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ghost-proofbaby · 6 months ago

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me: i can be normal about another jq character with a name that starts with e. i swear i can.

rose: you fuckin THOUGHT

no, but seriously. how do you write like this??? how do you write in a way that feels like a slow creeping fire??? like a hug you never want to end??? TEACH ME YOUR SECRETS SOUP.

i fucking lost it at the billie holiday admission, and all that picturing slow dancing with him. a literal cavern of yearning just opened up in my chest. DAMN YOU. DAMN HIM. DAMN EVERYTHING.

but actually not damn you, and not damn this. this was incredible. thank you 🖤🖤🖤

easy living

pairing: eric (a quiet place: day one) x fem!reader

summary: You ran into Eric on accident. Now you're facing the end of the world together. How do you get to know someone when you can't make a sound?

tags: smut, oral (f receiving), dry humping, piv sex, silent fucking, angst, hurt/comfort, survival, discussions of trauma, slight suicidal ideation by reader, words of affirmation as a love language, stay silent or die (obviously), strangers to lovers, apocalyptic, the cheesiest ending bc it's me writing, billie holiday lyrics bc it's also me writing

a/n: here it is, the silent fucking fic i promised y'all a year ago when this movie was announced. it was supposed to be like 1-2k words of plain smut but then I got too into the theory of what one does when you can't show affection through words and I genuinely discovered a tidbit of trauma I didn't know I had while writing it so I will be talking to a therapist about it, and also I'm literally out here baring my soul lol.

i also want to thank @bigtiddythanos @raraeavesmoriendi and @maximoffwxnda for supporting me throughout this writing process <3 this fic literally would not have been finished or published without y'all

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

The rain has ended. Morose, you stare up at the ceiling, wondering when you’ll get something close to free reign with your voice again.

Of course the world had to end while you were at fucking Whole Foods.

You’ll miss certain things. Things you always took for granted, that you never even considered made a lot of noise until now. Typing on the computer. Making stir fry. Microwaving a burrito at 3am. Lighting a match, washing your face. Taking a shower.

And other things, too, that are more obvious, like singing while making cookies. Slurping the bottom of a milkshake. You’ll never be able to have a pet bird. You’ll never be able to see another concert again, and damn it if you didn’t really want those Glastonbury tickets a month ago. But it all just seems trivial, now. You don’t see why you shouldn’t just lay here on the couch forever.

On the other side of the coffee table there’s a gentle shuffling. Eric rouses as quietly as he can; at the very least, your apartment creates a hospitable enough environment that he isn’t startled awake. It’s so silent in the apartment that you can hear the slight shift in his intake of breath, the rustle of the pillow as he turns his head to look at you.

You want to look at him, but you fear that you’ll end up wanting to talk. So, you say nothing. You do nothing. You stare at the white paint on the ceiling and you wonder whether it would be better to get on one of the boats headed out into the water, or to move inland, away from people, away from sound. There has to be somewhere far enough away from the city that the… creatures won’t go, right?

Eric waves his hand in your periphery, so that you have no choice but to acknowledge that you know he’s awake. You have no choice but to turn your head and look into the depths of his eyes, and feel all the pain of the last 48 hours return to you. You’d been able to talk last night, just enough, in time with the rain and the thunder– enough to learn that he has family across the world.

You can’t imagine knowing that somewhere, across an ocean and half a world away, your parents may or may not be dead. No way to contact them, no way to know what’s become of them. You can’t even begin to fathom the fear that he’s feeling, as much as you’re despairing.

Eric’s big eyes tell you everything. Sadness and fear, and trying to grasp at the smallest hint of normalcy he can get. He blinks at you, and mouths, You okay?

No, you’re definitely not okay. Things are not okay. Things are broken and can’t be fixed. Things will never be the same again. He knows that, as much as you know that. But you nod anyway, even though you feel your heart beat a little bit slower than usual, like it wants to just go ahead and give up already. Tears prick at your eyes, and you have to close them before you let on that you’re lying.

Eric knows you’re lying, of course. How could anyone be okay, in this kind of situation? But he waits until you open your eyes, and then he mouths, Coffee?

You let out a small sigh of relief, and a smile that’s indescribably warm crosses your face. Even though he can’t make a sound, he knows exactly what to say.

You don’t have a coffee maker that doesn’t also make a ton of noise. But through some kind of witchcraft, Eric quietly empties two k-cups into a glass measuring cup and boils a soup pot full of water on the stove, and suddenly you have hot coffee in front of you.

On a notepad left on the counter, you write, Wish I had some tea for you.

Eric’s lips turn up at the edges, and he takes the pen from you. You’re able to doctor your coffee for about one second before he slides the notepad back to you.

Bloody American.

Your ensuing huff of a laugh is enough to make him turn pink around the ears, and he turns to place the dirty measuring cup into the sink. He reaches for the faucet, but then thinks better of it. You’ll have to figure out how to wash the dishes later.

You both drink your coffee in silence on the couch. You never considered yourself uncomfortable with silence; you’ve lived alone, you’ve gone for weeks without uttering a word before. But it’s so difficult to be sitting next to someone– someone you feel you could really get to like– and not be able to say a word. To make a sound, laugh or cry or snort or grunt.

You’ll never be able to know what Eric’s laugh sounds like, or listen to his favorite song with him, or watch some stupid rerun of Friends with him while ignoring your responsibilities. He’s right there next to you, he’s risked his life to save you once already, and yet he’s so far away. You’ll never get to know him in all the ways you want to. Will you ever really know him at all?

He’d created a diversion when one of the fucking things had you trapped in a corner, between a dumpster and a brick wall. He chucked a rock at a car and set off an alarm, and then ran with you down an alleyway, his arm wrapped tight around your waist. Eric looked so sad, following you like a lost puppy. He was fucking drenched, too, so you know he’d probably been through one hell of a morning. And then the rain started, and the creatures were confused and… well, you weren’t just gonna leave him, scared and alone.

You, too, were scared and alone.

Eric’s hand appears to brush away a tear that had begun to fall down your cheek, betraying your internal monologue. You look to him with puffy eyes, and he pulls his hand away, suddenly unsure of whether you’re okay with such an intimate gesture.

Your coffee cup meets the table with a quiet tap. You’re slow to move, but you scoot towards him, his arm still outstretched towards you, his eyes wide. Eric has the prettiest eyes in the world, you think. You want to tell him so.

But you’re a little too choked up to form words, anyways. Your forehead meets Eric’s shoulder, and his arm comes around you before you can huff the first silent sob that brims up. He coos softly into your hair, so softly that you can barely hear it, but it conveys enough. It does enough.

The world is fucked. Your life is fucked. You have tunnel vision and you can only see things getting worse from here on; the only good thing you know anymore is holding you and caressing your head so gently that it pushes your tears out for you.

You’ll never get to see a movie in a theater, and smell the stale popcorn again. You’ll never drive down the highway with the wind in your hair. You’ll never ride a roller coaster or sing karaoke. You’ll never go to a club and have a drunken heart to heart with a stranger in a bathroom.

“Do you think it’s worth it?” You whisper, so faintly that it’s barely above a breath, your lips pressed to the shell of his ear. “To try to exist in a world where you have to pretend like you don’t exist?”

Eric pauses, holding you to him. You can see the wheels turning in his head, while he tries to figure out what to say. Then he turns his face to put his lips against your ear, the same way you’d done to him.

“I think it’s worth it to try to survive.” His breath tickles your skin when he whispers, “So survive with me, yeah?”

You nod solemnly, your tears threatening to rise up again. “I can’t stand not talking to you.” It’s so hard to keep your voice from cracking, from rising above the merest hint of a whisper, directly to him and no one or nothing else.

Eric takes it in stride. “You are talking to me.” He pulls back and bats his eyelashes, and you think, he oughta fucking know what that does to me.

“Not like this,” you breathe to him, because that’s really what it is– it’s a breath. A sigh. A gust of air and nothing else, barely anything that registers on your vocal chords. Your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close to you. His hand, tightening on the middle of your back, holding you there. “I want to talk– I want to get to know you.”

“Well, this isn’t so bad, is it?” Eric turns his head. His forehead nudges yours at the temple, and you swear you see a flash of a smile on his face. “What do you want to know?”

His forefinger traces up and down, up and down, a gentle pattern that keeps you grounded. You bite your lip, trying to keep from letting the sounds come out too loud. You say the first thing that comes to mind. “What’s your favorite song?”

“Easy Living. Billie Holiday.”

“You’re kidding.” You’re blushing, hot in the cheeks. You’re imagining it; slow dancing in the kitchen with him while oldies plays on the radio. You didn’t think such an innocent question would send you spiraling like this, but it hurts worse to know that it will probably never happen.

“Absolutely not.”

“Somehow… I can’t picture you listening to jazz.”

“Picture it all you want,” he whispers. Eric swallows, and continues, “My granddad used to have these records, and we used to play them on Christmas. But when– when he died, the records went missing. I couldn’t find the song until a couple years ago,” he explains, and his voice cracks just slightly into a murmur.

You both freeze. You wait for the sound of creatures coming down the hallway, busting down the walls… nothing happens. You let out a breath, and you pull his face closer to yours. His eyes flick over your face, and you put your lips against his ear.

“You have to be so quiet. Can you do that for me?” Eric nods in your hands. “I wish we could do anything but this. I wish that we could have met in better circumstances. I wish… I wish I had known you before all of this. I think we would have had a lot of fun. But if this is the only way I can get to know you, and hear your voice now, I’ll take it.” You’re nodding as well now, like you’re trying to convince yourself of it. “I’m telling you this because I don’t know how long we have. Together, I mean. And I don’t want to waste it passing notes. Okay?”

“Okay.” He sounds clipped. His hand fidgets on your back, and you pull away to find him misty-eyed, his brows turned up. He fishes for words that don’t come, and then he nods. “Okay.”

Neither of you move. The atmosphere around you feels heavy, like it’s pressing in on all sides. Eric’s hand slides up your back and to your face, and you remember that you’re still holding his. You’re near sitting in his lap with how close you’ve become, and the realization of that feels like a punch to the gut.

You think you should pull away. You don’t.

Eric’s thumb traces a gentle arc across your bottom lip. It’s so featherlight it’s barely there– his eyes are honed in on your mouth, clearly lost in thought. You’d let him stay there as long as he wants, but you want every minute you can get. “Eric–”

He closes the gap and kisses you. The way you’d said his name– or not said it, rather, you sort of mouthed it against his thumb– had done the job you wanted it to. It feels like this was the obvious conclusion to the system you’d worked out, the close proximity and your shared fears. He’s scared, he said as much last night. You’re scared, you said so just now.

Nowhere to go, nothing else to do except be right here, living. Alive, together. Kissing Eric, and him pulling you close by the waist, so that you do swing your leg and seat yourself in his lap. And as much as you love talking, and it breaks your heart that you can’t jabber at him, there are some things you just can’t put into words. Like the way that his hand on the back of your neck lights you up inside, or that you can’t think of anything other than all the areas where his skin is touching yours, and how you suddenly wish there was way more of them.

It’s stupid how much you like him already, really. You can feel your nonexistent friends clucking their tongues and shaking their heads, saying, “One day? That’s all it takes? You find some guy at the end of the world and you fall in love in 24 hours?” And they’d be right– maybe it’s not love. Not yet, anyways. But you could see it easily becoming that. And that fact scares you even more.

Your hands find Eric’s chest and the frantic beating of his heart tells you nearly the same thing. You break the kiss, trying to quietly catch your breath without gasping like you’re half-drowning. It’s harder than you expected.

“Been wanting to do that all morning,” Eric whispers. And just like that you’re falling again, faster this time, like he’s just melted your wings right off and sent you plummeting.

You struggle to keep from gasping aloud when he kisses your jaw, just beneath your ear. It’s the lightest touch but you swear it burns, sears your skin.

Your hands find the back of the couch, twitchy fingers digging in to keep you steady. Your mouth finds his again, his tongue tasting of coffee, and Eric kisses you a bit harder now, a bit sloppier.

Breaking away, you open your eyes to find his wide, starstruck, his mouth hanging open like he’s been shocked beyond belief. You didn’t honestly intend for this to happen– you wanted to talk. But somehow this seems better, more appropriate.

How do you get your feelings across when talking isn’t really an option? When innocent attraction becomes… whatever this is?

You press a single finger to his plush lips, signaling exactly what you mean without a word. Quiet.

Eric purses his lips, kisses your finger without breaking eye contact. His pupils are blown out so far that the barest hint of golden brown surrounds them, glinting in the sunlight from the window.

You lean forward, until your mouth touches his ear. “Your eyes are so fucking pretty, Eric,” you whisper to him, and your teeth latch onto his earlobe to tug gently. You can’t help it– you grind your hips down into his lap, without even thinking of doing it. “You’re so pretty.”

Eric whimpers. It’s a soft sound, hollow in the back of his throat, but it’s still too loud for the world that you’re in. You clamp your hand down over his mouth, and his breath comes out sharp and hot over your knuckles as he tries to regain composure.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask him, whispering gently in his ear. Against you, he shakes his head no. “Want me to keep going?” Eric nods his head yes.

He’s shaking under you, his fingertips digging into your lower back like he can’t hold onto you hard enough. At the thought, your pulse pounds, blood positively humming through your veins.

You nuzzle his cheek, and give him the sweetest kiss you can while your hand is still clamped over his mouth insistently. “You have to be. Fucking. Silent. Do you understand?” He nods. “We can’t make a sound. Okay?”

Eric nods again, and keeps nodding until you let him go. If the rain was still pouring like earlier, you could tell him how much you want him, too. How you don’t want to be mean, you just don’t want to get hurt. This is a bad idea, all things considered. But Eric slides his hand down and cups your ass to lift you up a bit, and the words bad and idea suddenly fucking vanish from your vocabulary.

You stand long enough to kick off your sweats, your day old panties going down with them. You hadn’t dressed to be sexy yesterday, you dressed to get groceries. You don’t necessarily want Eric to see your faded cotton underwear with the stretched out elastic and multiple frayed holes. You don’t think it would add to your sex appeal right now.

He doesn’t notice the lack of a strip tease– he’s already taking you by the hips, not even waiting for you to shuck your t-shirt. He pulls until you’re stood in front of him, and then hooks your leg over his shoulder.

So. Eric doesn’t need to be asked to go down on you, he just does. The gentleman. His hands are firm on your ass as he nuzzles into the patch of hair between your legs, and the precarious balancing act makes you snatch onto the back of the couch again.

His tongue glides through the folds of your pussy slowly, methodically. You aren’t sure if he wants to take his time, or if he’s going slow so that he doesn’t make too much noise when doing it, but he latches onto your clit and sucks agonizingly softly, like he knows he should do it harder but won’t risk making you moan.

It’s so gentle, and it builds. Pretty soon, you’re having a tough time keeping your whimpers in, even when he’s basically just teasing you, flicking his tongue over your clit with even the barest pressure. Your head has fallen back on your shoulders, your hand now clasped over your own mouth to stifle your sighs.

Then, Eric’s hand glides up to splay across your lower back, and he sucks long and hard at your clit, and your hand squeezes murderously at the back of the couch while you ride out your orgasm on his tongue.

Knees buckling, you collapse into Eric’s lap. He has a doe-eyed look on his face that’s way too innocent after what he just did to you. With panting breath and shaking hands, you cup his rosy cheeks in your palms, shaking your head in disbelief.

Eric’s brows tilt in worry, like he did something wrong. He opens his mouth, but you put your fingers against his lips to silence him, and lean forward to breathe, “You’re too sweet for me, Eric.”

He traces his fingers lightly up your spine, and turns his head. “Maybe one day I won’t have to be sweet. Maybe then I can really fuck you.”

The sound of his whispering voice in your ear makes you shiver, your lust reaching a boiling point. The idea of him really fucking you– that this isn’t even him as normal, that he’s having to hold so much back– makes you burn hot all at once. That this isn’t something he’s planning on doing once. That there’s a ‘one day’ that he sees in the future with you in it.

With a nod, your breath catches in your throat. You find your way to his mouth again, kissing him desperately. You can taste yourself lingering on his lips, and your hips rock forward against his again.

Eric inhales sharply, stifling his own moan. You guess you have to take it just as slowly as he did, ease him into it. You work your hand beneath his unbuttoned fly and palm him, keeping your touch gentle against his hot skin. He shakes, his hands laid out against your spine, his eyes sparkling when he looks up at you.

You push your forehead against his as you sink onto his cock, letting yourself adjust to his size. His breath stutters as he tries to keep quiet, small puffs of air spilling out and meeting your electrified skin. You curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, rocking your hips just barely, settling into his lap.

This is more intimate than you can ever remember being with anyone, but right now it just feels right. Maybe it could be cathartic to fuck like a couple of animals in the face of doom, but Eric pulls your body flush against his, one strong forearm around your waist, and his nose nudges yours, and you think this is better. This is what you both need. Closeness. Sweetness.

There isn’t a lot of movement– you can’t risk it. You and Eric seem to be in agreement on that, because as soon as you start trying to move in earnest, he just pulls you back to him, his arm around your waist and his hand petting the back of your head.

Eric rocks his hips up into yours slowly, deeply, and it’s the depth of it and the slow sensuality that keeps you floating. Your clit catches on the patch of hair at the base of his cock each time you roll your hips with him, and you have to kiss him to keep from keening aloud. He doesn’t seem to mind it.

You know he’s close when he tucks his face against your neck, his arm tightening around you. “Feels so fucking good,” comes his whine in your ear, and you gently shush him, your hand resting on the back of his head to keep him muffled against your shoulder. You want so badly to look at his face when he cums, but there’s that pesky issue of staying alive, and that hinges on whether or not he can keep quiet when he does.

To his credit, he bites your shoulder and only whimpers a little bit. It’s just a squeak, but really, he could have been much louder about it, and then you would have both been in trouble. Imagine having to run for your life with your pants down.

Ever the gentleman, he keeps you there even after he’s spent and sensitive, his hand clamped down on your thigh to prevent you from moving. His thumb finds your clit, and he lifts his head to watch you, his hooded eyes trained on your face as he brings you to the edge and over it again. He watches the way your brows tilt up, the way you struggle to keep your own eyes open, and the silent moan that threatens to break past your parted lips.

Eric claps his hand down over your mouth before it can. Your eyes fly open, your cunt clenches down around him, and he bares his teeth as you cum hard. It’s cyclical, comes in waves as he continues to stroke you through it, as he keeps his hand clamped down on your mouth to keep you quiet.

To keep you quiet.

Feverish and exhausted, you come down with your chest against his, Eric’s head flopped back onto the backrest of the couch. Your knees fucking hurt and you have yet to get off of him, and you sort of dread the moment when you have to. But this means your mouth is positioned right next to Eric’s ear, and you’re nothing if not a talker.

“Eric?” you whisper, and he turns his head just enough to let you know he heard you. “I’m glad that I met you when I did. Even if it’s terrible timing, I’m glad we met.”

A sweet, tired smile flits across Eric’s beautiful face. He nudges his nose against your temple. “I’m glad, too.”

You shift off of him, and he squeezes your thigh just at the same time as he scrunches his face. He’s such a trooper about it, you kiss his cheek as you go, leaning over to grab a pair of earphones from the coffee table.

You hand one ear bud to him, watching as confusion crosses his face. He watches you type on your phone as he tucks the bud into his ear, and you the other.

On low volume, you listen to the soft piano and saxophone intro to an old jazz standard. Eric grins, his hand finding your cheek before he pulls you in for a kiss.

And then, Billie Holiday’s voice plays for only you two to hear.

Living for you is easy living, It’s easy to live when you’re in love And I’m so in love, There’s nothing in life but you.

#eric x reader #aqpdo #fic rec #FAVORITE #ghost loves rose #i think this one just launched me into the metaphorically volcano folks #god fucking DAMN IT #well if anyone was gonna do it it’s an honor that rose did it #fuck it we simp

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websterss · 6 months ago

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JUST TRYING TO BE BRAVE — ERIC (AQPDO)

REQUEST: A request for Eric from A Quiet Place: Day One The reader only knows of one way to calm him whilst he's having a panic attack during the madness, and they gently let him rest against their chest and listen to their heartbeat until he calms down <3

WARNING(S): SLIGHT SPOILERS, fluff, angst, panic attacks

WORD COUNT: 1,286

PAIRING: Eric x fem!Reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed! I didn’t know where you wanted the reader to calm him down so you get a two-for-one scenario fic lmfao <33

MASTERLIST

You don’t know what you would’ve done if you hadn’t run into Sam like you and Eric had. You two probably would have continued to wander the discarded vacant streets of New York, had you decided not to follow the cat.

Sam had been insistent on you both leaving her be with her cat, but at last she got used to your presence. Now as you shelter in her abandoned home, watching and hearing the rain fall from the windows, you can’t help but feel relieved those creatures can’t hear your beloved's panicked inhales and exhales.

“Eric, it’s okay! You’re alright. We’re okay!” He only shakes his head at your reassured comments. Your consolation this time wasn’t doing the trick to calm him down, if you hadn’t run out you would have given him his prescribed anxiety meds. “It’s okay. They can’t hear us up here right now. You’re okay. We’ve made it this far haven’t we?” You breathe out a laugh as you cup his face. He barely musters a nod before his eyes close again, you could imagine the tornado spinning around in his chest. Wreaking havoc on his sanity and any small chance of serenity. You could imagine it all. You could see the panic, the fear in his eyes, making his chest rise and fall rapidly as he struggled to maintain his breath. “Do you want to try it again, what your doctor recommended us to do? Your head pressed on my chest. Match your breathing to the rhythm of each beat of my heart…” You trailed off letting him take the lead.

At your suggestion, he nods slowly, his eyes closing as he reaches out for your hands again. "O-Okay..." Eric tried to take deep breaths, but they came out as panicked stutters.

You sat back against the sofa, allowing space for him to rest against your chest. You began to steady your rhythmic pace, knowing it only worked if you were just as calm and relaxed. You press a gentle kiss against his curls. As his breathing slows to a soft inhale and exhale. He tuned out everything around him. Hearing every thump, feeling every minor skip in your chest. He felt your steadiness, felt the caresses in his hair. The strong warm hold of your other arm as you held him close. He could feel you, hear every intake of air. You were present for him, and he was welcoming the stillness the moment allowed for you both to have once again. He guessed as much though just how the rest of your lives would dissolve into, a world of quiet.

It seemed heavenly at first, but otherworldly frightening, knowing he might just have to savor the small moments where he’d get to hear your voice again. Just as he was doing now.

Once you registered his slackened jaw and relaxed shoulders, you assumed as much that he had fallen asleep. You didn’t dare move. Your fingers continued to rake through his hair as he had succumbed to sleep. You couldn't help but feel relieved that he had calmed down and been able to find some rest. The rain continued to patter against the windows, its soothing sound acting as a natural lullaby to ease your nerves. As you held him close, you found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from his peaceful face.

“What started the attacks?” Sam watches you both from the windows.

“Moving far from home. His parents were so proud of him for following through with law school, but he was devastated to leave them. I completely out of mind in love with him, made the biggest jump of my life following him to the U.S.”

“Do you ever regret it?”

You peer up at Sam with glistened eyes. “N-No. I wouldn’t be sane going through this apocalypse without him. Whatever this whole mess is!” You exclaimed quietly. You look down at him, brushing back his curls. “I’d regret it more if I hadn’t followed him here. I can’t imagine what he would’ve done all alone, if he’d survived it this far. I think he would. I wonder if he’d have met you just the same if I wasn’t here. I’d have been thankful just the same though, Sam. For letting him stick with you.” You choke back a sob, your smile widening at the corners. Sam only nods, turning her head away from your vulnerable confession. You didn’t take it to the heart. Who knew what pain she was going through herself.

As you spoke to Sam, your voice quivered with a mix of love and vulnerability. You could feel the weight of your words hanging in the air, and for a moment, it was as if the world outside faded away, leaving only the three of you to navigate this strange new reality. You couldn’t help but wonder how Eric would have fared if you hadn't been by his side, a thought that sent a shiver down your spine. With bated breaths, you turned your focus back to him, sleeping peacefully in your arms.

“Eric baby please!” You swish around in the water, eyes glistening as you look up at the creature crawling out from the hole on the roof. Sam had taken a more firmer approach. Holding her hand over his mouth. You had caught him about to squeak, before Sam shushed him. His need to express his panic in screams was hard to muffle.

You moved as quietly as you could in the water. Making your way to take over Sam’s place. Eric only shook his head at you. You had to nod, to remind him to stay calm.

“Eric, we need to slow your heart.”

“N-No, no, no.” He muttered. “I can’t…”

“You can, you can. Baby, look at me.” You whispered harshly, gripping his face like Sam had done. In a more serene and calm scenario, your softer touch would have been your go-to, but not when that thing was getting closer. “I’m scared right now, I’m scared too, but we need to get you back on track. I need you to focus and match your breathing to mine, right now!” Your eyes plead with him. “Please!”

His eyes were wide with fear, pupils dilated and breaths shallow. The panic was clearly taking over him as water dipped into his mouth, making it difficult for him to focus on anything other than the impending danger. Despite his obvious distress, he nodded slightly, trying his best to calm himself down. As you held his face, he tried to match his breathing to yours, each breath a struggle for control over the mounting fear. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to stay grounded in the presence of your touch.

"I got you. D-Deep breaths…" You barely whisper to him, your frequency morphing into mouthed words.

He took a shaky breath, shuddering as he attempted to follow your instructions. Your steady presence grounded him to the moment.

You didn't hesitate to place his head on your chest. You placed your hand on the back of his head, rubbing his wet hair back and forth in hopes of reassuring him. You tread lightly backwards, keeping your sights on the beast behind you three.

Eric pressed his ear against your chest, the sound of your steady heartbeat providing a calming rhythm to focus on. His breaths were still shaky, but with your hand on the back of his head, soothing in soft caresses, he slowly began to calm down. He closed his eyes and let himself be guided through the water, trusting your instincts to lead the way. Trusting both Sam and you to get him far away from the damned creature.

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eddiesxangel · 2 years ago

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I’m TJ, she/her, I’m 29. This is an 18+ blog, if you are a minor please do not interact. Welcome to my little corner of delulu. ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

** = smut

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Clueless **Older!Eddie x Reader

Redemption **Eddie x reader

Babydoll **Dom!Daddy Eddie x Reader

My Little Bunny older!eddie x reader for #munnysonederful prompts

Me and You? Together? Queer!Eddie x f!bff!reader

The Kissing Booth Eddie x gn!reader

You Look Tense** masseuse!eddie x reader

Downhearted** Eddie x bestfriend!reader

Eddie’s Fantasy** knight!eddie x princess!reader

Noisy Neighbours Eddie x reader x gf

Be Quiet Darling Eric AQPDO x reader

Could this be Fate? Alpha!eddie x omega!reader

I Do Believe In Fairies Eddie Munson Meet Cute

Eddie, I’m Scared Eddie x reader

Eddie’s Gift

Requests

Just Friends **Perv!Eddie x Perv!BestFriend Reader

But you don’t even like karaoke?** Virgin!Eddie x Bestfriend!Reader

Just a Pinch **Eddie x reader

What Eddie Doesn’t Know ** brothers bestfriend!Eddie x reader

What Adam Doesn’t Know part 2 brothers best friend x reader

The Sweet Days in the Shire ** Eddie x virgin!reader

The Stroke of Midnight Eddie x GN!Reader

Show Me** older!eddie x virgin!reader

Show You** virgin!eddie x reader

Baby, Im Yours** jealous!eddie x reader

Fool Me Once jerk!eddie x reader

Driver Roll Up the Partition, Please** Rockstar!Eddie x Reader

Need You Now** friends to strangers to lovers Eddie x reader

Never Have I Ever **Eddie x virgin!reader

So High School Eddie x reader

Give Me Everything **bestfriend!eddie x plus!size reader

Dilf!eddie**

Baby Make Three** older!eddie

Just Peachy** Eddie x bff reader

1-800-HOT TO GO** Eddie x friend reader (most popular)

The Nanny Eddie x baby sister reader

Angel or Devil? Sub!eddie x mean!reader

She Said Fuck Me Like I'm Famous Eddie x pop!star Reader

One Direction Eras

Older!Eddie Blurb**

Rockstar!Eddie imagine **

Rockstar!Eddie imagine #2 **

Eddie x reader**

Eddie imagine**

Eddie imagine #2

Virgin!Eddie blurb #1

Virgin!Eddie #2**

Eddie x reader **

#navigation #master list #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson imagine #save for later #Eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie x reader #eddie munson x ofc #eddie munson x you #eddie munson masterlist #rockstar!eddie munson

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folkloure · 6 months ago

Note

so so so good!!! the way eric takes the lead and soothes her + plans their escape even though we know he’s been going THROUGH it!! absolutely loved it <3

I'd love to see an Eric x Reader where they share a first kiss together.

Love this ask. Thank you for requesting it! It went longer than I originally planned because I have a flair for the dramatics.

Focus on Me

Eric x GN! Reader

CW: Panic attacks, fear, fear of death, mentions of blood, some language.

Three days. Three days since New York became an unrecognizable, empty shell. Three days of maddening silence. Three days of existing in absolute total fear.

The helicopters have stopped flying overhead. There’s nothing in the sky anymore. Everything has just stopped.

The silence is unbearable. At least now the ambient sound of the storm—the torrential rain and howling wind—fills that awful, strange void.

Every sound, every movement, even the water dripping from your clothes, has you and Eric pausing in step. The creak in the floorboards, the way the crumbling building shifts against the outside wind, it’s nerve wracking and makes forward progress slow.

This building wouldn’t have been your first choice, but you and Eric needed to get out of the storm. The giant holes in the side of the complex were blissfully ignored until you were both inside and the strong wind whipped through them. You counted your blessings that the concrete stairs were even intact.

Eric’s hand is on your shoulder as you get further into the building. It eases your nerves, as you know it comforts him as well. It’s the only source of warmth you can feel through the ice-cold adrenaline and the chill of your damp clothes. A warm spot of hope.

You’re positive he can feel you trembling. Scared shitless. Expecting to die at any moment.

It’s so dark in that hallway, the only source of light is from the night sky, through the shattered windows. The storm wind howls through the glass cracks creating an eerie whistling. The rain pounds, lightning flashes give you quick snapshots of the apartments around you. There’s an open door to your left, which seems like a good option.

Lightning flashes again and illuminates the dark red stain leading through the door. Never mind.

The clap of thunder moments later startles you so bad you flinch and duck. Eric’s hand squeezes your shoulder, reassuringly. Without thinking, you grab his hand and hold it in place. An anchor to keep you calm, to keep you sane. A reminder that you’re not alone.

You pass the red stain with careful steps. Part of that apartment must have a hole in it because the sound of rain is clearer, every pounding raindrop echoes off the walls.

The last door to your right is wide open.

Lightning flashes again. Another snapshot. Coast is clear, no trail of blood this time.

Every muscle tenses up, bracing for the thunder to follow. Push on. You repeat this in your mind as the noise rolls above, gentler this time. You can’t afford to lose your nerve.

Eric’s hand moves from your shoulder to your lower back as he shifts to stand next to you. His other arm wrapped around your waist. He’s taking more of a lead as you pass through the doorway together. His breath comes out trembling and slow in your ear.

This apartment has more windows, letting in enough light to see around the room. In the context of everything, it looks strange. It’s still neat and undisturbed—the couch has a blanket and cute pillows, the coffee table has a tv remote on it, the living room floor is covered in a long, plush carpet. It’s a time capsule, back to the last hours of normal life within the city.

Eric points to the couch and back to you.

Shaking your head ‘no,’ you grab the blanket from the back of the couch and lay it down on the carpet. Somehow, sleeping on the ground feels better—what if the springs in the couch make noise? The idea of shifting in your sleep and creating noise has become a constant fear every night.

There’s been so many new fears in the last couple of days.

Eric watches you, then begins sitting on the ground too. He takes his suit jacket off and hangs it off the coffee table to dry. He’s busy setting up his spot to sleep, smoothing out his side of the blanket and taking one of the couch pillows. He hands the other to you. It feels like a really strange sleepover.

Lightning flashes again and you get a clear view of Eric. His tie is still on.

Your fingers find their way to his shoulders first as you reach out blindly in the dark. They’re broad, well defined, and you’re surprised at first. Eric freezes, thinking something is wrong, but you continue on your way to his tie, gently pulling it loose and unwrapping it from around his neck. He watches you, sitting up a little so you can reach better.

So distracted by your task, the following clap of thunder above barely registers. Neither of you flinch.

“My mum taught me how to fix my ties.” His voice is barely a whisper, but it mixes in the space between you with your own breath.

In the dark you’re only inches apart.

You pull the tie off and lay it down on the coffee table next to his suit jacket.

“What’s she like?” You ask with a matching whisper.

God, the sound of your own voice is strange to you now. Raspy, raw, unused. And Eric’s…you almost forgot he was English.

“My mum?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s kind…” He swallows back the rising emotion in his voice. “Always so kind. She didn’t want me to—to go.” He takes a ragged breath; the harsh noise is enough to make you tense and pull him closer to you. It’s an action of panic at first, but it quickly turns into a hug as he presses his face into the crook of your neck.

At least now his choked sobs are muffled.

Running a hand through his hair, you try to calm him. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”

There’s a sniffle and he pulls back. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Here, lay down.”

You lay down too, guiding his head to the pillow. His nose nudges yours in the close space—you can feel his breath on your cheek. His hand grips the side of your shirt. He might still be crying; his eyes are shiny in the dark.

Your palm rests against the side of his neck, cupping his jaw—it stays there. “Tell me what England is like.”

Another flash of lightning. His face is so strikingly handsome in the light. Droplets of water fall from his brown curls onto his forehead.

“Um…well…” He begins unsteadily. “It’s very tight.”

“Tight?”

He nods, nose brushing against yours again. “The roads don’t get wider than two lanes. One going each way. All the houses are linked in long rows—almost like the neighborhoods here.”

“Is there traffic?”

Eric laughs once, a quiet laugh that comes out more like a long breath. It’s enough of a laugh to hear the humor in his voice. “There’s nothing but traffic.”

“Why’d they make the roads like that?”

“Not enough space.”

“Oh.” You ponder. “That makes sense actually—being that it’s pretty much an island."

“An island, yeah.”

“An island full of traffic.”

He laughs again, breath mixing with yours. “The U.S.—it’s quite big, so you can make your roads wider. More lanes and the like.”

“Ah…”

There’s a moment of silence where just the rain pounds overhead. Silence, that dreadful thing forced upon you now. Eric’s laugh, however small and subdued, was a wonderful sound.

“What made you want to be a lawyer?”

“I dunno. I… my dad said it was a good profession to do and—and it seemed very grown up.”

“You must be very smart to get into Law School around here.”

You win another laugh out of him. “I don’t know about that.”

“No, I’m serious. They’re extremely competitive.”

“It was expensive to get in.”

“I can’t even imagine.”

“What about you, are you going…” he pauses, his voice deflates a little, “…Were you going to school?”

You remain undeterred, you have to. “No, too expensive. Just working and trying to figure things out.”

“You didn’t have any plans?”

“I had plans, short-term stuff, but I’m not really a ‘plan your life out’ kinda person.”

“That actually sounds nice.”

“I’d like to think so.”

Another bout of silence. Eric is no longer sniffling; he watches you curiously.

“And your soccer teams—"

“—Football—”

Maybe he can see your teasing face in the dark, maybe he can’t. “Mm. Tomatoe, tomato. So, your soccer teams—”

“Hm, no. Football.”

“I’m not calling it football—you’re going to get me all confused.”

Eric laughs again and leans his forehead against yours. “It’s really not hard to separate them out—you’re doing this on purpose to get a rise out of me.”

“A rise? Jesus, you’re so British. Are you going to let me finish my question?”

“I’ll let you finish your question if you call them football teams.”

“You are a stubborn one. I feel like most people would have moved on by now.”

“Does that surprise you?”

You make a noise. “No, actually I like it. But anyway, Football—”

“—Thank you, darling—”

“—Hm. It’s a big deal, right?”

“Oh, huge. Did you even need to ask?”

“I guess I could have figured it out when you forced me to call it football in my own country.”

Eric’s grip on your shirt has relaxed now, his hand rests on your hip. “Is football a big deal here?”

“Football—football, or soccer—football?”

“Ah, well played. I see what you’re doing now.”

“I will make you say the word soccer.”

Somehow, he leans even closer.

“Not a chance.”

“Ha. Well, football tickets are sold out months in advance, sometimes before the season even starts, so that might answer your question.”

“They’re sold-out like that in England too.”

“But which football am I talking about, Eric?”

He snickers. “The one where they throw and kick the ball.”

“Oh, that’s very funny. Very clever.”

“I do know—”

From back in the room something creaks. Pressure on a floorboard, something moving, something big. Eric freezes. Your body goes cold.

Click-click-click.

Another couple of pounds on the ground. These are closer, you can feel the vibrations through the floor.

In the back of the apartment, leading to a bedroom, a door slowly creaks open. The rain sounds much closer now and the clicks continue, vivid and clear.

This apartment has a hole in it to the outside.

Eric is back to gripping you like his life depends on it. Your hand trembles against his skin.

Pound. Click-click-click.

The indifferent storm above sends lightning down again, as if it’s saying 'Hey, look at this'. The rapid succession of flashes gives you a view of the doorframe and the monstrous creature slinking through it.

Its body contorts and bends, long legs folding in as it fits itself into the room without disturbing anything. Scales and plates shift and move fluidly along its back. You didn’t think it was possible for it to be this nimble.

Click-click-click.

Eric, watching your tearful eyes track something over his shoulder, very carefully and very slowly starts to turn and try to get a glimpse of it. Your hand on his cheek tightens and stops him, turning him back to look at you. The message is clear as his breathing starts to quicken.

Look at me.

He purses his lips in an effort to keep from breathing through his mouth. He’s shaking as much as you are now.

The creature swings its head around in the dark, opening its face plates and clicking out. The way it opens up, the sound it makes is almost enough to make you shudder. Who knows why, but it moves toward you and Eric. Its massive silhouette stands out against the apartment’s lighter walls. You keep watching it, trembling and on the verge of tears.

The thing’s leg bumps the coffee table, and your mouth drops open at the sudden startlingly loud shriek of wood scraping against wood. Eric is quick to cover your mouth with a hand, holding you in place, keeping you quiet. He presses his mouth up against the back of his hand, trying to keep himself quiet too. Tears spill over onto your cheeks; they mix with his. Your faces are pressed together. Even though he’s terrified, he’s still gentle.

Click-click-click. Pound.

It’s so close now that those alien noises vibrate through your body. It’s so heavy that when it steps on the floorboards it almost bounces you.

And the thing smells.

It smells like death, decay, and rot. You’re never going to forget that smell as it wafts over you and permeates your clothes.

More tears fall, it’s impossible to rip your eyes away from the creature’s silhouette, it towers nearly to the ceiling in one long, thin body.

You wish more than anything that the lightning would stop. You don’t need to see it in clear detail. You don’t need to see the bits of viscera hanging from it or the dark red stains leading up its grotesque arms.

Eric’s hand moves a fraction out of the way to hold your cheek. Your eyes flash to him just as he replaces his hand with his mouth.

It’s reckless beyond measure, but the action makes you instinctually close your eyes. There’s no movement, there’s no bloom of passion, but the warmth spreads through your face. It’s an act of desperation in what may be your last moments together.

The creature’s feet pound on the floorboards again. Are they getting further away? You don’t dare open your eyes. You focus on the feeling of Eric’s mouth against yours. If this is when and how you’re going to die, you want to think about how soft his lips feel. You want to think about the way his curly hair looks as it dries into a tangled mess. How his shoulders felt under your touch and the breath of his laugh and the way his words sounded when he smiled.

It works, you almost feel at peace. It's just the feeling, the idea of it all ending any moment that keep you trembling.

But the footsteps are getting further away. The hinges of the door leading out into the complex’s hallway creak as the door is pushed open.

It’s leaving. It’s leaving.

After you can no longer feel the pounding footsteps or hear it anymore, you open your eyes again. The apartment is empty. It’s gone.

Eric is also looking around. He pulls back a little, separating your lips. The absence of warmth sends shivers down your body. And then you start trembling again, left to deal with the struggle of survival. The adrenaline, the short supply you had left, is used up—your body is suffering.

Shell shock is the first thing you think of, but Eric’s eyes catch yours and you snap back to the task at hand. Fortification. Leaving and following in that thing's footsteps would just mean a grisly death in the dark. You'd have to make due and close off all the exits.

It takes ages to sit up. There are moments when you think you hear something, only for it to be your imagination. There are moments when you question if you’re still alive.

Eric gently takes your hand; he helps you to your feet. Moving so, so slowly and carefully. It’s Eric that guides you through the next few minutes, directing you to help him move furniture in front of the door. Picking it up slowly and delicately. Closing the back door, which does indeed lead to a hole in the wall. He always stands near you; his hand guides you either by your shoulder, your hand, or your lower back.

Eric, the man you found shaking and traumatized in the rain, helps you and leads you.

Once the furniture has been moved, the apartment no longer looks like a time capsule of normality. It matches the rest of the city—disorderly and inherently wrong.

With your task complete, you lean against one of the walls, holding your mouth shut. The shaking in your legs becomes more pronounced now that you’re no longer moving. Your heart is pounding out of your chest. The dark room spins around you. Through your fingers you take small gasps of breath.

Eric knows what a panic attack looks like. What it feels like. How it cripples a person.

“It’s alright.” He breathes, as he comes over to hold the sides of your face. “We’re alright.”

Your hands reach out and cling to him, pulling him closer. His body flattens against you on the wall. His forehead leans down to yours.

“Eric…”

He lifts your face up, smoothing out your cheeks, trying to calm you down. “I’m here. Right here.”

You do the only thing you can think of. The only method true method that can dispel the thoughts of your near death. Closing the short distance between your faces, you kiss him.

This time, he moves. This time it’s not a kiss with your imminent death looming right over you; it’s relived, it’s desperate, it’s a plea to wake up your body and revive yourself.

We’re alive.

The kiss is wet, you can taste the tears on his lips as he sloppily molds them to yours. The light stubble on his face scratches you, but it hardly registers. The kiss gets increasingly desperate—you both needed this, you both wanted this. You could have died and never experienced this and now you’re making up for that.

Your fingers tangle in his still wet hair. They grab the back of his neck; they grab his shoulders as he flexes and runs his hands up and down your sides. If you pull away to take in another gasp, Eric is quick to close the distance again, forcing you to take in air through your nose.

But you’re tired beyond measure, running off nothing but pure fear and adrenaline for days and nights on end. How Eric keeps himself together after being through the same things you have is something you’d like to learn one day, but tonight—fuck, tonight you need to sit down before your legs give out.

You pull away again, trying to gasp out something. Eric’s lips chase yours, but your body has had enough finally, and you give in, sliding down the wall before he catches you. By the way your head lolls back, and your arms fall to your sides, he understands.

Always so gentle, always so caring, Eric leads you back to the blanket and lays you down in his arms. Pressing your face into his collar, you feel just safe enough that you might be able to sleep. Exhaustion pulls at your consciousness, but images of the hideous alien are vividly playing out in your mind’s eye.

Only Eric’s voice, barely above a breath, but warm in your ear is enough to soothe you. He murmurs about how you’ll both be on the boats tomorrow. Tomorrow, you’ll be safe. Everything will be ok tomorrow. He peppers your forehead with light kisses in between words.

Before your world fades into nothingness, you stretch up to kiss him under his jaw. The last thing you hear is his quiet sigh.

Eric didn’t sleep much that night, too busy making a plan in his head to get you both to the south st. seaport. If he had to carry you, he would. He would do anything for you. And if this all somehow turned into a happy ending, then he would be right next to you to share it, to see you smile again, to hear you tease him.

If it doesn’t, then he has to find a way to kiss you one more time before the end.

#first appearance of aqpdo eric in this blog #first of many hopefully!!#aqpdo eric x reader #aqpdo eric x reader fluff #fic recs #favs <3

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