand in his tightens with a harsh, unbelieving amount of strength. He almost winces. “Really?” Steve asks, perking up. If he had a tail, it would most definitely be wagging. “Can we actually? I really want that one that I found in there, the uh…Galactic whatever it was called. I’m bad at the names, which is weird because I’ve been building these sets for a while, but I always seem to get the names wrong and I—“ Eddie interrupts with a squeeze to his hand again, a smile bright and plastered to his face. “Sorry,” Steve sheepishly says, “Let’s go in there. I can show you and maybe…you can get one of your own?”

“Lead the way, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs against Steve’s cheek, leaving a very chaste but all the same kiss there.

The panic was worth it in the end. Because watching Steve in his element, nerd-ing over toys and how to best put them together, really makes Eddie’s chest warm. In a way that tells him he’d put up with wandering all his life, if only to get Steve to smile the way he does when proudly displaying his new spaceship.

👕—————👕

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #3+1 #humor and hijinks #humor #or at least an attempt at humor #mild hurt/comfort

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help-i-lost-my-sock · 9 months ago

Text

A Penny for Your Thoughts (Ace x Reader)

A/N: While I love cocky, confident Ace, I felt like the softer, more damaged side of him deserved some love too <3

Summary: Ace has been feeling a bit low lately, and has been isolating from Reader, and the crew. Reader goes to talk to him, and a rather emotional interaction ensues. Please see warnings.

Warnings: Ace is having an emotional, and vulnerable moment. Ace struggling with his self-worth. Mentions of alcohol usage.

Writing prompt:

"Did you just kiss me?"

"Was I not supposed to?"

"I don't know... But can you do it again?"

Tags: Ace x Reader, angst & comfort, Ace dealing with self-worth issues

Word count: 2900

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

You and Ace had been close friends for quite some time now. Very close, actually. Not quite as close as you’d have liked to be, but that did not matter much, as long as you had his friendship. Yes, if nothing else, his friendship was enough.

Lately though, your friendship seemed to have been somewhat shaken. For some reason, Ace had been distancing from you, and all others lately. Sure, he’d still act fine when people talked to him. But that was not quite the way it used to be… The Ace you’d known so far was a bit of a chatter box - that is, when he was not fast asleep on the deck, or with his face in a plate of food. He loved to socialise with the crew, and was always offering to help wherever he felt he could be of any use. He’d often be engaged in some conversation or another, swapping tips and tops, cracking jokes, or regaling his men with tales. Now, however, he’d rather lean over the railing, gazing at the sea, lost in thought, or sit alone, isolated, than engage with others. He’d slip out during group conversations, or spend hours shut in the study, haunched over maps, and documents, working his way through endless stacks of paperwork - a task he’d always dreaded more than any other. It was not quite the same, no.

It would be a lie to say it did not worry you. Ace was your best friend, and, if you were being honest with yourself, he was a bit more than that. It was only natural for you to notice, to miss him, and to worry. You couldn’t bring this up around others - it was clear it was not something he’d want broadcast in front of a crowd. So, you decided to speak to him as soon as you’d catch him alone. It shouldn’t be too hard. Afterall, he tended to seclude himself every chance he got those days. So, you waited. Ace had spent most of the day in the study. At lunch, there was not enough privacy to speak to him, so you let it slide. Afterwards, he disappeared, and you had no idea where.

Eventually, night had fallen, and the Whitebeards were having a party on the main deck. It seemed like your plan would have to wait another day. The crowd grew and grew, as the music played, and the booze flowed. It was not unusual for pirates to party, and the parties on the Moby Dick never disappointed. Or at least, they never had, until this point. For, as expected, you could not find Ace anywhere in the crowd, and a party without him simply felt incomplete.

You spent some of the night gliding through the crowds, slipping from clique to clique, from conversation to conversation, eventually setting camp up by yourself by the refreshments table. You sighed as you scanned the swaying masses, as they sang, and danced, and chatted… as if they hadn’t even noticed.

“Hey,” came a voice from behind you, as a hand gently grasped your shoulder. You turned around to find Marco, and Thatch. Thatch had a compassionate smile on his face, and, while Marco didn’t show it on his lips, the same compassion, and understanding could be read in his eyes as he looked down at you, secluded as you were, camping alone by the booze.

“We know,” Marco says softly. You tilt your head sideways, questioning him with a silent look.

“You must be thinking we hadn’t noticed how Ace has been drawing himself back lately,” he starts, as he takes his hand off your shoulder, and turns to look at the merry-makers. “How can the crew party as if they don’t even notice? But we do notice. We all do.” Now that he mentioned it, it dawned on you that Ace’s presence was not the only absence here tonight - a certain carefreeness seemed to escape many that night, and certainly those close to Ace - you, the commanders, Pops, and the men of his division. Now that you were aware of it, you saw it nearly everywhere - in their eyes, as they, too, scanned the crowd; on their lips, curled in half-smiles; on the very countenance of their bodies. They could all tell something - or rather, someone - was missing that night.

“We were hoping a party might draw him out,” joined Thatch. “The plan was to get some booze in him, and hope it’ll loosen him up enough to tell us what’s wrong - how we can help. But, as you can see…”

“He didn’t show,” finished Marco.

“He never showed up,” you said simultaneously.

“Yup…But!” he added with excitement, and you saw a smile creep on Marco’s face as he turned to look at you once more.

“We got one more thing we’d like to try.”

“Ah, and that is where I come in, I presume?” You turned to look at them, swirling your drink, as you waited for them to continue.

“Yep,” they confirmed in unison, before Marco proceeded to explain. “See, we found him sulking alone on the quarterdeck. Seems he came out for the booze, but didn’t stick around for the company.”

“Ouch! Well, that’s flattering,” you remarked jokingly, knowing full well it was nothing personal.

“Yeah, well, he won’t talk to us,” explained Thatch.

“Yep, we’re clearly part of the ‘company’ he seems to be avoiding… Which brings us to your part.”

“Ah, I get it. You want me to go up there, and see if I fare any better than you two.”

Thatch was smiling, while Marco chuckled at your deduction, giving you a small smirk.

“No,” he answered, “we know you’ll fare better than us.” The small, lopsided grin on Marco’s face made you cock an eyebrow for an instant, but you quickly brushed it off, as Thatch joined in once more.

“Yeah, we know you two are close. Hell, no one’s closer to him than you, except maybe his brothers,” added Thatch, matter-of-factly.

“So, what we want from you is to go up there and bring him back to Earth.”

You looked at them - they clearly cared about him, and were now resting their hopes on you, giving you a chance to help. They were giving you a chance to speak to him alone about whatever it is that’s been bothering him, just the way you’d told yourself you’d do. You glanced at your drink, swirling it around some more. Thatch’s words about how close you and Ace were made you feel warm inside. Maybe there was hope for you yet… But now was not the time for that. Snapping out of your thoughts, you looked up at your fellow conspirators.

“Leave it to me!” you declared, shooting them a grin.

“I knew we could count on you,” cheered Thatch, with a big smile, while Marco kept on his usual lazy smirk, giving you a small nod. They refilled your drink, and shoved a beer for Ace in your hands, before ushering you to the quarterdeck.

You took a deep breath trying to calm your nerves, before you strutted off, shouting over your shoulder “Wish me luck!”

“Good luck!” the guys responded, as you disappeared behind a corner.

It was a warm night, and the skies were clear, revealing a veritable sea of stars above your head, complete with a bright full moon, and with nary a cloud in sight. The music from the party was fading as you walked further and further away, towards the quarterdeck; its spritely rhythms now barely enough to muffle the clicking sound of your footsteps on the wooden planks.

Indeed, way in the back, hidden out of sight, was Ace. Slumped on the deck, with his back resting against a wall, a couple of empty beers around him, and one bottle hanging by the neck in his hand. His head tilted upwards, his eyes fixed on the stars above him. He seemed so calm, so quiet, and yet, not serene in the slightest. It was as if the silent sorrow in his soul crept its way towards you, and took you by the hand, when his eyes suddenly turned to you. A smile made its way onto his lips, but failed to reach his tired eyes. ‘Had he been crying?’

“Hey, Y/N! What are you doing here?” Ace tried to act cheerful, and play pretend; he tried to hide his expression by finishing his drink, but you knew him far too well for that, and saw right through his act.

“I heard you were out here,” you confessed as you went to sit down by his side, handing him the beer. “I haven’t seen you in a while,” you continued, as Ace took the bottle from your hand, “and I missed you. We’ve all been missing you.” You spoke softly, your voice barely above the sounds surrounding you - the music, the clamour from the main deck, with the clanging of beer-filled mugs, and the familiar sounds of waves splashing rhythmically against the sides of the ship. Ace averted his gaze from you, lest you saw the truth in his eyes. But you already knew. You’ve seen it the moment he looked your way.

Shuffling around a bit, you shifted position, and made yourself more comfortable against the wall, by his side. You allowed a moment to pass in silence, not intending to come off too forcefully, as you both watched the stars twinkling above your heads. You took a sip of your drink. The sloshing of liquid punctuated the silence before you spoke.

“Care you tell me what’s got you so down? Hm?” you questioned, as gently as you could. Slowly, you turned your head towards him, giving him a side-look, and a soft, half-hearted smile as you waited for his response.

Ace pulled his knees up to his chest, and wrapped his arms around them; the bottle you’d given him still hanging in his hand. He thought he hid it better than that, even from you. But he should have known you’d see right through, and if he were being honest with himself, deep down, he was glad you did. He needed you to pull him out of the spiralling nightmares that had become his thoughts. But that didn’t make it any easier to get the words out.

Ace rested his chin on his arms, staring straight ahead, at nothing in particular, as his mind scampered to string words together. Though his mouth was hidden behind one of his arms, you could see he was working on an answer by the frown that weighed on his brow. A few moments passed in silence before you placed your hand on his shoulder blade, gently rubbing his back. His eyes darted up to yours, his mouth hanging ever so slightly open, before closing it again, and averting his gaze once more. The warmth of your hand on his skin was comforting, safe, inviting; inviting him to tell you of his woes.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, barely audible over the commotion of the party on the main deck.

“What for?”

“For making you worry… You, and Marco, and Thatch, and Izou, and Pops, and all the others…I’m sorry for shutting you all out these past few days… weeks. I’m just…” Ace paused for a moment, as he turned his head away from you again, and fixed his eyes on the swaying waves before him. “I… haven’t been myself lately, is all.”

“Ace, it’s alright. We’ve all got our darker days. It’s - “

Ace draws a shaky breath, before cutting you off. “I know it’s not fit for a commander - t’ give in like that, and shut you all out. I should have done better… You all deserve better…”

The hand that was rubbing his back froze in place, as you stared at him in shock - eyes wide, and slack jawed - struggling to believe the words you were hearing. Seeing Ace crumbling down like this certainly struck a chord. You and Ace were close, but this was a side of him you’d never seen before. Was this the same daredevil you’d grown so used to over time? Sure, you were aware that he wasn’t always that same cocky bastard. You knew he had a softer side too, and you knew he was damaged too. You knew that he struggled with his past - his ancestry, especially - wondering if he really deserved to be where he was, and be loved as he was. Sometimes he’d wondered if maybe he could have done more for Luffy - if he was a good older brother. Other times he wondered if he was doing right by Pops, and the other Whitebeards. You knew all of this, and then some. But you’d never seen him so broken before. How long had he been carrying this stone around his neck? At a loss of words, all you could do was stare at him - lips trembling as you tried to form words; throat tightening, as you tried to hold back tears.

“I’m sorry you’re missing out on the party to sit here with me,” he continued, “but I also wanna say thank you. Thank you for your time, and thank you for your company.” He adjusted his sitting position, stretching out the leg nearest to you and allowing it to bend to the side, as his arm hung over his bent knee. “I hope you know how much I value your friendship… despite the past couple of weeks… And thanks for the drink too,” he chuckles, a bittersweet smile on his face as he takes a swig, before quickly resuming his monologue. “And thank Marco and Thatch too for trying to cheer me up. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you guys. Y'all deserve better than someone like me,” he trailed off. His head briefly dipped down against his arm, before he quickly lifted it up, and tilted it back against the wall. It was as if he were afraid that if he allowed his head to hang like that he might break down, and cry. His lips curled, and trembled with a bittersweet smile. You watched as his brows furrowed, and the corners of his mouth twitched, before he covered his eyes with his hand. From his shaking lips came a sound hard to pinpoint. Was it a sob? A scoff? A chortle? Whatever it was, it clearly captured his inner turmoil.

Seeing him like this disarmed you completely. You gawked at him for a moment longer, unaware that large, warm tears had started spilling from your eyes, down your cheeks, and down your neck. You watched him shake his head, as if in disbelief of the situation too - in disbelief of the things he’s said, in disbelief of having allowed someone to see him like that.

The shock still prevented you from forming proper sentences, but you could no longer sit by silently. “Ace…”

Hearing his name carried on a breathy whisper snaps him out of his spiral, and pulls his attention towards you. Ace hardly had time to register the pained look on your tear-stained face, before you cupped his cheeks in your hands, and pressed your lips against him. You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing out the tears past your lashes. The kiss felt hot, with a thick blend of love, and pain; with all the laden words that have spilt, and all those that would not come; with all emotions that you both had been trying to hide. It wasn’t long before you slowly pulled away from him, keeping his face between your palms. The kiss may not have lasted long, but it was enough to get him to shut up, and cease his self-deprecatory verbiage, if only for a moment. You took a moment to scan the shocked, flustered expression on his freckled face before speaking.

“I’ll decide what I deserve,” you stated, finally letting go of his face.

You watched as Ace, who seemed perfectly stupefied by your little stunt, attempted - and failed - to pull his wits about him.

“Did… Did you just kiss me?” He looked cute as a button as he pointed at himself, confused, as if trying to comprehend his own question. You chuckled at his reaction.

“Was I not supposed to?” You may have chuckled at his reaction, but the truth is that you did it on an impulse, and now the reality of it all was setting in for you too. You’d had a crush on him for ages now, and never in a million years would you have imagined things going this way. But what’s done is done, and this was the moment of truth. Every moment it took for him to answer felt like an eternity, as you kept wondering - What was he going to do? What was he going to say? You couldn’t help but avert your eyes from his, as you felt a blush creep onto your face. You cursed the full moon for its glow so bright, for you were nearly sure Ace could see the deep pink darkening your cheeks.

“I don’t know, but… Can you do it again?”

Looking up, you found Ace watching you, expectantly, with a soft, albeit nervous, smile, and a blush to rival your own.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’d say you deserve some more.”

#portgas d ace x reader #one piece #portgas d ace #portgas d ace comfort #moth fics #moth writes #ace x reader #portgas d. ace x reader #Ace struggles with self-worth issues #portgas d. ace #ace one piece #friends to lovers #hurt/comfort #mild hurt/comfort

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deepcreekvultures-writing · 6 months ago

Text

"Tequila and Palmistry"

Spencer Reid x Drunk!Reader

Words: 4,754

Tags: Drunken Flirting, Spencer Reid Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Spencer Reid takes care of drunk reader, Spencer Reid Ranting, Mentions of Violence, Spencer Reid's hands, I Love Spencer Reid, Feelings, Idiots in Love, Drunk Reader, Early Seasons Spencer (S1/Early S2)

After a tough case where you were almost killed by the unsub, the team decides to go to the bar and unwind. While there, Spencer ends up having to keep you from going off the deep end.

==========

Watching you drink was like watching an Olympic sprinter in their prime. You were slamming shots back like they were nothing as soon as the team got to the bar.

The last case was particularly intense for you, considering you fit the unsubs target perfectly. No one batted an eye at you nursing yourself with alcohol.

Except Spencer.

He had attempted to say something after your fourth shot, but Morgan placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered a soft “Let her have this, kid.”

After your sixth shot of tequila, you moved on to tequila sunrises, which you went through like water. Gideon finally put his foot down after your third sunrise, instructing you to make the fourth last because you were being cut off.

Luckily for Gideon, you weren’t a mean drunk.

Spencer was surprised at how peppy you were under the influence. During cases, you kept your guard up, letting loose just a little when you were alone with Spencer, but you always kept it at arm's length.

At some point, you slid your glass into Spencer’s hand, grabbing Elle and Penelope by the wrists and pulling them to the center of the bar to dance. He glances down at the glass in confusion before looking up at Hotch and Morgan. Hotch smiles to himself, sipping on his beer, while Morgan whistles playfully.

“She trusts you with her drink, Pretty Boy. That’s an accomplishment.”

“Actually, this bar invests in straws that are able to detect whether or not Rohypnol or any other drugs are in the drink.” Spencer responds, still keeping the glass in his grasp.

“I’m sure she’s too slammed to notice, Reid.” Derek chuckles in response.

“This is a one-time deal; next time we go out together, we have to make sure she doesn’t go off the rails like this again.” Hotch sighs, glancing over at you, dancing with Elle and Penelope, who are more focused on making sure you don’t fall. Gideon grabs his jacket, sliding it on.

“It was a hard case for her; she needs to let off some steam. Why aren’t you drinking anyway?” Morgan asks, leaning over to Spencer.

“I don’t really drink.” Spencer shrugs, flicking his finger against the smooth of the glass. His eyes trained on the straw in your cup. As much as he wanted to convince himself that you gave him your drink on purpose, it was just too unlikely for him to really dwell on it.

Except he did dwell on it.

His eyes slid over to you. Your hair fell over your face as you danced around, your features illuminated by the dim lighting, and your soft eyes shone as you smiled. Spencer isn’t sure how to feel about you being so drunk.

On one hand, you were pretty much catatonic after your interaction with the unsub. You sat next to him in the jet, staring down at your dirt-covered hands, completely still for the almost 3-hour flight.

On the other hand, he knew you were only drinking to try and get the awful taste out of your mouth. The terrible twisting of your stomach that caused you to dry-heave in the jet’s lavatory for half an hour before takeoff.

Gideon stands from his place at the end of the booth; he rounds the table and leans down to speak with Spencer. “You’re in charge of her.”

All Spencer can do is nod, as Gideon leaves quickly after with not much more than a wave. But as you made your way back to the table, somehow finding your way between Reid and Morgan in the booth, he couldn’t help but feel relief.

He handed you the drink, and you took a small sip before turning your whole body towards him and looking him directly in the eyes.

“Did you try it?” You asked seriously.

“No- No, I didn’t.” Spencer shakes his head, embarrassment tinting his cheeks.

“Whaat??” You pulled back, your face contorting into stern confusion. “You have to try it, now—here, here.”

You held it out to him, your fingers delicately holding the straw for him.

Ignoring the snickers from the others, Spencer leans in and takes a small sip. The tequila burns, but it’s rounded out nicely by the sweetness of the grenadine and the soft tart flavor of the orange juice.

Clearing his throat, Spencer speaks, “Originally, tequila sunrises contained tequila, lime juice, soda water, and créme de cassis when it was initially invented at the Arizona Biltmore Hotel in the 30s or 40s.”

You stared at him as he spoke, wide-eyed with your lips slightly parted. You blinked a few times, eyebrows furrowing as you tried to follow what he was saying.

“The modern tequila sunrise was popularized in the 70s by the Rolling Stones when they were kicking off their tour at a bar in Sausalito, California.” You nodded slowly at his explanation, your lips pulling into a bright smile as you set your cup down on the table.

He didn’t really think you understood that. But your face shone like the first burst of light at dawn, waking the morning flowers from the chill of night.

His face warms, looking away from you to glance around the bar. Morgan taps your shoulder, grabbing your attention. Using his hands to shield your ear, he whispers something to you, causing you to break out into a fit of loud giggles. Derek shushes you, laughing along.

Your hands find your face as you slump back into the booth, muffling your laughter into your palms. After laughing for a good five minutes, you drop your hands into your lap. Your face was flushed, your eyes moist with laughter-filled tears. Your lips are pulled into a bright, sloppy smile, your teeth shining against the dull light of the bar. A few strands of hair fell into your face.

Derek looked proud of himself, shooting Spencer with a knowing look. Gesturing to you, mouthing ‘go for it’.

Spencer ignores him, looking around the bar in an attempt to ignore the flushed beauty beside him. But you turn, grabbing his arm.

“Spencer,” You shake him a bit, trying to get his attention. He was already looking at you, but you shook him anyway. “Spencer, Spencer, where’s Gideon?”

“Uhm, he left a few minutes ago.”

“Oh, boo, how lame." You pout, your hand still firmly holding Spencer’s bicep. You turn your head, eyeing your drink. A grin creeps slowly onto your face.

“Don’t get any ideas. You’re still cut off.” Hotch interjects, noticing the way you were eyeing your glass.

You deflate immediately, slumping into the seat, your hands falling into your lap as you pout. Spencer watches you, a little amused but ultimately concerned with your shift in mood.

After letting you stew for a minute, Spencer turns to you, clearing his throat before opening his mouth to speak. He falters, however, when he sees your face.

Your bottom lip juts out, glistening under the light and drawing his eyes. Downcast eyes steal his attention from your lips, leading him to your upturned palms. Your pout melts into a deep frown, your inebriated brain feeding the memories of what happened just 5 hours ago.

“Uhm,” Spencer starts, leaning over to point at your hands, “have you heard of palm reading?” His voice is unsure, wavering a little as you look up at him.

You both nod and shake your head, your eyes widening a little as he pulls you out of your thoughts. Putting your hands down on the seat, you push yourself up, giving Spencer your full attention. You stare at him for a second before scrambling to show him your hands again.

“It’s also called palmistry or chiromancy, and it’s unknown where it originated exactly.” Spencer bites his lip, glancing down at your palms. “But it has ties to a lot of eastern cultures.”

“Like where?” You ask, your voice insistent.

“Indian, Tibetan, Chinese, Nepali, Persian, Babylonian, Canaan, Sumer, and Arabian cultures have history with palm reading.” He lists, watching as you slowly tilt your head down, trying to follow his words. Your eyes never leave his face, squinting slightly as his words slip in one ear and out the other.

Deciding to just keep talking rather than waiting for you to speak, Spencer continues, “Palm reading uses the natural creases in the flesh of your palms to predict things about your life and personality.”

Spencer hesitates before placing his left hand underneath yours, settling his palm against the back of your hands. Chewing on his bottom lip, he uses his right hand to map out your palms. His index finger hovers, making sure not to touch the lightly calloused skin.

“Are my palms-” You lean a little closer, your eyes wide as your gaze flicks between his face and your hands. “Are my palms whispering to you?”

You were whispering to him—well, more like mumbling. Spencer furrows his eyebrows, leaning back a bit.

“Are your- are they what?” He stammers, a smile threatening to pull at the corners of his lips. You giggle, letting your head fall forward and rest in your open hands. You stay like that for a second to let it out before lifting your head again.

“You’re so cute, Dr. Reid.” A heavy sigh follows that statement, along with a sloppy grin. Before Spencer has the opportunity to flounder in response, you continue, “What were we talking about?”

“Um... Palm Reading?” His slender fingers tap against the back of your hands mindlessly.

You purse your lips, squinting your eyes just a smidge before smiling again.

“Okay, okay, keep telling me about it." You scoot a little closer, folding one of your legs under you, your knee knocking against his thigh. “Please?”

Your face was still flushed, though Spencer wasn’t sure if it was from the tequila that still lingered on your breath or from the fact that you were sitting so close to him.

“Oh, yeah- yeah, sure…” He bites at his bottom lip, looking back down at your palms. “So... the main lines used for palmistry are the life line, the heart line, the fate line, and the head line…”

Spencer continues talking, making sure to keep his gaze cast down to your hands as he explains what people look for when reading palms. You stayed quiet, and he was almost positive that you weren’t listening; honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if you had fallen asleep.

He maps out each line for you after thoroughly explaining what each of them meant. Spencer didn’t really believe in palmistry or astrology, but he had to admit that so far it was pretty accurate.

Especially when your life line described you as enthusiastic and courageous.

That was one of the many things Spencer admired about you. You had no qualms about being who you wanted to be, and it gave him the confidence to do the same.

Though sometimes you had a hard time remembering that about yourself.

“…and your heart line tells us about your cardiac health, possible depression, emotional stability, and, um… and romantic perspectives.” Spencer swallows, his shoulders slightly hunched as he looks intently at your palms. You straighten up, drawing his eyes to your face.

Your lips parted, your eyes holding excitement as you looked down at your own palms. Glancing up at him and meeting his eyes, you smile, the tip of your tongue fitting between your teeth.

“Keep going.” You whisper, nodding at him incessantly. Spencer pauses, unable to tear away from the light shine in your eyes, illuminated by the warm lighting hanging from the rafters of the bar.

“…your- your heart line, um,” he stumbles over his words, snapping his head back down to look at the crease in the fleshy part of your palm. “Your heart line begins in between your middle and index fingers, and it’s straight and parallel to your head line.”

Spencer finally presses the pad of his finger into your palm, dragging it along the crease as he talks. He still cradles your hand lightly with his other, his thumb absentmindedly sliding against your knuckles.

“Mm, what does it mean?” You ask sloppily, your articulation faltering.

“It means that you are... caring and understanding.” He slides his finger back to where the line begins, noticing how your fingers twitch. “And that you have a good handle on your emotions.” At that, you laugh, gently bumping your head against his as you do.

“Doesn’t feel like it.” You mumble, your head partially sliding against his as you slump into him. Spencer stiffens at the contact.

“Sorry, ‘m tired,” You wiggle your fingers, attempting to draw his attention back to your hands.

“So, like- does it say anything about who I’m gonna… marry?”

“No- uhm, no, not who.” Spencer swallows; the weight of your head dropping onto his shoulder scrambles his thoughts. “But the marriage line is here.” He slides his finger to the small line underneath your pinky.

“It’s pretty straight, which means that you’ll have a long, happy marriage.”

You hum in acknowledgment, looking down briefly at your palms before turning your hands over and wrapping your hands around his. Spencer looks up, making eye contact with Elle, who mouths a ‘wow’ before sipping her drink.

His attention is drawn back to you as you drag yourself off of him haphazardly. You turn his hands, exposing his own palms as you lean down, hunching over them to get a closer look.

There is almost no way you could even see the lines in his palms very well, considering that your head was blocking the lights.

Lifting your head suddenly, Spencer has to pull back to avoid getting smacked in the face.

“This line probably means that you’re suuper smart and stuff,” you say, tapping his head line with your pinky. “And this line probably says that you’re really cute, and this line probably says that you’re like… I dunno, a little silly." You alternate tapping at his different lines. You were trying—kind of.

Spencer’s face grows hot, swallowing hard and trying to remind himself that this was just you, completely inebriated and not thinking straight.

“Silly?” He raises his eyebrows, watching your face with concern.

“Uhuh, silly. Like… like… I don’t know; you’re just silly. And gorgeous.” You look down at his hands and say, “And you have really pretty hands.”

Spencer stares at you, his mouth gaping like a fish as his eyes slide around your features.

You blinked slowly, your hands sliding against his as you fidget with his slender fingers.

“Oh!” You exclaimed way too loudly for the small bar. You pull yourself away from him, the force with which you do so causes you to tilt back and fall into Morgan.

Spencer scrambles to grab your forearms, pulling you off of Morgan. “Are- are you okay?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“You don’t like it when people touch you!” You attempt to wiggle yourself out of his grip, failing despite how loose his hold was.

A deep pout rests on your lips, and you look up at him guiltily.

“No, it’s fine.” He tries to still you, embarrassed by your antics. “It’s okay; you’re fine, I don’t mind. Let's get you home, okay?”

“Huh?? No, no, I’m having so much funn” You flounder, slumping yourself into the seat in protest. You start to slide off the booth seat, your lower body disappearing under the table.

Spencer stammers, hooking his arms around yours and attempting to keep you from slipping to the floor.

“Woah, no, come on, I’ll take you home and I can teach you how to read my palms?” He pulls on your arms, looking over at Morgan, who lends a hand by wrapping an arm around your torso and pulling you back onto the seat. Morgan snickers, but leaves Spencer to handle your state of unrest.

“I already know enough about you, gorgeous-genius-doctor-boy, but can’t you dance with me?” You whine, Spencer’s arms are still hooked around you to keep you from slipping away again.

“I- well… No- no, not here, we can dance at your apartment?” he suggests, gently pulling you out of the booth.

You let him pull you, offering little help until he forces you to stand. Staring up at him with a pouty glare, you huff, the gears turning in your head.

“Promise?” You hold out your pinky, wiggling it at him.

He relents, hooking his pinky around yours. You smile, latching your finger around his in a tight grip.

“Okay! Bye losers!” You shout at the rest of the table, unceremoniously dragging Spencer away. He attempts to grab his bag from the booth, but your grip is too tight.

Elle manages to toss it to him, his hands fumbling to get a good grip on it as he’s wrenched through the exit of the bar.

“Wait, slow down!” He yelps, shoulder-checking the door as you tug him down the stairs.

“Come on, pretty boy, relax!” You laugh

“Do you even know where you’re going?”

“Northbound.” You say, deepening your voice and pointing to your right.

“That’s east.” Using his free hand, Spencer spins you to face him. “We’re calling a cab.”

You scoff, letting go of his pinky finally as you flail your arms at your sides.

“No, what, no- no, no, no, I’m not getting buried again, Spencer." You whine, the weight of your words slipping off your shoulders, numbed by the tequila in your system.

Spencer frowns, his eyebrows raising slightly as he looks at you. Your loosened, drunken state could only mask your worries to some extent.

“You won’t be buried; I’m with you,” he says, placing his hands on your biceps.

“But you could get hurt... and I don’t wanna see your gorgeous face and body all... like... dead." Your articulation slips, words blending together. Tapping the tip of his nose with the side of your finger, you pout, shuffling your weight from foot to foot.

“I won’t die; I’m gonna get you home, and then you’re going to bed-“ A hand slaps over his mouth, a little harder than necessary.

“We’re dancing.” You say sternly, rubbing his mouth with your palm, when you realize that you hit him harder than intended.

“Okay- okay, stop-stop doing that,” He grabs your wrist, pulling your hand to the side. “I’m gonna get you home, and then we’ll dance.”

Pleased, you hum lightly, closing your eyes. “Let’s do it, honey bee.”

Spencer ignores the churning in his stomach as he leads you along the sidewalk. Your hand slides around his body as you circle around him. Up and down his chest, around his waist, and up his spine. It was dizzying how well you were circling him despite the alcohol coursing through your system. You only stumbled once or twice, grabbing onto him each time to steady yourself.

Spencer was having a hard time keeping it together; it was already hard enough keeping his feelings to himself day to day when you acted like a normal person. Drunk you was making everything way harder. He wondered if he told you exactly how he felt if you would remember.

You weren’t acting completely blacked out drunk, and Spencer had never seen you like this before. He was just glad you were a nice drunk. And mildly manageable.

He was very glad that your apartment was on the ground floor; he didn’t have to worry about getting you up stairs. You stood next to Spencer, your right hand against the white door, as you fumbled with your keys in your left. Pouting down at the object, you let out an annoyed huff, tilting your head to the side and squinting at the ring of keys.

“Who needs this many keys?” You grumbled, letting your fingers go slack as Spencer takes the keys from you.

“You, apparently.” Spencer smiles, finding your door key and unlocking the door. He ushers you inside, his hand finding its way to rest on your back, pretty much pushing you through the doorway.

Kicking your shoes off, you turn to Spencer “Shoes off, Cowboy, we can’t have my carpeting get all grody.”

Spencer nods, smiling at the nickname but ultimately ignoring it. He takes off his shoes, setting his bag next to them, before straightening up and beelining to your kitchen. Opening each cabinet, he finally finds your cups. You stumble your way to lean on the counter next to him, pursing your lips at him.

“What’re you doing?” You ask, glaring at the cup in his hand as he fills it with water.

“Drink this,” Spencer holds it out to you. You just stare at it, pressing your lips into a thin line. “Please?” He sighs, pouting just a little. Your face lights up at his plea, your mouth falling open and your face flushing red.

"Spencer, you can’t do that, not fair.” You snatch the cup from him, chugging the water out of spite. Spencer watches you, his eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed together in confusion.

Slamming the cup onto the counter, you hold up your arms, “Okay! Dance time, come here!”

Spencer is dragged back into the living room, your hands firmly grasping his wrists as you walk backwards. He watches your path for you, maneuvering you gently to avoid your coffee table.

Dropping his arms, you bow sloppily with a giggle, “May I have this dance?”

He chuckles, offering an awkward bow in response as he fumbles over his words, “Yeah- sure… okay.”

You laugh, sliding your hands down his forearms, your fingers brushing against the center of his palms. Curling your fingers around his, you lift his hands, tugging him closer.

He swallows the lump in his throat as his chest presses into yours. Spencer chews on his bottom lip as you settle his hands on your waist. You smelled like tequila, but the scent of your shampoo still lingered in close proximity. You smelled good—drunk, but good.

“No music?” He asks, clearing his throat as your arms wrap around his shoulders.

“Nah, my head hurts." You shake your head, guiding him in a small sway. Spencer was a little worried that you were going to have him actually dance, but he was happy to sway along with you.

Your apartment was dark, only lit by the weirdly bright fluorescent light from your kitchen. You giggled quietly to yourself as you swayed, finding it a little difficult to get him to move with you. His heart rate calms slowly as you both sway in silence. You had closed your eyes, threading your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, tracing small circles into his skin. It was nice.

The heat of your body against his fills him with warmth, and he can’t help but look away. His eyes training on the light switch a few feet away as he wills his face to not get any redder. Your touch simmered against him, the low burning embers of his feelings threatening to ignite in the dark space of your living room.

But you were drunk, and there was very little he could do to rationalize your actions beyond that. If you weren’t completely inebriated, Spencer might consider the fact that you might like him too.

“Spencer,” you call out to him softly, goading him into meeting your eyes again. He couldn’t help but notice the gravity added to your previously weightless tone.

“Yeah?” He whispers his reply, his eyes returning to your face. The swaying continues, offering a loosely followed rhythm to the conversation.

“How did you feel?” You mumble back, letting your head fall back slightly. You keep your eyes on his face, scanning his expression.

“How did... what feel?”

“Watching me crawl out.” You let out a small huff, as if he were supposed to read your mind, “Like, how did it feel for you?” Spencer freezes, his hands tightening their grip on your waist.

It felt awful.

Watching you, his headstrong, kind, confident, and loving friend, crawl your way out of a freshly packed grave. Hands bound, tears soaking mud to your cheeks, clothing torn, a hateful fire in your eyes.

It felt awful.

Watching you grapple with the unsub, using your bindings as leverage to choke the man out before crumbling to the ground in tears.

It felt awful.

Watching you bottle it up, riding to the hospital in silence, only letting the team touch you despite the insistence of the doctors.

It felt awful.

Washing off your dirt-covered hands in the jet with a small rag he had found, soaked in the cold water from the lavatory sink.

It felt awful.

But Spencer couldn’t claim that awful feeling, knowing that you must feel so much worse. You fought and fought for those two days you were held captive, feeding into the unsubs delusion to keep yourself alive.

You were the one who was thrown into a six-foot-deep hole and buried alive.

He’s not sure how to answer your question, but you watch him patiently, your fingers gently sliding down his neck.

“I… I don’t know, I was- I was scared, worried..." He whispers, his stomach churning with the thought that he shouldn’t burden you with the way he was feeling.

“You were scared…” Mumbling, you tilt your head to the side, your lips pursing and twisting to the side. “Is it bad… that you being scared for me, makes it hurt less?” Your articulation is off, and your words are almost lost to him. Inhaling sharply, Spencer leans forward a bit, his arms circling around your back and flattening against your shirt.

“No, no, it’s not bad... How did it feel for you?” He asks carefully, watching your face as it contorts in ten different ways. You sigh heavily, your arms loosely resting on his shoulders.

“It’s the worst thing... you fight and you fight, you do what you can to survive... and then you get thrown in a hole and smothered in the earth.” You pout, tilting your head to the side, fiddling with your fingers behind his head.

Spencer bites his lower lip, his eyebrows raising in concern. He watches your face, your eyes glossing over, staring into the pattern on his tie.

“Spencer… I dunno what to do with myself…” You murmur, pulling yourself closer and resting your forehead on his shoulder.

Tilting his head, his cheek presses into your hair. His hands press into your shoulder blades, giving you an awkward squeeze.

“…you don’t have to know; we can just take it one step at a time.” He speaks gently, letting his hand circle over your shoulder blade.

“Ugh… your mouth words are so gorgeous…” You mumble.

Spencer isn’t really sure what you mean, but he decides to take it at face value. “Thanks?”

You lift your head, a frown etched on your lips. As you look up at Spencer, the frown dissolves into a small smile. The bright lighting coming from your kitchen illuminates the side of your face in stark contrast to the rest of the dark room.

“You’re so gorgeous in your face too.” You slide your hands around to bracket his face, squishing it a little between your palms. Spencer’s face grows hot under the feeling of your hands, his eyes widening a bit.

“If you ever, like- I dunno, do you ever think- like, think about kissing me? Cause… if you do, you should kiss me.” Spencer goes to respond, but you slap your hand over his mouth again, rubbing his mouth soothingly afterwards.

“When I’m sober! When I’m sober so I can remember and stuff…” You take your hand off his mouth, sliding the tip of your finger down the bridge of his nose.

“Oh- uhm… yeah okay." He nods, biting his lip anxiously. His eyes flutter close at your touch, the heat of his emotions burning at the apex of his cheekbones.

You smiled sloppily up at him, content with the plan you set in place, guiding him into swaying with you again. Your finger traces his features loosely, your muscles relaxing into his touch as you start to come down from your drunken high. Tiredness crawls its way up your spine, settling into your eyelids, and you find yourself having a hard time holding them open.

“When I wake up...” You start, letting your eyes fall closed, “…when I wake up, don’t- don’t let me push you away.”

Spencer smiles at that, laughing affectionately at your words.

“Okay.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #no use of y/n #mild hurt/comfort #fluff #Spencer Reid's hands #mgg x reader #mgg fanfiction

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shiorimakibawrites · 1 year ago

Text

Flare Up (Daredevil Fan Fic)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Asthmatic Reader

Summary: You have a flare up of asthma along with a cold. Matt takes care of you.

Warning(s): Descriptions of asthma and cold symptoms, fluff

Author's Note: The description of asthma is based on my own experience, including a flare up over the last couple of days.

Tagging: @itwasthereaminuteago

Flare Up

You woke up feeling terrible. Your entire torso ached like someone had been kicking you. That dull ache turned to pain when you started coughing. Deep, hacking coughs that felt like they lasted forever. When the fit was over, you were short of breath and feeling light-headed. But now you knew why your chest hurt so much. You had been coughing in your sleep. No matter you didn’t feel like you had slept at all and why your throat felt scrapped raw.

You tried to take a deep breath but that only made you cough again. It wasn’t as long as the previous bout of coughing but it still left you aching. You could hear the wheeze in each breath. You needed to use your inhalers. You sat up and turned toward your bedside table, opening the top drawer.

The first one you grabbed was the rescue inhaler. Holding it in your hand, you started giving it a good shake but had to pause to ride out another coughing fit. When it stopped, you finished giving the inhaler its shake. Raising it to your mouth, you took a breath at the same time as you pressed down on the canister. You took a few more breaths, then another puff from the inhaler.

You sat it down, grimacing. You hated the taste of the medicine. You were more neutral about the way it made your heart race and gave you the sensation that you were trembling even when you weren’t. But you accepted all of that for the easing of the tightness in your chest. It didn’t magically fix everything. You were still coughing. Your entire chest and back still hurt. The medicine in your rescue inhaler couldn’t really effect the inflammation deeper in your lungs.

If you kept having this much trouble breathing, you would do a breathing treatment. It was the same kind of medicine but the nebulizer machine helped it get further into your lungs. If you remembering what the doctor had told you correctly. You thought it might be a larger dose than your inhaler delivered but you couldn’t remember.

You grabbed your second inhaler, the maintenance one which held a different, longer-acting medicine. But when you pressed down on the canister, you got nothing. Feeling confused, you took a closer look and realized that it was out of doses. A quick check of drawer didn’t reveal a box with a new one in it. How, you had that prescription on auto-fill at the pharmacy . . . then you remembered. You had gotten the text telling you that your prescription was ready but had forgotten to go pick it up. It had been hectic week.

The opposing party had backed out of the pending settlement agreement at the last minute. One of their new case had Burke & Winthrop Associates on the other side – something that made all of you groan. Not because you couldn’t take them but because they were always a massive pain in the ass. Spider-Man’s girlfriend had been accused of punching a cop. Not that the cops knew about the girlfriend part but you did. This meant a certain amount of hovering from the aforementioned vigilante, both in and out of costume. Not because he didn’t trust Nelson & Murdock to help his girlfriend but because Peter, like Matt, was a worrier. It didn’t help that the ADA was dragging their feet about providing certain discovery materials – like the officer’s body cam footage . . .

His hovering had come in handy the other night when, due to some complicated series of events that you still weren’t clear on, something had started making a loud, ear-piercing shriek. The criminals, who hadn’t been expecting it either, had their hands clapped tightly over their ears. But Matt was completely down, writhing on the ground and almost biting off his tongue trying not to scream. Now Spider-Man wasn’t a huge fan of loud noises either but he darted over anyway. Got the noise stopped, webbed up the criminals, and hauled Matt back home. It took the rest of night for the resulting vicious migraine to subside.

You had felt a little off yesterday but you had chalked it up to being tired. It had been busy week. You had stayed up helping take care of Matt during his migraine. You had decided to stay the night in your apartment last night beside knowing that you slept better at Matt’s because you were still paying rent on the place and it seemed silly to never stay there . . .

You wrapped yourself up in your robe, put on a pair of fuzzy socks, and shuffled toward the kitchen. Hot drinks always eased your symptoms during an asthma flare up. The normally quick task of putting on coffee went slowly because the slightest hint of exertion left you feeling short of breath and brought on another coughing fit.

While the coffee brewed, you went into the bathroom. You hadn’t noticed it immediately – feeling like you could barely breath had understandably distracted you – but you might also gotten sick. You were a little congested. Your face felt tender across the top of your cheeks and forehead. There was feeling of pressure in your ears. All things you had experienced when you had a cold or similar infection. But sometimes seasonal allergies gave you the same symptoms.

Illness, allergies, or both could have easily triggered this flare up.

You took a pill for an allergy relief along with a multi-symptom cold. Unfortunately it was the last dose of cold medicine. You would have to get more before this one wore off. You were not looking forward to it. But maybe you could get some fresh lemons while you were getting your medicine. Hot tea with honey and lemon always felt so good on your throat when it was this sore. You had tea and honey but no lemons . . .

Your phone started ringing. It was, of course, nowhere close to you being still hooked onto the charger on the other side of the living room. You sighed and started heading toward it. You barely managed to reach it before it switched over to voicemail, not even bothering to look at the caller ID.

“Hello?” you said, wincing at how bad your voice sounded. Croaky as a frog.

“Sweetheart, you sound terrible.”

Matt. And he sounded like he had already slipped into worrywart mode.

“Matches how I feel,” you said, then winced for another reason. It hurt to talk.

“What’s wrong?”

“Asthma flare up,” you said. “Cold.”

You felt a tickle in your throat. You tried to swallow, to prevent the oncoming coughing fit and making Matt more worried than he already was. But you couldn’t stop it. Worse luck, it was a bad one. The coughs were deep, barking, seemed to have no end in sight. You couldn’t breath. Darkness crept into your vision and the room swayed . . . then it stopped. You could take a breath. A ragged, thin breath but a breath.

You leaned against the wall, rubbing your chest. That one really hurt. Your chest felt like it was on fire and your throat felt like you had tried to gurgle with glass. Tears pricked at your eyes . . .

Then you realized that you had dropped your phone. Bending down to pick it up didn’t help with your dizziness but you had to get it before Matt had an actual heart attack. As it was, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was already darting out of the door to parkour to your apartment.

You heard his fanatic voice before your phone got up to your ear.

“-heart, answer me!”

“I’m here,” you said. “I’m fine.”

“No, you aren’t,” he retorted.

Which was fair. Hearing your own voice – wheezy, faint, and croaky as a frog – you wouldn’t believe you either.

“I’m coming over.”

“Matt,” you started to protest, not wanting him to get sick, but was cut off by another bout of coughing. Not as bad or as long this time but so close on the heels on the previous one, it hurt just as bad. Some of the tears escaped your eyes.

“I’m coming over,” he repeated, his voice firm and unyielding. You gave up trying to argue. It would be a total waste of energy. You recognized that tone. Matt had found his hill. He was ready and willing to die on it.

“Okay,” you said.

“Have you used your inhalers?”

“Yes.”

He made annoyed noise. “Partial lie.”

“Used rescue inhaler,” you retorted.

“What about the other one?”

“Out of doses.”

“Don’t you have that on auto-fill?”

“Yes,” you said. “Forgot to pick it up.”

You swallowed, trying to sooth your throat. Your voice was getting rougher.

“I’ll get it,” he said. “Do you need anything else?”

“Medicine,” you said. “Lemon.”

“Get some rest sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay,” you agreed. Rest sounded really good right now. Your bed had more pillows and blankets but the couch was much closer. You shuffled over to it, wrapped yourself in the cuddling blanket and sat down. You rested your head against the back and closed your eyes. You were just going to rest them for a moment . . .

You must have dozed off because the next thing you knew, the door to your apartment was opening to admit Matt, a shopping bag in his hand. Unless it was windy outside, you suspected that he had taken shortcuts getting here. His hair had that windblown quality you associated with him using his ninja skills while in his civilian grab.

“Hey Matty,” you said.

“Hey sweetheart,” he said back, giving you a little smile. It wasn’t his big smile, the one that lit up his entire face. He couldn’t smile like that when he was worried. “Your lungs sound even worse up close. Maybe you should go to the hospital.”

“No.”

“Sweetheart . . .”

“No,” you repeated but was prevented from elaborating by coughing. Which probably didn’t help your case. “Just gonna tell me to do what I’m gonna do here. Rest, breathing treatment, etc.”

He didn’t look convinced. You glared at him. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t see it. It was the principle of thing.

“I’ve had asthma since I was a baby,” you said. “I know the drill.”

“Alright,” he said, either surrendering or making a strategic retreat. Probably the later. You had little doubt that he felt like your home treatment wasn’t doing enough, going to the hospital would come back and this time it would not be negotiable. “Where is your nebulizer?”

You told him where to find it and the liquid medicine. Both of which he brought to you. While you set up the machine, you started feeling like you were forgetting something. Something important . . . you suddenly bolted upright as you remembered. “Court!”

“What?” Matt asked, confused by your sudden panic.

“I have court this morning,” you said. You looked at the clock and groaned. You’d never make to the courtroom in time. “I’m going to be late.”

“No, you aren’t,” Matt said, moving back into the living room. “I called Foggy on the way here. He’s going to cover you at the hearing and the appointments that Karen can’t reschedule.”

“Really?” you said.

“Really really,” he answered.

“What about your appointments, Mr. Murdock?”

“Karen’s working on it. She’ll let me know if I need to come in.”

That was that. You finished setting up the machine, opened the capsule of medicine and poured it into the cup. You screwed on the mouthpiece and flicked on the machine. A familiar, droning and hissing sound filled the air and soon steam began to appear around the mouthpiece. You put it in your mouth and dutifully inhaled the medicine. Despite the fact that it didn’t taste any better like this than it did in puffed form. And it dried out your mouth something awful.

But you were well aware that it was either do the breathing treatment here or at the hospital. You’d rather do it here, where you were comfortable. Matt surprised you by sitting down beside you. The nebulizer wasn’t exactly loud to your ears but it wasn’t whisper-quiet either. But if the noise or the smell of the medicine bothered him, he gave no sign of it. Just rubbed your sore back and sides with his big, warm hands until the treatment was done.

Soon afterward, you had a mug of hot tea with lemon and honey in your hands. Part of you wanted coffee but knew the tea would feel better on your throat. While you sipped the tea, Matt quietly suggested putting something on and cuddling on the couch. Which you thought was best idea he had ever had.

You decided to put on a series of nature documentary, ones about the oceans. There was something about watching pretty fish and other marine critters accompanied by soft-spoken narration that you found relaxing. And that pretty much set the pattern for the day. You watched a program about ocean animals, drank hot tea or ice water, and cuddled with Matt on the couch. Sometimes you dozed off. Sometimes you coughed again and Matt’s hands would rub your back until it was over.

You didn’t have to get a single drink. It seemed like you tried to get up for anything over than a trip to the bathroom, Matt was giving you the worried face. You hated the worried face. And you had almost no defense against his big hazel eyes looking sadly at you. It helped that you didn’t really want to argue with him about pampering you all day anyway.

That pampering had extended to the hot shower you decided to take partway through the day in hopes of feeling less like crud. With how much your chest still ached, it was nice not to have to bend down to soap up your legs. Through seeing Matt on his knees in front of you, nearly naked, while the water poured down around you, gave you certain thoughts. Thoughts that you made a mental note to revisit when you felt better.

Matt washing your hair and massage your scalp eased discomfort that you hadn’t entirely realized was there until it was gone. The oversized tee shirt and sweatpants he grabbed didn’t match but you couldn’t care less. They were some of your softest, most comfortable clothing and that was more important than matching.

After Matt had dried himself off and redressed, you took the opportunity to hug him. While surprised, it didn’t take him long to return the hug.

“I love you,” you said softly, burrowing your face into his chest. His arms tightened around you, holding you closer.

“I love you too,” he said. Low and quiet, almost like he was afraid that if he said it too loud, that if anyone beside you heard how much he cared, that something awful would happen. Your arms did their own tightening.

You didn’t know how long you both stood there, in your little bubble of lingering steam and whispered confessions, before your stomach decided to ruin the mode by growling loudly. You felt your face flush but Matt just chuckled.

“Lunch?” he offered.

“Good idea,” you said.

Lunch ended up being potato soup, fresh from your favorite cafe and delivered by Karen. She let Matt know that she had managed to rearrange his schedule so he didn’t need to come in. Foggy sent the message that he hoped you were feeling better and not to order dinner since that mother would be sending over her famous chicken noodle soup. You hadn’t had it yet but Matt swore it was delicious.

He was right. It was delicious. Not complicated but it was amazing how good something could taste if made from fresh ingredients. The pumpkin cookies that she also sent along tasted just as good.

‘Being sick will always suck,’ you mused as you dozed on the couch, snuggled in Matt’s arms. ‘But sometime it doesn’t completely suck.’

Still, you felt like you should apologize a week later when Matt came down with your cold.

#daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #sick fic #fan fic #mild hurt/comfort #fluff

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angieblogging · 1 year ago

Text

when you lost control

read on ao3

summary -> Carol Danvers can keep her cool… just not when a guy obviously is hitting on her uninterested girlfriend.

pairing -> Carol Danvers/Reader (Established Relationship)

a/n -> If you guys could check out my pinned post, it would mean a lot <3 Also enjoy some protective & gay Carol. This is a very short one shot, like definitely shorter then my usual ones. ALSO TITLE IS A TAYLOR LYRIC (“when you lost control, red blood, white snow” aka “is it over now?”)

You and Carol have been a thing for quite a while, it was tough, she was busy a lot and not-on-earth a lot… But you made it work.

Finally there was a moment where both of you had free time, time to talk, to do anything and everything, so you figured a date is a good idea.

There was one bar in particular that you two haven’t visited yet in the area of your apartment, so that’s where you agreed to meet up, the only issue being that Carol was late. You didn’t expect her to be early, but at least on time. There wad a chance she had to cancel and you two were stuck not seeing each other again, but you still had hope.

Checking your phone made you even more anxious, especially when the time hasn’t changed. As the seat next to you was taken, your annoyance was growing, your disappointment, anger, everything that you weren’t meant to he feeling today is what you were feeling.

“So, what’s a pretty girl like you doing alone?” A voice next to you caught you off-guard, you turned your head just to meet eyes with a man, you in fact didn’t know.

He was about your age or older, smirking at you, his eyes were busy in the mean time looking at your tight dress, which in fact was not for his to look at.

“Waiting.” You kept your tone cold, making sure to not seem interested, him continuing this conversation was the last thing you wanted.

“Well, why don’t I keep you company, hm?” He chuckled like he just said something funny, nothing about this was funny.

There was a pit growing in your stomach and you were just praying for the phone to ring, for your girlfriend to show up, however all you got left was sitting at a bar, stood up as of now and talking to a guy who wanted to score.

“No, thanks.” A polite smile appeared on your face for a moment, just enough for him to see it as an invitation to place his hand on your shoulder.

You could feel his cold fingers brushing over your shoulder, you wanted to run, just leave, instead you…froze. He was in fact talking, but you were in fact not paying attention, you just had to figure out a way to get out…Fast and safe.

The man got quiet, looking behind your back, at something you couldn’t see.

“Hey there, sweeth—“ He didn’t got to finish, as the woman behind you twisted his hand, the one placed on your shoulder before hand.

The blonde pushed him, with a lot of strength, as the guy yelled out for help, she moved closer whispering something into his ear before letting him go.

She turned to you, worry on her face, well after all maybe your date wasn’t ruined, just late.

“Carol.” You sighed in relief, as you shoulders relaxed and soon enough wrapped around the woman.

“Hi honey…” She whispered, her voice was calming you even more, you finally felt at home.

“God… He just came out of nowhere and I—“

“It’s fine… I say we get out of here, hm?” She smiles at you, leading you out of the bar.

The cold air hits your warm skin, making you shiver, the good side is that you get to wear your girlfriend’s jacket.

“So… What did you say to him?”

“Oh, you know… Only nice stuff…” She chuckled before opening the door to her passager seat for you.

#marvel #writing #carol danvers #captain marvel #brie larson #marvel imagine #marvel fluff #marvel cinematic universe #carol danvers x female reader #carol danvers x you #female reader #writblr #fluffy #fluff #carol danvers fluff #mild hurt/comfort

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gaythingsforlittleguys · 2 months ago

Text

A feeling like no other

!Not my art!

Brian Thomas/Hoodie x Gender Neutral Reader

Tw: Mention of readers chest

You fall back against your bedroom door, the sounds of crashing and yelling coming from outside. Arguments in the mansion were a common occurrence. The yelling match that raged on out in the hall was no different. The only difference was that today, it was all just a little too much for you.

Seems “found family” can be just as annoying as real family. And it’s not that you don’t love most everyone here, but they could all just be a bit too much for you. They were all very… opinionated, Which would often lead to raging arguments like the one going on just beyond the door, over small things.

You stride further into the recesses of your room, trying to escape the insistent yelling from outside trying to command your attention.

You stand before the tall windows that peer out onto the surrounding forests, moonlight shining down on you and spreading deeper into the room behind you. That was one of the few good things about this place, the big windows acting like beautiful paintings begging to be gazed upon.

The floorboards creak behind you, and you don’t need to turn around to know who it is. You knew he’d be along at some point.

“Sorry I ran out like that.” You say, just barely above a whisper. He heard you, he always hears you.

He says nothing, as he usually does. It was how quiet he is that first drew you to him, somehow standing out from this band of misfits.

“Doubt anyone missed me, though.” It sounded almost bitter leaving your lips, but really, it’s a relief. You don’t want to be the center of attention.

Well, except for one person's attention.

You feel his arms snake around your form, pulling you back into his chest. Relief floods through you, nearly going limp in his arms.

“You put your arms around me and I literally felt my knees buckle, this is so pathetic.” You mutter.

He lets out an amused huff, nuzzling his masked face into your hair.

It was unsurprising. He was the only one you let touch you, despite how much you craved touch. Just the benefits of being you.

You turn around in his arms to face him, snaking your arms up around his neck, pulling yourself impossibly closer. His face just a few inches away, hidden behind that thick, ever smiling, wool mask.

You hook your finger under said mask, lifting it up enough to reveal his pink tinted and full lips. He smiles lazily down at you, the gap in his tooth on full display, in all its glory.

“Well, hello cowboy~” You whisper, your warm breath ghosting over his lips.

He makes a mock gesture of tipping his hat to you, like a true southern gentleman. For someone who gets covered in blood for a living, and barely speaks, he sure is charming.

You lean in closer, ‘till your lips are barely touching his, waiting for him to match the gesture, which he gladly does.

His lips are soft and warm against yours, melting any residual tension left from your body as he soothes his hands over your body, from just under the curve of your chest, to your hips.

His touches are soft, and gentle. Caressing, soothing, not demanding. Although, you know they could be, when he wanted them to.

Though it was short, and nowhere near as intense as some of your previous kisses, it still left you breathless. He took your breath away.

“I swear I'll never get used to that,” you whisper. “Not that I'd want to.”

His mask falls back down, hiding away his pretty pink lips. It wasn’t unusual for him to wear that mask, although he would often take it off when with you. The fact that he didn’t peeked your interest.

“You got a mission?” You ask, still holding him close.

He nods. You know he looks regretful beneath that mask, though that didn’t help the minor disappointment you felt.

You cling to him a little tighter without realizing until he huffs out a laugh in response. You fake pout, upping the dramatics for fun and profit.

He looks down at you for a moment longer, before moving away towards the bed, his hands not leaving your hips as he drags you with him.

You fall down beside him, before he pulls you closer, tucking you into his chest, his hand soothing through your hair.

“What is-” He puts his finger over your lips, silencing any further questions.

He’s going to stay with you, till you fall asleep, you realize. It’s sweet, you think. In a bit of a juvenile way. Nonetheless, the gesture makes you feel a good bit better.

You also feel how tired you are. Standing, you hadn’t even realized. But laying here with him, your eyes start to droop.

“Thank you, Brian.” You whisper, curling closer to him, pressing your ear to his chest. His heart beats calmly and steadily, further helping lull you to sleep.

He continues to sooth his hands through your hair, humming to himself in thought.

“I love you…” You mutter out in a sleepy daze, just barely conscious.

“I love you too…” He whispers into the darkness.

@sister-lucifer thank you for the dividers

#creepypasta fanfic #creepypasta fandom #marble hornets #creepypasta #creative writing #hoody marble hornets #brian thomas #brian thomas x reader #mild hurt/comfort #established relationship #mild angst #Vaguely neurodivergent

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ventitititi · 8 months ago

Note

Good morning, ilayda. This is my third and final Gaming request for the day. Please kindly consider this Gaming hurt/comfort request: Gaming and Reader have been betrothed ever since they were kids and Gaming makes it a point to visit Reader during the weekends. During his most recent visit, Gaming finds Reader being rather distant. Rather confused, he inquires around the village and finds out about the rumors about him and Yun Jin getting closer and Reader was expecting him to break off the betrothal to be with her. Gaming hurries back to Reader to assure her that he has no intention of annulling the betrothal. Please also kindly take as long as you need with this request; I have no qualms in waiting. Furthermore, by no means feel obligated to prioritize this request over your other requests

I've seen all your requests and man, i sure hope I'm doing your boy gaming justice as i chip away at these

Cw/tw; none!! Expect lots of fluff, headcanon-ish format, the hurt/comfort is very mild tbh, it's 2:30am here so yeah take this with that warning

🌱. Gaming had come back from another trip in the harbour, gifts in hand and excited to tell you all about the people he's seen and the places he's been

🌱. But... You seemed off. Normally, he'd expect open arms and warm hugs, maybe even a kiss on the cheek (definitely a kiss on the cheek,) instead though, you were... Quiet, distant

🌱. So, he did what anyone in his situation would do. He started to ask the aunties and uncles why you seemed so different, asking everyone he could about the matter

🌱. One aunty held the awnser to his plight, she'd overheard you talking about how gaming was getting closer to this girl by the name "yunjin"

🌱. Worse still, the aunty informed him everyone thought he'd break off the engagement

🌱. Interrupting her mid sentence, gaming holds up a hand, "sorry aunty but i gotta go! I'll hear the rest of your story later!"

🌱. And he was off, running like his life depended on it back towards your house. Never in a million years would he dream of breaking this engagement, you were the best thing to happen to him

🌱. Upon opening the door, you're greeted by a very frazzled gaming. His chestnut hair in a disarray and his clothes all unkempt. Before you could fully close the door on him with some uttered excuse, gaming had his foot in the door, keeping it open

🌱. "Y/n! Wait! Just hear me out, okay?"

🌱. You eye him warily but you do wait, you owed him at least that much

🌱. "Listen, i know you'd heard how I've gotten close with another girl recently, but i promise it's not what you think! She's a performer, too! She sings opera and i just thought she could teach me some useful tricks... Regardless, my point is that you're wayyyyy more important to me! You're like my heart! So please, let me in?"

🌱. He was giving you his best puppy eyes, and while you were still doubtful you opened the door.

🌱. Immediately you were swallowed in the soft scent of his clothes, strong arms holding you in a hug. Melting into him, you sniffle softly, "I thought you were gonna leave me, i didn't know what I'd do with myself"

🌱. "Nonsense, I'm never leaving, not even in a gajillion years! So cheer up, y/n"

🌱. Spends the rest of the evening/night holding you and doing his best to soothe any worries you have bottled up, his hands gently rubbing your back and occasionally pressing little kisses to your face

🌱. Genuinely, you're stuck with him for as long as you'll have him

#genshin x reader #genshin fluff #genshin x reader fluff #gaming fluff #genshin gaming #gaming x reader #gaming x reader fluff #hurt/comfort #mild hurt/comfort #: ̗̀➛head in the cloudsೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ

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trashyswitch · 1 month ago

Text

Day 7: Fidget

Virgil had been fidgeting all day, and Patton is worried about him. When he asks Virgil what's bothering him, he's left completely shocked by the answer, but still eager to help.

A day late...Could be worse. I hope you enjoy! And Sanders Sides is back for Tickletober!!!

Patton had been aware of Virgil’s quirks for a while now. He knew that any sort of loving action would make Virgil embarrassed and surprised. He knew Virgil didn’t really like hugs, unless it was a special occasion. And Patton especially knew that Virgil fidgets when he’s really anxious or nervous.

And Virgil had been fidgeting a lot lately…

One day, Patton decided to sit down beside Virgil while he was playing a video game.

“Hey kiddo.” Patton greeted.

“Hey.” Virgil muttered, flicked his wii remote to the right, watching the screen as the dog ran down the field.

“Playing frisbee?” Patton asked.

“Yup.” Virgil muttered, grunting as the frisbee hit the ground before the dog could catch it. “I keep messing up.”

Patton looked towards Virgil with slight worry. “Would it be easier if you stood up and played?”

Virgil sighed and threw the frisbee again. “Nope. I don’t want to.” Virgil replied, watching the dog run for the frisbee. “Come on, come on, come on-” Virgil let out a breath. “Oh thank god…She got it.” Virgil mumbled.

Patton smiled and clapped his hands. “Yay!” He cheered.

Virgil smiled slightly and picked up the frisbee before throwing it. “Go on.” Virgil told him.

Patton looked at Virgil. “Huh?”

Virgil looked to Patton. “I assume you wanted to talk about something?” Virgil asked him.

Patton was a little thrown off guard. Maybe his intentions were more obvious than he thought. “Y-Yeah…I did.” He replied.

“Okay. Then shoot.” Virgil told him.

Patton sighed and looked down at his own lap. “What’s been bothering you lately?” Patton asked.

Virgil took the frisbee and threw it again. “Nothing’s been bothering me.” Virgil told him. “Why?” He asked, looking over at Patton while the frisbee soared in the air.

“Well…you’ve been very fidgety lately.” Patton admitted. “I thought you might’ve been anxious about something.” He explained further.

Virgil looked at the high score. “When was I fidgeting?” Virgil asked, clicking the home button to go to the home menu.

Patton bit his lip. “Earlier today, when we were lying on the couch.” Patton told him.

Virgil froze for a moment, staring in front. He slowly put down his wii remote and looked at Patton. “Uhhh…” Virgil bit his lip and lowered his head slightly. “Well…”

“Why were you anxious?” Patton asked.

Virgil let out a shaky breath as he recalled what was going on in that moment. His head had been all over the place during that hour. He could remember the exact words that were filling his mind while he laid with Patton on the floor of his room. 3 simple little words wouldn’t stop repeating themselves…

“Virgil?” He heard beside him. “You’re doing it again…” Patton told him.

Virgil looked down at his own hands, and noticed he was fidgeting with his fingers again. He supposed just the thought of those 3 words were enough to make him act like this. Dammit…why do his hands always reveal his inner anxiety? Sensing no other option, Virgil finally spoke up. “It’s…not what you think it is…” Virgil tried to explain.

Patton tilted his head. “Oh?”

Virgil let out a breath. “It’s not…It’s not anxiety…It’s a nervous tick.” Virgil admitted.

Patton softened his expression a little bit. “A nervous tick?”

Virgil nodded his head. “I was nervous because…I wanted to ask you for a favor.” He slowly explained. He huddled his hands closer to his chest as he finally sputtered out the words. “P-Pleasetickleme…”

Patton widened his eyes. “What? Can you repeat that?” He asked. Patton thought he had caught the words, but he really needed to triple check.

Virgil whined. “Can-Can you please tickle me?” Virgil asked, looking at Patton with a look of desperation and fear in his eyes. His fidgeting had intensified from this question alone. He looked like he was going to explode if he didn’t fidget.

Patton raised his eyebrows and slowly smiled. “Really?” Patton tilted his head slightly with a look of curiosity. “You want me to tickle you?” He asked.

Virgil whimpered and hid his face with his fidgeting fingers. “Mm…Mhm…” He mumbled.

Patton’s smile grew teeth as his whole face brightened. He walked up to Virgil and very gently grabbed his outer elbows. “Virgil…”

Virgil tensed up slightly, fearing the worst. He knew Patton wouldn’t ridicule him…but he knew very well that Patton could tease him…Or worse, Patton may reassure him with a saddened tone of voice. Though he knew Patton meant well, the saddened tone would tell Virgil that Patton felt betrayed. Patton likely thought Virgil already trusted him…and if that were the case, then why didn’t Virgil ask him earlier? All of these were thoughts that went through Virgil’s head.

Patton let out a slow breath. “Do you trust me?” Patton asked him calmly.

Virgil opened his eyes with slight surprise. “Y-Yes…I do.” he replied.

“Okay.” Patton almost whispered. Patton very gently moved Virgil’s hands down, and placed both his hands onto his shoulders. “Where would you like me to tickle you?” Patton asked him with a gentle smile. Everything about Patton’s attitude was non-threatening…more non-threatening than usual. It was…a little odd, but not unwelcome.

Virgil looked at Patton as he lowered his hands with a small blush. “Uhhh…” He giggled a little bit. “My…My neck…” He admitted.

Patton smiled brightly. “Feather? Or fingers?” He asked next, summoning a feather in his left hand while wiggling his right fingers.

Virgil smiled a little bit more as his blush deepened. “Hehehe…Hehehe…F-Feheather please…” He muttered awkwardly.

Patton moved the feather to his right hand. “Now:” Patton pointed the end of the feather at his face. “I’m only gonna tickle you, if you let me. Meaning you’re not allowed to hide your entire neck.” He warned. “You can hide one side of the neck, but not your whole neck. Okay?” Patton explained.

Virgil nodded his head. No hiding his whole neck. That’s doable. “Okay.” he replied.

Patton started right away. He started off fluttering the feather right under his chin. “Tickle tickle tickle~” Patton teased.

Virgil squeaked and hid the front of his neck. “eEEK! Nohoho!” He giggled.

Patton smirked. “How about…” Patton fluttered the feather on the right side of his neck. “A flutter-flutter-flutter here?” Patton teased.

Virgil giggled and curled to the right. “Hehehe! Hehehehe-!”

“Awww, such a cute little giggle!” Patton teased. “Maybe a little flutter here?” Patton moved the feather to the left side.

“Hehehe- hahahaha!” Virgil’s giggles grew into laughter as the feather fluttered against his lower neck, and up towards the jawline. “Pahahahat- Hahahaha! Hehehehee!” Virgil looked away from Patton, too embarrassed to even look at Patton at this moment.

But Patton didn’t really need to look very hard. He knew Virgil was embarrassed about this whole thing…And despite all his reassurance, Patton knew he’d never believe him. But the fact that Virgil wasn’t covering up his entire face with his hands, told him everything. Virgil didn’t feel a need to completely cover his face because…there was a little bit of trust there. Virgil trusted him enough to off-handedly show Patton his flustered face.

Patton’s feather fluttered down the jawline, back towards the chin.

“Hehehehe! Pahahahat-!” Virgil laughed.

“Yeeeeesss?” Patton responded.

“Ihihihit ticklehesss!” Virgil told him.

“Really?!” Patton gasped. “You mean to tell me…” Patton fluttered the feather against his lower neck. “THIS tickles you?!” Patton reacted.

Virgil covered his mouth and squealed. “Pahahahat!” He shook his head. “Nohohoho teheheheasihihihing!” Virgil reacted.

Patton giggled. “No teasing? But that’s not fair!” Patton gently placed his fingers under Virgil’s chin to keep it up, before fluttering his feather under the chin. Virgil bursted out giggling and laughing right away. “Pahahahat! *snort* Cohohome ohohohohon!” Virgil giggled.

“You poor, unfortunately ticklish soul!” Patton teased, somewhat referencing Ursula from The Little Mermaid. “♫So shy, so thrilled~!♫” Patton sang in the same melody as the song. “♫This one wanted to be tickled-♫” Patton pointed to Virgil. “♫-This one chose to trust his dad-♫” Patton pointed to himself. “♫And do I help him?♫” Patton fluttered the feather in Virgil’s face. “♫Yes indeed~♫” Patton declared as he tickled the front of his neck.

Virgil snorted again and squeezed his eyes shut. “Mehehehehean.” Virgil mumbled.

Patton tilted his head while raising an eyebrow. “Mean, huh?” Patton asked.

“Yehehehes!” Virgil replied.

“That isn’t mean.” Patton got rid of the feather and tickled both sides of his neck with his fingers. “Now THIS is mean.” Patton declared.

Virgil squealed and cackled, trying to stop his fingers with his hands. “HAHAHAhahaha! Hahahaha- Nahahaha!” Virgil snorted and gave up his defenses to cover his mouth instead. His stupid snort was making itself known, and he didn’t really like it. Patton stuck out his lower lip. “Aww…I like your snort.” Patton admitted.

Virgil opened his eyes and took one glance at his Padre’s sad face…and sure enough, that was all that was needed to drop his defenses. Virgil slowly removed his hands from his face, showing Patton the visibly red face in its entirety.

“There it is!” Patton tickled under his chin a little, before booping his nose.

Virgil giggled a bit at the chin tickles, before going cross-eyed with surprise at the nose boop. “Huh?” Virgil looked back towards Patton. “O-Oh…Heheh…”

Patton placed his hands onto his cheeks. “Do you want me to stop?” Patton asked him.

Virgil bit his lip and looked away slightly. “Uhh…N…No…” He mumbled.

And that was all that was required to continue the neck tickles.

#augtickletober2024 #day 7 #fidget #embarrassment #anxiety #acceptance #cute #giggles and snorts #family fluff #mild hurt/comfort #ticklefic #ler!patton #lee!virgil #asking for tickles

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blackcherryvelvet0909 · 1 year ago

Text

Shadowed Ripples (Deuce x GN!Reader)

Content Warning: Mild violence (brief fistfight), mild hurt/comfort

“That’s a big ass fish!” Ace declared as he stared up into the large tank.

There was, indeed, a very big fish that swam by. You glanced over at the small info cards that decorated the sides of the display tank. “I think that’s a sturgeon.”

“What other fish could be that big?” Epel asked.

“Various creatures trump the size of a sturgeon.” You glanced over your shoulder to see Sebek approach your little group from behind. “Whales, sharks, crocodiles, squids.” Sebek crossed his arms as a brash smirk twitched at his lips. “You humans would know such things if you cared to read.”

“Would’cha quit with that better than thou shit?” Epel cut back at Sebek. “Take that ‘humans er better than fae’ crap and shove it up yur-!”

“Epel!” Epel winced at the sound of Vil’s harsh tone, his head snapping in that direction. There Vil stood at the tank three paces away, the one that held a series of colorful jellyfish. His eyes were so sharp they could cut glass - even you gave a shiver. You and Epel both meekly turned your heads away, though Epel’s was followed by a grumble of words you couldn’t discern.

“What do you want to see next?” Deuce stepped over to your side, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. It was the one he often wore while he was out riding his magical wheel - the leather was resilient to water, which was why he wore it today. No rain would dampen this aquarium trip. He smiled down at you as he patiently waited for your answer, his cyan eyes catching the light from the tanks. They looked pretty…

“I saw a sign outside advertising manta rays,” you said. “They have tanks shallow enough for you to pet them; I want to try that!”

“That baby stuff?” Ace laughed. “What’re you, four?”

“Ace, shut up.” Deuce huffed before he turned back to you. “Let’s go find out where they are, [Y/n].”

“You babies have fun,” Ace chuckled as he waved you off. “Me and Epel are gonna go look at some actual cool shit.”

“Like the anaconda that scared the piss outta ya when it came down from its branch?” Epel snickered.

“Shut up, dude!”

You let out your own chuckle as Ace was reprimanded for his raise of voice by Trein. That was the last you saw of Ace as you and Deuce separated from the group and turned into the hall that led to the other part of the aquarium.

***

“There they are!” Deuce pointed towards the little shallow tank of water in the center of a room in the distance. Sure enough, there were the manta rays you’d been searching for. Your smile widened as you and Deuce walked over to the open pool of water, so clear it almost sparkled in the lighting. You were about to reach out and touch one, but you were compelled to glance over at Deuce. He gave a nod as he said, “Go ahead! I’m just going to take off my jacket real quick.”

You gave a nod in return before you went about your fun. You dipped your hand into the cool water and reached out to one of the little manta rays swimming about. When your fingertips grazed its back, you gasped: It was slippery! A little slimy, too, but not in a gross way. It felt a bit like lip gloss, maybe nail polish. You didn’t linger on the thought too long - you were too preoccupied with petting the little creatures.

Deuce came to stand beside you a minute later. After a glance at the tank attendant, his hand slipped into the water close to yours. The smallest of giggles left his lips as his fingers touched a manta ray’s back; you couldn’t help but think how cute the sound was. As the two of you continued petting the rays, you asked Deuce, “Have you ever been to an aquarium before?”

“A few times,” he replied. “My mom worked at one for a while when I was little. She would get discounts on tickets, so she’d bring me there on the weekends when she was able.” He glanced at you as he recalled the memories. “We didn’t have a lot of money back then, so I only went twice, maybe three times. Still, I’m happy I got to experience that with her - and now with you.”

Your heart fluttered at that last part. Deuce seemed genuinely joyful at the fact he got to come here with you and your friends. Sure, this was part of the school trip, but…it felt special when he put it like that. You smiled back at him as you nodded, “I’m glad, too.”

Just then, your hands accidentally brushed. Deuce let out a small gasp and yanked his away and out of the water, sending a few droplets splattering to the ground. “Sorry!” he blurted out.

“Sir, please keep your voice down,” said the tank attendant.

“S-Sorry, ma’am,” Deuce uttered, clearly embarrassed.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his reaction; Deuce could really be adorable at times. You took your hand out of the water and shook it a little to dry it. “It’s okay, Deuce. It’s not like it hurt or anything.”

Deuce simply nodded his head meekly. It was just a touch, no big deal. Why was he so flustered? Before you could ask, Deuce grabbed a few paper towels from the dispenser at the corner of the tank. He walked back over and handed you a few. You took them with a ‘thank you’ as you began to dry your hands. As you looked around the room, then back to Deuce, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Deuce, where did you put your jacket?”

“Hm?” Deuce perked up at your question. “Oh, over there.” He pointed at the bench behind him - but there was no jacket. A look of panic crossed his face as he glanced around the room. As you’d noticed before, his leather jacket was nowhere in sight. Deuce jogged over to the tank attendant, and in the most polite, yet rushed way asked, “Excuse me, ma’am? Have you seen a leather jacket anywhere? I put mine on that bench over there.”

“Leather jacket?” The woman thought for a moment, then she seemed to remember something. “Oh, yes, I saw it there a moment ago. I…I believe someone grabbed it.”

“Who did?” Deuce glanced around the room to try and find the person in question.

“A boy around your age,” she replied. “They just left.”

Deuce quickly thanked the woman before he sprinted out of the room, muttering apologies to the people he passed by in a hurry. You haphazardly tossed your paper towels in the trash can before you took off after him.

***

You finally caught up to Deuce outside the aquarium, where a few picnic tables were scattered about. It looked like a small garden set aside for people to eat in. Three guys sat on one of the tables, the middle wearing a very familiar jacket. Deuce was already in front of them, voice calm and level, yet by his body language you saw he was irritated. “Excuse me,” he said, “that’s mine.”

“Huh?” The young man turned his head to look down at Deuce. He was around the same height, but he had the high ground from where he stood on the table. “This one?” He opened the leather jacket and did a little spin, then gave Deuce a grin - one an asshole would give. “Sorry, man, finder’s keepers~ If you wanted to keep it so bad, you shouldn’t have left it.”

“I took it off so I wouldn’t get it in the water.” You could tell Deuce was trying to keep it together. “It was right behind me on the bench, where I left it. You didn’t think to ask if it belonged to anyone?”

“Why?” The boy smirked as his words were lined with a faint chuckle. “As I said, if you wanted to keep it so bad, you should have left it on - maybe tied it around your waist. You just abandoned it there - sounds to me like someone who doesn’t care for it.”

“My mom gave me that jacket.” You’d forgotten about that. You watched as Deuce’s hands slowly balled into fists. “I do care about it.”

“Aww, your mommy gave it to you?~” The man and his buddies let out a small bit of laughter as the leader mocked him. “Well, then mommy’s little boy should take better care of his things.”

“Look, man,” Deuce’s voice grew more angry by the minute, “just give it back.” He held out his hand. “We’ll forget all about it if you do. I don’t want things to get ugly.”

“Ugly?” The guy laughed. “What’re you gonna do, huh? I could snap you like a twig!”

“Would you just give it back?!” you piped up, equally as angry as you marched up to the picnic table. As you approached, you noticed something about the boy: on his shirt was pinned an RSA pendant. He was a Royal Sword student? And he acted like this?! Guess the school wasn’t full of ‘goody two shoes’, as Ace once told you. They had their own share of assholes.

You decided to try and use that newfound knowledge to your advantage. “Do you really need us to get your headmaster involved? I’ll go get him myself!”

“Oh really?” The guy jumped down the table and stepped in front of you. “Who do you think he’s gonna believe, huh? Us, three of his most beloved students, or,” he grabbed your collar and yanked you forward, “some snot nosed NRC-”

He let go of your collar as he was suddenly yanked back and thrown to the ground. Deuce stood before him, face twisted in rage as he glared down at him. “Don’t touch them. Never touch them!” Deuce cracked his knuckles. “You wanna fight someone, you fight me.”

“Hey!” One of the guy's friends stood up and grabbed Deuce’s shoulder. “Who do you think you-?!”

That guy was shoved back onto the picnic bench. The third came up from behind and tried to punch Deuce, but Deuce ducked out of the way and delivered his own square to the guy’s nose. The student yelled out in pain as he, too, stumbled to the ground. The leader got back on his feet and charged at Deuce; unfortunately, he managed to hit him in the stomach. Though Deuce wobbled a few steps back and groaned in pain, he quickly regained himself. Swiftly, he grabbed the guy by the shirt, surely about to start beating him to a pulp - and then the double doors behind you swung open.

***

You watched as the two headmages, Ambrosius and Crowley, shook hands, ending their conversation. You stood close by, nervous at what they’d agreed upon. When Crowley had stepped through the doors and broke up the fight, an argument ensued. The RSA students tried to accuse Deuce of attacking them because of their school, while you and Deuce explained that the boys had stolen Deuce’s jacket and refused to give it back. You also mentioned that the leader of the friend group had grabbed you by the collar, and that was the reason why Deuce attacked. Not long after, Ambrosius had arrived; apparently, another RSA student had heard the commotion and went to fetch him. Ever since then, the two had been in a discussion as to what to do with the boys.

Your eyes landed on Deuce, who sat on a bench a small distance away. The three RSA students still sat at the picnic tables within the little garden, one of which now had a bruise forming on his face. The leather jacket was no longer on the lead’s person; as Crowley approached you, you saw it was now draped over his arm. “Would you please hold this?” he asked as he offered you the jacket. You nodded and took it without a word. Crowley then walked over to where Deuce sat, head hung low in shame. He’d been like that since he realized what he’d done - that he’d tapped into his delinquency again.

Your heart sank as you watched Deuce look up at the headmage as he addressed him. You wished you could hear what they were saying. Deuce looked so disappointed in himself…so sad. He nodded along to whatever Crowley was saying; when the short conversation ended, you were able to read Deuce’s lips as he said, “Yes, sir. Thank you, Headmage.” The man laid a comforting hand on Deuce’s shoulder and patted it lightly before he walked off to dispel the small crowd of students that had gathered several feet away. You saw Ace, Epel, and Jack among them - you gave them a wave and a small, forced smile to try and ease their worried faces.

In moments, you were at Deuce’s side, sat next to him on the bench. You glanced down at the leather jacket in your arms; thankfully, there was not a scratch on it. You offered the garment to Deuce with a little smile. “It’s not damaged. I’m happy you got it back.”

Deuce’s cyan eyes flicked down to glimpse the jacket. He gently took it from your hands and put it on his lap. “Thanks…” he mumbled.

A silence filled the space between you two for a few minutes. You watched as the students dispersed, most going back to their regularly scheduled activities. Your small group of friends, however, lingered at the entrance to the aquarium, likely waiting for you two to join them. Your gaze then landed on the garden space several feet away. You could barely make out the face of Ambrosius as he spoke to the boys - scolded them, most likely. To you, he looked like a disappointed father. For the way the boys’ postures drooped as he led them away, you were sure they got the lecture of a lifetime. You just hoped they wouldn’t try and come back for vengeance at some point.

“Crowley said that he and Headmage Ambrosius believed us,” Deuce finally spoke. You turned your full attention to him as he continued. “He said this would be my only warning though…he told me to tell a staff member if something like that happened again.”

“That’s good.” You gave your friend a comforting smile as you placed your hand over his. “I’m happy you didn’t get in trouble.”

“Yeah.” Deuce looked like a kicked puppy, a deep frown set upon his face as he stared down at his jacket. “But I still messed up. He’s right - I should have just gone to one of the professors for help. They would have helped me…I need to stop being a delinquent.”

“You did nothing wrong, Deuce.” The pain in your heart mixed with anger as you thought back to the fight. “They picked a fight with you - you protected me. I would have done the same for you!”

Deuce let out a small chuckle at your words. The tiny smile that tugged at his lips quelled your anger for the time being. He glanced in your direction as he spoke. “Thank you, [Y/n]. You…weren’t scared, were you?”

“A little.” You gently squeezed his hand. “I was afraid of you getting hurt.”

There was a glimmer of something in Deuce’s cyan orbs as he looked at you. His posture straightened as he scooted closer to you. His hand squeezed yours in return, a determination apparent in his voice as he began with, “[Y/n], I-”

“Hey, Deuce!” Both your heads looked in the direction of Jack, who now stood halfway between your bench and the entrance of the aquarium. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, Jack.” Deuce suddenly appeared a little startled, but kept himself together. “Thanks for waiting on us.”

“No problem.” Jack smiled as his tail wagged a little behind him. He gestured back at the others with a nod of his head as he said, “We’re ready when you are.”

“We’ll be there in a second.” Deuce waited for Jack to turn and begin walking away before he faced you again. “C’mon, we should go. We only have an hour left here.”

“Yeah, we should.” You stood up from your seat on the bench, with Deuce quick to follow. Your smile grew as you saw Deuce slip back on his jacket. You glanced up at the sky - gray clouds still hung overhead. “I think the rain might start back up soon, too. It’s probably good to head back in.”

“Mhm,” Deuce mumbled, rolling his shoulders as the jacket slipped over them. He spared a glimpse over towards the entrance of the building; Ace, Epel, and Jack were gone, likely somewhere in the lobby. That determination rose in his heart - if he was going to make a move, he better do it now.

“By the way,” you lowered your gaze from the clouds back to Deuce, “what were you saying before-?”

A pair of lips met the skin of your cheek. You sucked in a breath as you gasped, eyes blown wide at the sudden contact. Deuce leaned back to his full height as he pulled away, his handsome face meeting your vision. An equally attractive smile was stretched across it, pretty cyan eyes looking right into yours as Deuce asked you the thing that’d been on his mind since last night. “Do you want to have lunch with me after this?”

Your heart pounded in your chest, blood rushed to your cheeks, your mind went nearly blank. Deuce, Deuce Spade, was he…asking you on a date? You slowly nodded your head as you let out a whispered, “Y-Yes.”

Deuce seemed to sigh in relief, shoulders now lax, loose of tension. He gave a small nod of his own, but it seemed to be more of an assurance to himself - that he just asked you that and succeeded. If only you could hear how giddy his thoughts were then. He offered his hand to you, “Let’s go, then. We’ll go eat after we leave here.”

Words were not possible to produce for you at the moment - you simply took his hand with a shaky smile and let him lead you onward. You barely registered the questions your friends asked you two, whether about the fight, what Crowley had said, or why you were smiling like an idiot. For several minutes, you had trouble registering the many aquatic animals swimming around the various dimly lit tanks. All you could focus on was Deuce Spade: his handsome smile, his warm hand, how the jacket hugged his attractive figure just right, how softly he spoke to you - and how pretty his eyes looked as they shined with the shadowed ripples along the aquarium walls.

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steviewashere · 7 months ago

Note

27,28,32 Eddie finds out he’s pregnant and tells Steve

Oooo, okay, I had so much fun with this one! And, get this, it's not almost three thousand words!

27: "I'm pregnant.", 28: "Marry me?", 32: "I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified."

Tags: Established Relationship, Post-Canon, Trans Eddie Munson, FTM Eddie Munson, Pregnant Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Marriage Proposal, Pregnancy Announcement

————— This is definitely not how Eddie thought he’d start his day.

He’s in the bathroom of his and Steve’s apartment, just sat with his head in his hands to accommodate the wave of nausea that overcame him. And that’s when he got the smart idea that…well, maybe he should figure out why he’s been so sick the last week or so. Steve’s still asleep in their bed. Came home late from work, wanted to sleep in on his day off, and already knew that Eddie was sick.

But didn’t know that it was because Eddie’s period was late. He had a sneaking suspicion that there was something wrong, when he didn’t have to put a pad in his underwear, but he thought it could be from PCOS or something unrelated. It’s not. Which is evident in the stupid plastic stick in his shaking hands, lightly glistening from his own urine, and definitely showing two prominent dark pink lines. He’s crying at eight in the morning, holding a stick in his hand, sick to his stomach, and shaking.

Whimpering, he knows that there’s no way he can avoid this. Steve is too observant for his own good. He’ll figure out something’s wrong or changed. And he’ll be too good, too sweet, and Eddie knows he’ll run. So he’s going to face this. Just like he did with the demobats. Facing this is half the battle. Finding out Steve’s reaction is the other half.

He exits the bathroom, stick in hand, but stops short in the open space of their room. At Steve on his belly, snoring smooth into his pillow, blanket pooled at his waist, nude skin golden with sunlight that peers through the window. God, he’s so beautiful; Eddie doesn’t know what to do with himself if Steve rejects all of this. Carefully, he gets back in bed quietly, not even jostling Steve’s body. He sets the test on his bedside table, hovers a hand over Steve’s back, and swallows down the soft sob that wants to override him.

Gently, he runs a languid stripe down Steve’s spine. “Baby,” he whispers, “Stevie, sweetheart? I need you to get up.” He takes a stuttering breath as Steve stirs, rolling over on his right side, blinking his eyes sleepily. Steve yawns, stretches, rubs fists over his eyes. A pout present on his features. Eddie feels awful for having to wake him up so early, but he thinks he’ll throw up if he has to keep this a secret any longer. “Okay,” he exhales. His breath shutters. “Okay, Steve, I need you to listen to me.”

At that, Steve blinks completely awake. Sits himself up against his pillow. Hands already grasping for Eddie’s. Face blank of anything teasing. Eyes going soft and concerned and imploring.

“Um—I—I think I’m in love with you—“

Steve chuckles. “Baby, I already knew that,” he lightly teases. But the small quirk he had to his lips dissipates almost as soon as it appeared, falling into the space between them.

Eddie nods anyway. “—And I’m terrified,” he admits. “I’m really fucking scared right now, but I know that I love you. I know that you love me, but I…” He tears one of his hands out of Steve’s grip, runs it harshly over his face, and curses softly, “Fuck.”

“Hey,” Steve murmurs, “You’re okay. Take your time, babe.”

“I’m pregnant,” he rushes out. “Steve, I’m…I’m pregnant. I don’t know how it happened. Must’ve missed my birth control a few times? Maybe I—I’m probably just fucking stupid and miscalculated when my period was supposed to happen. I’m sorry if this is—“

“Really?” Steve asks, breathless.

That’s when Eddie notices he wasn’t looking at Steve. Drags his eyes from their hands, the blanket that swamps him, and up to Steve’s…excited eyes? Shining and happy. He’s smiling, the small crinkles by his eyes are all too noticeable. Smile lines deep. All his teeth are showing. He releases a sigh of relief, nodding.

“Oh my God!” Steve exclaims, bouncing the bed with it. “Holy shit! That’s awesome, Eds. That’s so…Wait.” He pauses. Movement stilling. He’s half off the bed, angling for his bedside drawer, and reaching to Eddie, too. “Unless…Do you want this? I’m really excited for this, but I only want this if you want to.”

“I…” Eddie looks off to the side momentarily. He’s a bit afraid, honestly. Of what may happen with his body. What he may have to go through. The absolute uncomfortableness that he’ll have to endure, but…He’s thought about this before and been excited about it, too. Kids weren’t always ideal to him, not really. But having a kid with somebody he considers the love of his life, who’s looking at him like a puppy awaiting a bone toss, he’s content with whatever happens next. “Yeah, Stevie, I think I do,” he murmurs, “But only with you. With anybody else, I think I’d shrivel up and die.”

At that, Steve bounds off the mattress and disappears down their hallway, clambering about their living room. He rushes back in, careless of the neighbors below them, and skitters to a stop in front of Eddie. Slams his butt back down on the bed, hand gripping something, taking both of Eddie’s hands.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” Steve pants. “Like, seriously, insane.”

“Okay,” Eddie says slowly, “You’re scaring me a little, baby.”

He can see Steve swallow harshly. “Sorry,” he mutters sheepishly. “I just—This is crazy. I’m crazy. So, like we were close friends for a really long time before we got together,” he begins first. Gesturing with their conjoined hands between them. “And I knew that you were somebody I wanted in my life, no matter what we were. I knew that, like, day one? So, when we started dating, I had a feeling deep down that you were it for me.”

His eyes dart very briefly as if searching for words. He bites down on his bottom lip and works his breathing to be set normal. Eddie didn’t even realize he was still panting until he fully relaxes in how he sits.

“In our second week of dating, I got this insane idea. Went out to the mall with Robin, dragged her to the nearest jewelry store, and made them figure out the size of one of your rings. The ones you put on your ring fingers,” Steve explains softly. He grabs for whatever is in his left hand, fidgeting with it so that only he can see it, and then turns it around for Eddie to finally peer at. It’s a small, blue, velvet box. “We don’t have to do anything about this immediately. Whatever you want, I want. You’re one of my best friends. My romantic soulmate. And I love you beyond belief. So…Marry me?” He asks, enamored and giddy.

The box opens. Revealing the shiniest silver ring Eddie’s ever seen. It’s not that thick, a simple thing, doesn’t have anything added to it. But to know that it was made to his exact size, that’s something he carries warmly inside his chest.

He looks back up to Steve. “Yes!” He exclaims. “Are you…You’ve had this since week two? I can’t believe you right now, baby. Holy—“ And he takes the ring from the box, lets Steve slide it on his left ring finger, and just admires at it.

“I can’t believe that I get to be a dad, too, Eds. You’re the love of my life. This is…Fuck sleeping, lets celebrate!”

“Oh, how do you plan to do that? Because I could just sit here and fucking ogle this forever, Stevie.”

“I’ll show you how excited I am, how about that?” Steve teases. His eyes hood, cheeks flush pink, and Eddie knows he’s the happiest man alive right now. Well, other than the darling man in front of him. The pure giddy excitement on his face is something special.

#stranger things #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #my asks #trans eddie munson #ftm eddie munson #established relationship #mild hurt/comfort

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kiwisandpearls · 1 month ago

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a peach for a cold

Acheron x Gn! Sick! Reader

Summary: You’re feeling sick and Acheron is helping you through it. Can be interpreted as either platonic or romantic.

Warnings: Reader is gender-neutral and used they/them pronouns, mentions and descriptions of sickness (just a fever), potential spoilers for the Honkai Star Rail Penacony story, but probably not as im not really following hsr canon, Acheron probably being extremely OOC

The moment you woke up in the morning, you felt horrible. Your body was aching, it felt both freezing and ungodly humid at the same time, your throat felt so sore, your head hurt, and your nose was stuffy. With a groan you curled up deeper in your blankets. You didn't even need a thermometer to know what was happening. Without a matter of a doubt, you knew that you were sick.

You didn’t have any sort of idea how you got sick. You just knew you were sick. You decided the best course of action was to probably just try to sleep it off, so even when feeling so horrifically terrible, you closed your eyes once more and went back into a restless sleep.

The sound of your phone ringing woke you up. And, not surprisingly but disappointingly, you still felt very sick. You sighed and lazily reached out for your phone to see who was trying to contact you. You grimaced as you saw a few missed calls and texts from Acheron’s number. You pressed on her number to call her back, and not even a second later she answered.

“(Y/n)?” Acheron asked, her voice laced with worry.

“Yeah, I’m here,” you internally cringed at how horrible your voice sounded, “sorry for not answering you, Acheron…I’m just sick and trying to sleep it off…” you continued. As if to punctuate your reply, you let out a few nasty coughs, as if a way to punctuate your sentence. You heard Acheron let out a worried hum on her end.

“I see. Please, do hang on for me, I’m heading to your house,” Acheron responded, a sense of determination and slight urgency in her voice. Your eyes widened at her response.

“Acheron, it’s fine! It’s probably just a small fever, I can just sleep it off…” You tried to assure her. But it was too late. Acheron had already hung up on you. You stared blankly at your phone for a few seconds before letting out another groan and crashing your face back into your pillow, falling back asleep soon afterwards.

Before you even totally woke up, the first thing you felt was your head being gently moved as a hand was pressed onto your forehead. Your eyes fluttered open and you saw Acheron standing over you.

“…you didn’t have to come,” you exhaled out, a small smile appearing on your face. Acheron’s eyes softened at how hoarse your voice sounded. You must’ve sounded so much worse in person than when on the phone…

“I see no reason why I wouldn’t come to see you.” Acheron straightforwardly responded. Acheron removed her hand from your forehead, “you are sick. I was not going to let you suffer alone.”

Acheron then bent down, and you leaned forward to see her digging through a plastic bag. She pulled out a lidded bowl and a thermostat from the plastic bag, setting them both down on your bedside counter.

“I brought you some tea and soup. I hope it’ll be enough to at least quell your fever by at least some amount,” Acheron explained, sitting on your bedside as you slowly sat up. You gave Acheron a thankful smile.

“Thanks, Acheron,” you breathed out as Acheron took the lid off the bowl of chicken soup and gently handed it to you, spoon in hand.

“Do you need me to feed you, or are you able to feed yourself?” Acheron genuinely asked. You stifled a chuckle at Acheron’s question, “Acheron, it’s just a mild fever, I can feed myself,” you assured her.

Acheron dutifully watched as you slowly ate the soup, making sure to rub your back every time you let out a nasty cough. Once you finished the bowl of the soup, you handed said bowl back to Acheron, who put it back on your counter. She then reached for and grabbed the thermostat, gently placing it into your slightly clammy hands.

“I’m sure you want to try and sleep this fever off,” Acheron began, “but please, at least have a sip of this before you do.” You stared at the thermostat for a second, letting out a small sniffle, before raising the thermostat to your lips. You caught a whiff of the tea; it smelled like peaches. Fitting, you thought to yourself.

You sipped on the peach tea, feeling it sooth your hurting throat. After drinking enough of the tea you took a breath, let out a sniffle once more. You then handed the thermostat back to Acheron before lying back down in your bed, closing your eyes.

You heard Acheron place the thermostat back onto your counter before you felt your blankets being tugged higher over your body, up to your chin. As your consciousness slowly faded into a dreamless sleep, you felt a pair of lips being lightly pressed onto your forehead before being retracted a moment after. You then felt a hand slowly combing through your head.

“That’s it,” Acheron whispered, “rest now. I will be here when you need me.” With that reassurance, you fell into a deep rest, with Acheron by your side.

i made this when I was sick lol

sorry if this reads weirdly, im getting back to writing fully fledged fanfics and not just headcanons after not writing fanfiction for about a month or so…so, yeah, more newer fics might read weird.

anyways that’s all I have to say bye

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licht1900 · 3 months ago

Text

ੈ♡‧₊

⁀➷ title: move over ⁀➷ fandom: one piece ⁀➷ pairing: blackleg sanji/roronoa zoro ⁀➷ rating: general audiences ⁀➷ genre: mild hurt/comfort, fluff ⁀➷ word count: 1,296 ⁀➷ chapters: 1/1

˚ ೄྀ࿐ˊˎ-

#one piece #one piece zosan #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #roronoa zoro x sanji #zoro x sanji #mild hurt/comfort #sleeping together #sharing a bed #zosan fanfic #fanfic #ao3 #ao3 link #fanfic link #fanfiction #zosan

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marblemoovt · 2 years ago

Text

Christmas Present - Simon Riley/Reader

Masterlist

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: Fluff with a smidge of hurt/comfort because of misunderstandings.

Summary:

After dating for three years, you get to finally spend a Christmas together with Simon. Things go sideways when he misunderstands your decision to grow your family.

------

You bounce on the balls of your feet. “I have a present for you.” Leaning close to Simon’s ear, you whisper, “you’re a father, now.” The poor man bluescreens on you. His eyes are wide and vacant. You run into the bedroom, your head peeking out the doorway with a grin before disappearing again. You present a wriggling Doberman puppy with a shiny red bow wrapped around its midsection. “Meet our baby!”

Simon is gone. Fuck.

Note:

Hello!! I am so happy I am finally done with this. I really wanted to get this finished in time for Christmas, but I failed to do that. Between work and procrastination, it's hard to get any writing done.

I hope this fluff heals all your souls as it did mine, consider it a belated holiday present :D

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

Was it an impulsive decision? Completely. Was it more of a Christmas gift to yourself than to Simon? Definitely—but how could you resist those eyes?!?

Let’s backtrack a bit. It’s a few days before Christmas. You’re among the general population who do their shopping last minute. Simon isn’t due home until tomorrow, and you want to cook him something nice for dinner. The holiday season never fails to awaken your craving for cinnamon and sugar. You plan on making mince pies and gingerbread cookies for dessert. The cookies also double as a gift for a party that’s happening on Christmas.

It’s a small party with his coworkers and their families. You practically pestered poor Simon until he gave into your whims, which didn’t take much effort. He grumbled about wanting to stay home to cuddle with you in front of the fireplace, but you pointed out that he could do that at the party.

Simon will complain and exhibit his apparent allergy to large social settings, but you think he secretly enjoys it. He isn’t keen on interacting with people he’s unfamiliar with. But to exist in a room full of people he likes, who are having a good time… you always notice how his eyes soften.

That’s your take on it, anyway. Simon is difficult to read sometimes, especially when he’s spacing out. But you like staring into his eyes, deciphering the hidden meaning in their depths. You find the rich coffee colour gorgeous, and he always looks away when you remind him about it. It’s funny watching this giant man try to make himself appear small; he takes up too much space.

Your lips spread into a fond smile, and you adjust your clothes, the oversized hoodie swallowing your figure. The faint scent of bourbon and cedar still clings to the fabric, and you inhale deeply. Tomorrow. Twenty-four hours. Then you’ll be reunited with the man you love. Oddly enough, this will be your first Christmas together despite dating for three years. Simon was away on a mission for the other two, and a bouquet was always delivered to your doorstep on Christmas morning. The first one consisted of blue salvias, lavender, and forget-me-nots. The second bouquet had red salvias and white carnations. You pressed a few to keep in a scrapbook and dried the rest. The preserved bouquets are in a box you keep in the closet to protect them from the sunlight.

You grab the last item on your shopping list and head to the checkout. Once everything is packed in your car, you decide to warm up with a cup of hot chocolate. There’s a cafe nearby within walking distance. There also happens to be an animal shelter on the way. Sometimes you just can’t resist looking at all the animals, and you often have to force yourself to leave empty-handed.

But today feels different. Maybe it’s the holiday magic in the air, but when you reach the dog section, all the air is knocked from your lungs. In the first kennel is a small Doberman puppy. And her rich coffee eyes lock your limbs in place.

A worker notices your interest and walks up to you. “That’s Phantom. All her brothers and sisters have already left for new homes. She’s the smallest of the litter, and that seems to be the main reason no one has adopted her yet.” The puppy wags her little tail at the mention of her name. Your heart melts under the gaze of her eyes, which appear too large for her head.

“Because she’s smaller than her siblings?” you ask. It sounds silly to not adopt a dog based on appearance. Health concerns you could understand, but colour and size? Heck, you would be ecstatic to just have a dog. Although size could be significant depending on your living situation. But still, to not adopt this sweet pup because she’s too little is ridiculous.

The worker’s lips twist into a sad smile. “There are many reasons why people will overlook an animal, and they don’t always make sense.”

Your attention remains fixed on Phantom. Her brown eyes never leave your figure, observing you silently. “How long has she been here?” you ask. She still looks relatively young. You don’t think she’s even half a year old yet.

The worker shuffles through a clipboard hanging next to Phantom’s kennel. “We rescued her mother while she was still pregnant. Her whole life, it seems. The entire litter wasn’t available for adoption until two months ago.” They pause and glance at Phantom with furrowed brows. “Puppies normally get adopted quickly, but she hasn’t been lucky” The sentence sends a hollow pang in your heart that settles heavily in your gut.

“Could I meet her?” you whisper, the words constricting in your throat. You wet your chapped lips and haul yourself out of the deep chocolate ocean.

“Sure.” The door to the kennel is unlatched, and the metal hinges swing with a creak. Phantom sits there and watches you. Afraid to make sudden movements, your remain still and quiet your breathing. She stands up and pads slowly towards you. You crouch down and leave one hand, palm facing up, in front of you. As Phantom draws near, her nose twitches. She eyes you and nudges your hand with her snout. You grin at the wet, ticklish sensation and bite back a laugh. Slowly, you scratch the underside of her chin before moving down to her chest and back.

There’s a gentle woosh of wind, and this time you can’t hold in your delight any longer. A chuckle rumbles through your chest, and the sound of wind grows louder. Phantom licks your fingers and barks. It’s more like a tiny yip, and you are screaming on the inside.

“I think you’re coming home with me,” you mumble and pause. “How am I going to explain this to Simon?” You can picture the disapproving look on his face.

You fill out the adoption papers and exit the shelter with a very excited puppy. Forgetting about hot chocolate, you go to the pet store and buy the basic necessities for Phantom. When you get home, you manage to carry everything into the house while holding onto the leash. Fortunately, Phantom isn’t a puller. She walks beside you nicely and even moves out of the way to avoid the bags of groceries and presents. With great difficulty, you unlock the door and push the handle down with your elbow. You set the bags down and slip off your shoes, shutting the door with your foot.

Phantom immediately begins sniffing around, circling and tangling you with the leash. You laugh at her enthusiasm and reach down to unclip the leash from her harness. With the sudden removal of weight, Phantom bounds across the floor, bumping into furniture and smelling anything she can reach. It’s funny because she’s sniffing so intently that it’s audibly heard—loud too. Her nose twitches, and she buries her snout into a heap of fabric on the ground. One of his shirts you keep on the sofa as a little Simon blanket for when you binge-watch. It must have fallen when you dozed off last night. You accidentally skipped two seasons because the autoplay didn’t stop.

“Let’s find a spot to put your bed.” You grab the circular, foam dog bed and head towards the bedroom. Phantom trails behind you with the shirt sleeve between her jaws. You chuckle and hold the rest so it doesn’t drag across the floor. She doesn’t let go, and it turns into a leash of sorts. The master bedroom has a King size bed. A big bed for your big man. Phantom could definitely fit on it, but you don’t want her to develop a habit of sleeping there until you check that Simon is ok with it. He doesn’t like to share, especially when he has to share you. You place the dog bed next to the bedside drawer. Close enough that Phantom won’t feel left out, but far away enough that she won’t get stepped on in the morning in case you or Simon forget.

She tugs the shirt with her toward her new bed. You let go, and it falls in a heap and buries the puppy. “Simon blankets are comfortable, aren’t they?” you ask. She lets out a small ‘woof’ and wiggles her head out from underneath. Your smile stretches wide. “Let’s get the rest of your things sorted.” And so you spend the rest of the evening storing toys, placing bowls, everything you could think of when one adopts a puppy. Phantom keeps you company and entertains you with her silly antics. She’s already picked a favourite out of all the toys you bought her, and you silently squeal that night when she curls up in bed with it. You snap a picture, fingers itching to send it to Simon. But you’re not quite ready for his wrath yet.

In the morning, you awake to scratching and whimpering. You bolt upwards, eyes darting around the room before landing on Phantom at the door. Stumbling out of bed, you rub your eyes and shuffle to the backyard door. Phantom trots outside and sniffs around before settling in a corner to pee. You lean against the doorway and watch as she continues to explore, wrapping your arms around yourself. The familiar cacophony of twitters and chirps starts up. Phantom pauses and tilts her head at the bird feeders set up in the old oak tree. She doesn’t bark but observes silently.

“You’re a lot quieter than I was expecting,” you mumble. At your whistle, Phantom glances one more time at the birds before heading back inside. “Did you have fun?” Her tail thumps against your calves. You turn into the kitchen and measure out some puppy kibble for Phantom.

Once she starts eating, you make breakfast for yourself. A simple toast with butter and a fried egg. As the egg is cooking, your phone buzzes against the counter. You jump a little, and even the crunching of kibble pauses for a few seconds before resuming. Glancing at the screen, you see the notification is a text message. The skull emoji sends you grappling for your phone.

Simon💀: ETA 3 hours from now. Have you eaten yet, poppet?

You bite your lip and grin. Can’t he just say what he means? Your thumbs fly across the screen as you type your reply.

Poppet🧸: I’m cooking breakfast now. Do you want me to pick you up from the airport?

You hit send and attach a picture of the stovetop. The egg is nearly done, so you turn off the heat, and the toaster clicks a beat later. Your phone tickles your hand, and you eagerly read Simon’s response.

Simon💀: You got the appetite of a mouse. And negative. I can take a taxi.

You chuckle and make a mental note to look for the car keys later.

Poppet🧸: Ok, I’ll pick you up in 3 hours.

Then you put your phone in silent mode and place it on the counter screen-down. You grab a plate from the cupboards and transfer the finished egg. Rummaging through the fridge, you locate the butter and decide to treat yourself to some marmalade today.

After eating, you still have 2 and a half hours until Simon’s plane lands. Which leaves you roughly an hour until you need to drive to the airport. With the spare time, you prepare the gingerbread dough since it needs time to chill in the fridge. You combine all the ingredients together and cover the dough in plastic wrap. When you shut the fridge door, Phantom is there beside you, staring at you with her big brown eyes.

You end up googling a recipe for dog-friendly gingerbread cookies.

You now have an hour left to get to the airport. Phantom is gnawing on a cookie when you leave her in the bedroom. You bought a kennel last night and didn’t set it up until earlier. Shutting the bedroom door, you grab the car keys off the counter and head outside.

The weather is dreary as usual. It hardly snows in the winter, but the overcast skies look ready to cry any minute now. You drum on the steering wheel along to the song on the radio. The car hasn’t quite warmed up, and you tug your jacket sleeves down. Your phone goes off again, and you pull over to read the message.

Simon💀: Landing in half an hour.

You switch to the navigation app, and there’s no way you’ll get there on time with the current traffic conditions. Shifting gears, you apply more pressure to the gas pedal than is legally acceptable. Each time you glance at the digital clock in the car, your anxiety spikes. You still clutch onto the belief that you’ll make it on time. The second the next hour passes, the pool of dread in your stomach overflows into the rest of your body. Suddenly it’s too cold and too hot at the same time. You fiddle with the thermostat and turn up the radio, hoping Mariah Carey will drown your irrational thoughts.

The road sign for the airport comes into view, and you lean back into your seat. Your knuckles regain colour as you loosen your grip on the steering wheel. Changing lanes, you head in the direction of the parking lot. After parking, your shoes thwap against the wet pavement. Walking through automated doors, the buzz of the airport fills your ears. Squeaky wheels from dragged luggage. Thousands of footsteps are accompanied by the indistinct chatter of an entire building of people. But all that noise fades to the background when you spot him. You’re well-trained in the art of Simon spotting, a skill his enemies would be envious of.

It’s hard to describe. When you know someone well—and utterly adore them—you can recognize them with just a glance. That’s how it is with Simon. He always blends into whatever environment he’s in, but that unmistakable warmth that blooms in your chest and pools comfortably in your stomach. It’s like your body has been trained to recognize him.

So when your heart flutters at the brooding, hooded figure in the corner of the cafe, obscured by a potted plant, you know you’ve found him. Rich chocolate eyes meet yours, and they soften ever so slightly. You head to him, your feet stumbling over one another as they bicker over which pace to take. He opens an arm out, and you start running, flying across the ground until you crash into him. Simon steadies you with an arm around your waist. His hands rest on your hips, and he pulls you closer. Bourbon and cedar fill your senses, and you melt into his chest.

“Been a while,” he murmurs into your hair, inhaling the comforting scent of your shampoo.

You do your best to hug him back and squeeze with all your strength. “I missed you too.”

He pulls back and cradles your face in his hands, drinking in every line and curve. His thumb brushes against the slant of your smile, and his eyes crinkle at the edges. You lean in and peck where his mouth would be. His fingers tighten their hold, and he narrows his eyes at you. Someone drops their bags, and the loud thumps send his eyes snapping in the direction of the noise. He looks back at you, then around the airport, and releases your face. His hand drops and pinches your waist, and you know he’s smirking underneath the baklava.

“Ordered a drink for you,” and he nods at the table beside him. “Got thirsty waiting and thought you could use one.” You pick up the cup and sniff the lid. The scent of chocolate and whipped cream fills your senses, and you catch the faintest whiff of cinnamon. Taking a sip, the hot chocolate coats your tastebuds with sugar and spices. A small groan escapes your lips, and your fingers curl around the warm paper cup.

“Traffic was terrible,” you say, thinking back to all the vehicles on the roads. It didn’t help that an accident occurred and slowed everybody down.

Simon glances at the watch on his wrist and taps its face. “Half an hour late. You would be terrible at evac,” he muses. There’s a lilt in his tone, so you roll your eyes and take another sip of hot chocolate. Another wave of sweetness rolls down your throat, and your stomach buzzes pleasantly with warmth.

You shrug your shoulders. “Lucky I’m not in the military then.”

Simon stares at you and says, “What a blessing.”

Hot chocolate dribbles from the corner of your mouth, and you wipe it away with your sleeve. “Oh, shut up, Riley. I bet I would make a damn good soldier.” You straighten your spine and give him a mock salute.

His eyes never leave you, and the silence stretches for a minute or two. “I like the way things are. It’s dangerous out there; don’t need to be lookin’ out for you too.”

The curve of your smile flips. “What? You think I’d be dead weight?”

“Not what I meant,” and he reaches out a hand to you, but you shrug it off.

“Whatever. Let’s go. I’m not paying for another hour of parking. The airport prices are ridiculous.” You take a sip of your hot chocolate. There’s a bitter aftertaste on your tongue.

The drive back home is silent. Neither of you bring up what happened earlier at the airport. The radio is on low volume. Instrumentals of classic Christmas carols play. There’s that feeling of being watched, but your eyes remain on the road. You focus on the nice saxophone solo and not on Simon. The rhythmic tapping of his fingers begins to irk you a little. Still, no words are spoken.

His gaze continues to sear into your flesh, and just when you’re about to implode, Simon speaks first. “I’m sorry,” he says. You don’t respond, only turning off the radio. “What I meant was I don’t want to fear for your safety.” He pauses, and you hear him take a deep breath. “I like knowin’ you’re safe—at least safer here than if you were out on the field.” You pull over the car and shut off the engine. You face him, mouth glued shut. His eyes are glassy, and his brows are drawn close together. “Poppet, I can’t lose you,” and a tear falls. You scramble to unbuckle your seatbelt, clambering over to the passenger seat. Straddling his lap, you pull him into a fierce hug.

The most powerful man you know is clinging to you like he’ll fall apart with a single blow. Like a boat in a storm, desperately trying to survive the waves battering against its hull. You pry your lips apart and force the words to claw out of your throat. “I’m sorry that I lashed out. I haven’t seen you in 3 months and 10 days, but who’s counting?” A watery chuckle gurgles in your throat. “The point is, I’ve been pining like a fool, and when I heard those words, it made me feel like you didn’t miss me at all.”

Simon shakes his head and pulls you closer to his chest. “I’ve seen you flay men alive with a single glare, never mind what you could be capable of with some proper training. But to think about you dyin’ on a mission? ‘specially when I could have saved you? It would ruin me.” He strokes your hair, and you stare into his deep, brown eyes. “And didn’t miss you? That’s a load of bollocks. Poppet, you are constantly with me here,” he points to his head, “and here.” He places your hand over his beating heart. The pulse beneath your palm is erratic. “You’re mine, and I can’t lose you; I refuse to. You’re not dyin’ before me, you understand?”

You exhale and stretch to kiss his forehead. “I’m not going anywhere, Simon. There will be no death for either of us for a long time if I can help it.” His shoulders slacken, and you wipe away a stray tear from his eyes before it has a chance to fall. “I know it deep down in my bones, but it’s just nice to hear you say it sometimes. That you love me or miss me.”

“I missed you, poppet,” he murmurs into your hair.

You mute your chuckle with his shoulder, and he shudders from the vibrations. “It sounds disingenuous when you say it after I tell you to,” you say,

Simon huffs, “Bloody hell. I was tryin’ to be romantic.” Your fingers trail the edge of his baklava, and when he remains still, you roll the fabric up to expose his lips. He watches you with dark eyes. You cup his face with both hands and kiss him. It’s short and bittersweet. As much as you want to continue, you don’t want to stay on the side of the road any longer. If you’re unlucky, a concerned passerby might knock and ask if you need assistance. You would then proceed to die of embarrassment.

So instead, you pull away and whisper, “Are we ok?”

His eyes scan your face before lingering on your lips. “We are if you give me another kiss,” he replies. You lean in to kiss him again, and his hand cradles the back of your skull, keeping you in place. Every time you draw in air, he finds a way to steal it from your lungs. Your head spins from the lack of oxygen, and you don’t even notice the little moans and whimpers you let out. His beard rubs against your skin, and his lips are addicting. Thick fingers dig into your waist. The hand on your head is removed, and you pull away, panting. He gazes at you through hooded lids, pupils swallowed by black.

“I can’t drive the car if you keep me in your lap,” and you wrap your fingers around his hands, prying their grip on you. He relents, and you climb over to the driver's seat. You turn the key in the ignition, and the engine roars to life. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Simon reaching a hand out to you. There’s gentle pressure on top of your head, and you realize that he’s smoothing out your hair. He doesn’t say anything but does one last pet that trails his hand down to cup your cheek, stroking your skin with his thumb before pulling away. Your face already feels cold with the absence of his touch.

Clearing your throat, you turn on the signal light and continue the drive home. As you get closer to your destination, you grow more nervous for multiple reasons. 1) You have no idea if Phantom destroyed anything while you were gone. 2) You don’t know how Simon will react to Phantom. 3) You don’t know how upset Simon will be if reason 1 turns out to be true.

When you arrive, Simon holds the door open for you. You thank him and head inside. He follows after you, and the wheels of his suitcase clack when they catch on the bottom of the doorframe. The house still has traces of cloves and nutmeg in the air, a reminder of the gingerbread dough chilling in the fridge. Simon shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over the couch. Unable to hide it any longer, you decide to show him Phantom right away.

Simon is gone. Fuck.

You sigh and place your child down, watching her sniff the jacket her father left behind on the couch. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you grab your phone. This is not how you wanted tonight to go. You send a few messages, but Simon doesn’t respond to a single one. Although you can see that he’s read them, which pisses you off. He couldn’t have gone far, and you still have the car keys. The closest place nearby that isn’t a house is the small market square, which contains a grocery store and several self-owned businesses. Your boots pound against the pavement, and you dash through the streets. You reach the square and scan your surroundings. You spot him exiting a store and run up to him.

“Simon!” Your lungs burn, and your heart is rattling in your ribcage. Simon stares at you with wide eyes. His arms reach out to steady you.

“I’m sorry for leaving, poppet. When I heard, I knew I had to,” Simon says. He looks at the ground, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

You pant, catching your breath as the winter air stings your throat. You lick your chapped lips and begin to speak. “Simon, I—”

He cuts you off. “But no matter what, I will always—”

You interrupt him because you need to clear up the misunderstanding now. “Simon, I—”

“It’s alright, poppet. I would never—”

Your frustration reaches a boiling point. “I ADOPTED A PUPPY!” Flames engulf your entire face, and you’re positive there’s steam rising off your head. A few passersby stop walking at your outburst, and you shrink beneath their stares. Simon shields your body with his large frame and smooths your wind-ruffled hair. “Simon, I adopted a puppy,” you repeat.

“A puppy?” he rumbles, low and soothing.

You nod and smile. “Yes, a puppy. The cutest one I’ve ever seen.”

He raises a brow. “Walks on four legs, barks, and has a little tail that wags?”

You chuckle. “Last time I checked, yes.”

Simon sighs and leans into you. “I’m a fuckin’ idiot. We left the poor pup all alone,” and he holds your hand and leads you home.

You struggle to keep up with his long strides. Simon slows down when he notices you falling behind. “She. She’s all alone,” you say.

“Did she come with a name?” he asks.

You answer with, “Phantom.” Simon gives you a deadpan stare. “Why are you looking at me like that? I’m not messing with you. That’s her name,” you insist.

“So I suppose it’s all a coincidence?” he snorts.

You tilt your head. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“I don’t believe in coincidences.”

Squeezing his hand, you chirp, “Then it was a miracle. A Christmas miracle.”

“Poppet, the only miracle I’ll accept is when you walked into my life. Anything else is the harsh reality we live in.” You falter in your steps, stumbling forward when Simon doesn’t notice. He looks back at you, and time freezes. Deep brown eyes gaze upon you fondly, and a chill washes over your body. Behind the indifference is a tenderness reserved only for you. He brushes his thumb across your hand and tugs you into his side. His arm rests around your waist for the rest of the walk home.

You pause in front of the house and tug on his shirt. “I know you said you don’t like pets because they’re a big commitment, but I promise you’re going to love her,” you say.

His chuckle is hollow. “I think you overestimate my ability with animals. Not a bloody chance will she like me,” and you can hear the grimace in his tone.

You unlock the door, and Phantom greets you inside. She circles you and Simon, sniffing your pants. You grin and crouch down, accepting the sloppy kisses she gives you. Phantom races off to the living room, and you find her burrowed in a heap of Simon’s jacket. She must have pulled it off the couch after you left. Simon says nothing but watches the puppy with amusement.

“Go play with the puppy while I bake the gingerbread cookies,” you say, disappearing around the corner.

Simon trails after you. “Barrin’ me from the kitchen already? I’m a great helper.”

You scoff and block him from entering further. “No. What you mean is you’re great at eating all my cookies before I get a chance to decorate them.” You wave your hands and push him out of the kitchen. His hulking frame budges with remarkable ease. “Now, shoo. I need enough for the party tomorrow.”

Simon raises his hands in surrender and plants a kiss on your head before heading to the living room. You take out the dough from the refrigerator and flour the counter. You roll the dough out until it’s about an inch thick before using cookie cutters in various holiday shapes. Lining a baking sheet with parchment paper, you transfer the cut cookies. You collect the scraps of dough and reroll it.

Simon’s head pops into the doorway. “Poppet, what’s this?” he asks. The plushie of a cartoon ghost with a skull mask looks microscopic in his large hands.

You gasp, “That’s Phantom’s favourite toy! The store was having a clearance sale on all their Halloween stock, and it reminded me of you. I have a picture of her cuddling with it in bed.” You move to grab your phone from your pocket, but your hands are covered in flour and dough. “I’ll send it to you after I clean up.”

Simon says nothing, cradling the ghost plushie to his chest with a newfound tenderness as he returns to the living room. Phantom’s excited yip greets his footfalls, and your smile nearly splits your face into two. You continue cutting out more cookies, ending up with multiple trays worth.

As you place a few trays into the oven, Simon passes by. His footsteps are silent when he typically stomps around to alert you of his presence. He stops when you catch him leaving.

“And where are you off to?” you ask, setting the timer on the oven, careful not to accidentally turn the heat off instead.

Simon shrugs and says, “On a walk,” with an air of indifference.

“Will you carry Phantom in your arms the entire time?” you ask. Phantom’s tail thumps against Simon’s lower abdomen. He’s carrying her like a baby, and she looks at you with her tongue lolling out. “She has a leash, Simon. Use it.” You point to the hooks on the wall where the jackets go, Phantom’s leash being the newest addition.

He looks at the leash, Phantom, then back at you. “Her little paws might get tired,” and he waves one of her paws.

You shake your head, holding back a grin. “She’s a lot tougher than she looks.” You haven’t told Simon, but anyone with eyes can see that Phantom is small for her breed.

There’s a glint in Simon’s eyes. “Yeah? Must take after you, then,” he comments. Phantom barks in agreement. You stick your tongue out when he turns his back to you. “I saw that.”

“Saw what?” You feign ignorance.

Simon grabs the leash and clips it onto Phantom’s harness. He looks at you and shakes his head at the Cheshire grin on your face. “Saw you bein’ a cheeky little thing.”

“I don’t have a clue what you’re on about,” you say with a shrug. “Could you pick up some icing sugar on your walk? I’m running low.”

Simon nods and walks out the door, Phantom trotting dutifully by his side. You bite your lip and lean against the counter. God, you love watching him walk away.

While the cookies bake, you pass the time by window shopping online. Specifically dog products. You’re in the middle of reading the product description for dog thongs—who invented these anyway??—when the front door unlocks. Your finger zeroes in on the little ‘x’ to delete the page from your phone. You check on the cookies. One batch is currently on the cooling rack, while another is in the oven.

Phantom zooms into the kitchen, snout turned upwards and twitching madly. Cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg fill the air. You can almost taste the spices on your tongue. Crouching down, you give Phantom little scritches behind her ear, and she tilts her head to give you easier access. Her hind leg twitches, and you chuckle. Heavy thumps and the creak of wood travel through the kitchen, and a shadow is cast over you. Glancing up, you see Simon holding a bouquet.

You stand up and accept the bundle of delicate red and white flowers. Bringing your face closer, you breathe in their sweet scent. The soft petals tickle your nose, and you resist the urge to sneeze.

He sticks his hands in his pockets and shuffles his feet. “Did you think I would forget?”

You rub the petals between your fingertips; they feel like satin. “I wasn’t expecting any since you’re home this year,” you confess. You assumed the bouquets were an apology for missing Christmas. The edelweiss and peonies will make a lovely addition to your collection.

Simon rubs the back of his neck. “Don’t like ‘em?” And the low baritone of his voice pitches.

A soft smile spreads across your face. You embrace Simon and rest your head against his chest. His heart races, rattling loud like a machine gun. “You silly man. I love everything you give me,” you reassure him, and the gunfire ceases.

Your head rises and falls with each breath he draws. “Just makin’ sure,” he rasps, combing his fingers through your hair. His hands trail down to your waist and leave your body. You notice him inching towards the cooling rack on the counter.

You smack his hand away and scold him. “Uh uh. Keep your hands away from my cookies. And don’t use your sneaky ninja skills to steal one. I will know if one of them goes missing.” Simon is not above using his military experience to snatch baked goods. He got away with it once, and you’ve made it a personal mission to never let it happen again.

“But there’s so many of ‘em. Nobody will complain if you show up with one less,” he grumbles.

You sigh, “Fine, but only because you won’t leave me alone until I give you a cookie.” He adjusts his baklava. There’s zero hesitation when he reaches over and amputates the arm of a gingerbread man. “Hey! You’re getting crumbs in my hair.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles with a full mouth, brushing your hair gently.

You remain in his arms, breathing in the sweet scent of bourbon mixed with his musk. Crunching fills the void of silence in the room. You look around and notice it’s only the two of you. “How’s Phantom?” you ask.

Simon glances in the direction of the living room. He hums, and the vibrations tickle you. “Out like a light. Walk must've tired her out,” he answers.

You plant a kiss on his chin, and his eyes soften. His fingers squeeze your hips. “I’m almost done. I’ll join you two in the living room soon,” you say.

He nuzzles the side of your head. “Don’t be too long,” he says, pulling away and caressing your cheek. You lean into his touch and nod, pressing a kiss to the palm of his hand. The crinkles around his eyes mirror yours. Simon nabs another cookie and darts out of the kitchen before you can stop him. You sigh and shake your head, looking for a vase to keep the flowers in.

Another twenty minutes pass before you’re done. You slide the last tray of cookies out of the oven and set it on the stovetop to cool. Remembering Simon, you pull off your oven mitts and check up on him and Phantom. You pause in the doorway, smiling to yourself at what you see. Simon is watching the tv, his eyelids drooping shut and snapping open every few seconds. He’s lying on the couch with Phantom curled up on his chest.

“I knew you would love her,” you whisper. Wide brown eyes lock onto your figure, and Simon sinks into the couch after seeing it’s you.

“A little help here?” he grunts. You stifle a chuckle at his current predicament.

“Can’t move a puppy, Lieutenant?” you tease.

He rolls his eyes at you. “Haven’t you heard of the saying: let sleeping dogs lie?”

You scoop up Phantom, who barely stirs from her sleep. Simon scoots further in and turns onto his side, patting the empty space beside him. You lie next to him with Phantom sandwiched between the two of you. His strong arms lock around your waist and prevent you from rolling off the edge.

The next few minutes are spent in silence, exchanging looks and gentle touches. Simon’s words catch you off guard. “Life without you is like the night sky without stars; empty and fuckin’ miserable to look at.” You drown in endless pools of black, seeing your reflection stare back with wide eyes. The silence amplifies the pounding in your ears. He speaks with such sincerity and conviction that you feel it with every fibre of your being.

Your lips twist into a smile, and you say, “I love you too.”

He rests his forehead against yours. “Merry Christmas, poppet.” His fingers draw random shapes on your back, eliciting a shudder from you.

“Merry Christmas, Simon,” you whisper, lips grazing against the fabric of his mask. He makes a content hum and watches you with an affectionate gaze. The fireplace crackles and tiny snores come from Phantom. The scent of gingerbread wafts from the kitchen and infiltrates the living room. Cozy. You feel cozy.

Simon stretches and groans, “I’ll be back. Need to make a quick trip to the loo.” He crawls over you, careful not to wake Phantom. The puppy twitches but otherwise gives no other indicators of consciousness. You reach for the tv remote and browse for a show to watch, already missing the heat of his body.

Simon goes to the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. He tugs the baklava off and rubs a hand over his face. From his pocket, he fishes out a small, velvet-lined box. He rushed to pick up his order when he heard the news.

His phone chimes, and he opens a message from you. There are two pictures. The first is Phantom curled up in her dog bed with the ghost plushie. His lips quirk, and he swipes to view the second photo. His heart stutters, fingers clutching the phone tight. It’s a miracle the screen protector doesn’t shatter. The second photo is a selfie of you and Phantom cuddling where he left you. There’s a goofy smile on your face despite your worried eyes drifting toward the sleeping dog. He can see the slight furrow in your brows—fuck do you make him soft. Now there’s a new addition to your family, and the pup proved him wrong when he thought he couldn’t grow softer. A tightness overcomes his chest, and his vision swims.

And suddenly, he’s scared. Because somehow, in this fucked up world, he found you. A random variable in his life that he has no control over. He’s terrified you’ll be ripped away from him like everyone else. That’s why he needs to do this. Needs to tie you to him forever so that there’s always a piece of you with him. Definitive proof that you are his. The night sky was a cheesy line, but he meant every word. He doesn’t want to come home to an empty apartment anymore. To count down the days until the next deployment. To worry about what terrible thing comes next. To function in life on autopilot.

Simon Riley is entirely aware of how much he loves you. And he’s terrified of how to prove it.

He exits the bathroom, one hand fidgeting with the box in his pocket.

“Bloody fucking hell.”

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

End Note:

This thing honestly grew a lot bigger than I was expecting. The party mentioned above is definitely a party with the 141 and vaqueros, and I headcanon it to be the first official introduction between the reader and everyone. In that universe anyway.

Also, I totally did not plan on ending it with a possible proposal, it just kinda happened lol. Have fun imagining because I don't think I'll write it.

I do have an idea for a single-dad Price fic because we all know that would make such cute fluff. It was originally going to be for the holidays too, but I'll probably modify the story to work without it.

I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Reblogs are appreciated!

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #fluff #domestic fluff #mild hurt/comfort #Christmas fluff #banter #baking shenanigans #gender neutral reader #no y/n

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