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syluslnd · 1 month ago

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Your writing style is positively inspiring and transporting 😍 I’ve been wanting to ask this for a long time, but only have built up the courage to request: how Sylus would react to learning the MC or y/n is on antidepressants/anti anxiety meds for their past traumas, and possibly how he would react to noticing MC having rough mental health days . I absolutely understand if it’s not something you want or can write on 💙🙏 just wanted to at least ask :)

Sylus reaction to reader who’s on meds

(hi anon personally I’ve never had to be on meds so this topic is one I’m not too familiar with,I tried my best to write it accordingly;I hope you’re well and I’m glad you had the courage to send in this request it was something completely new for me to write🤍)

────୨ৎ────

The apartment was quiet when Sylus arrived, far quieter than he expected. Normally, the moment he stepped through the door, he’d hear your cheerful voice, some casual greeting or see you bouncing from room to room in your usual flustered, charming way. But today, there was only silence.

He walked in, his boots making soft thuds against the floor. His eyes flickered around the room, scanning for signs of your presence. A mug sat abandoned on the kitchen counter, half-filled with tea, long gone cold. There was a book lying open on the couch, its pages dog-eared but you were nowhere to be seen.

“Sylus?” your voice, faint and hesitant, called from down the hall. You appeared a moment later, your face wearing a smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Something about you seemed… off.

“Hey, sweetie” he said, forcing his usual smirk as he approached you. But there was a subtle flicker of concern in his eyes, something he tried to mask behind his casual tone. “Everything okay? You look a little worn out.”

“Oh, just tired” you replied quickly, your tone a little too light, a little too quick. “I didn’t sleep well last night. But it’s fine.”

Sylus nodded slowly, watching you for a moment longer. He had known you long enough to read the slight tremor in your voice the tension in your shoulders but he didn’t push. Not yet.

While you disappeared into the kitchen to grab something, Sylus moved toward the living room. He casually glanced over the cluttered coffee table, where your things were strewn about, remnants of a busy week. But then his eyes caught something small and unassuming—an orange bottle, half-hidden under some papers.

He paused, his brow furrowing as he picked it up. Xanax. His breath hitched, his normally composed expression slipping as he turned the bottle in his hand, staring at the label. Anxiety medication. The name alone struck him with a mix of surprise and concern.

You hadn’t mentioned this. Not once. Not even hinted at it. You were always so bright, so full of life, even when you tripped over your words or blushed under his teasing gaze. The thought that something darker had been lurking beneath your usual cheerfulness hit him hard.

“Sylus?” Your voice startled him. He quickly set the bottle down but not before you saw the way his fingers lingered on it, the way his expression tightened with unspoken questions. He looked up at you, his usual confidence suddenly faltering.

There was a beat of silence before he spoke, his voice quieter than usual. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You froze, your heart sinking as your eyes darted from him to the bottle of pills he’d clearly seen. The weight of it, the unspoken truth you had been hiding, suddenly became too heavy to ignore. You opened your mouth but no words came out at first.

Sylus stood there, his gaze now piercing in a different way—less teasing more intense more concerned. His hands hung at his sides, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them as if he wanted to reach out to you but didn’t know how.

“Sweetie…” His voice softened, a rare break in his usual sharp demeanor. “How long have you been dealing with this?”

You took a shaky breath, feeling the tension in the air thicken. “I—I didn’t want to bother you” you admitted, your voice small guilt and fear tightening your chest. “You’re always so busy, with work and everything. I didn’t want to make it a big deal.”

Sylus’s eyes narrowed and for the first time there was no smirk, no teasing glint. He looked… hurt. His jaw tightened and he ran a hand through his hair, visibly grappling with how to respond. “A big deal? You’re dealing with something this serious and you thought it wasn’t worth telling me?”

You couldn’t meet his gaze anymore, your eyes dropping to the floor. The truth, the weight of what you’d been hiding, was unbearable now. “I didn’t want to worry you” you whispered, feeling the sting of tears welling up. “I’ve just been… struggling. A lot. But I didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t want to seem weak. Not to you.”

For a moment, Sylus didn’t speak. His silence was heavy, filled with thoughts you couldn’t quite read. Then he exhaled sharply, as if he was trying to release some of the tension that had been building up inside him.

“You’re not weak” he finally said, his voice a little rough around the edges. His hand lifted, hesitant at first but then he stepped closer and gently cupped your cheek, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “You should’ve told me. I should’ve noticed.”

His thumb brushed lightly across your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. The guilt in his eyes was undeniable and it broke through that tough, stoic exterior he usually wore like armor.

“I’ve been so caught up with work…” he muttered, mostly to himself, his jaw clenching as he shook his head. “I should’ve been here for you. I’m sorry.”

You shook your head quickly, trying to quell the guilt you could see eating at him. “No, it’s not your fault, Sylus. You couldn’t have known. I—I’ve gotten good at hiding it. I didn’t want anyone to see how bad it’s been.”

His hand moved from your cheek to your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “But I should’ve seen it” he said, his voice low and tense, filled with regret. “You’re always so… cheery around me. I didn’t know you were feeling like this underneath it all.”

You swallowed hard finally letting the full weight of your feelings tumble out. “I didn’t know how to talk about it” you admitted, your voice breaking. “It’s been hard. The anxiety, the feeling like I’m drowning some days… I’ve been putting on a mask just to get through.”

Sylus’s grip on your shoulder tightened, his expression darkening with the weight of what you were saying. “You don’t have to do that with me” he said firmly, his voice low and intense. “You don’t have to hide anything.”

You felt a lump rise in your throat the vulnerability making you feel raw and exposed. But the way he was looking at you now—so serious, so full of regret—made you feel like you could finally let go of the walls you had built around yourself.

“I didn’t want to burden you” you whispered, voice trembling. “You’re always busy. I didn’t want to be another thing on your plate.”

His eyes flashed with frustration, not at you, but at himself. “You’re not a burden, sweetie” he said, his voice soft but intense. “You could never be.”

There was a long tense silence before Sylus sighed heavily pulling you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you tightly. The embrace was firm, reassuring in a way that made your entire body relax for the first time in weeks. His scent, his warmth, everything about him was grounding.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner” he whispered, his voice thick with guilt. “But I’m here now. I’ll make more time for you. We’ll get through this together, okay?”

You nodded into his chest, feeling the weight of the past few weeks lift just a little. With Sylus holding you like this, for the first time in a while, you didn’t feel so alone.

#love and deepspace #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #l&ds sylus #lads sylus #sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you

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solbaby7 · 11 months ago

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Nothing Even Matters

pairing: cassian x reader

warnings: swearing, probably typos, some angst, mentions of trauma, some fluff

summary: When the only thing you want during your recovery is the very person who put you there in the first place.

[ part one ]

—

“How’s it feel?”

“Fuck you,” You seethe through your teeth, words slurred from the wires holding your jaw shut—only for a few days, they said with remorse but all you could feel was such all-consuming rage. Such intense anger because you couldn’t move your body how you wanted; your arm was stiff in the tight bandaging holding it to your body while the dislocation and fractures healed.

Azriel glanced over at Rhysand who was offering Madja a sheepish smile, hands tucked in his pockets as he stood beside you. “Believe it or not, that was a lot nicer than some of the other words she’s been stringing together.”

“She shouldn’t be talking at all. Healing from a broken jaw is no easy feat—talking before the bone properly sets can lead to us needing to rebreak it all over again.” The heated glare you send her way could’ve killed if they were sharpened swords and Azriel has to step in front of you to ease the stormcloud you were casting above the room. Madja doesn’t seem to mind, urging the spymaster to step aside while she began her assessment. “Follow my finger,” Your eyes narrow with hate but you comply after a beat of time. “Good, no noticeable neurological deficits,” She scribbles something in a notepad, noting down the amount of pain meds you’d been receiving and an update of your vitals. “Your swelling seems to have gone down significantly—does it still hurt when I touch here?”

The High Lord cringes at the stream of profanities that slam at the edge of his mind; an act you’d been subconsciously doing since the moment the tonics for the pain had worn off the first time three days ago. You’d shoved your anguish out as far as it would go, so hard Rhysand had choked on a breath, hands clenching at his sides as he put forth more effort than normal to keep his mental shields up. “She says yes.”

Your hand taps once at Azriel’s arm and when he looks at you, you give him a jerky nod of your head. “She wants to know when she can go home?”

Madja lowers the notebook, voice annoyingly calm and full of understanding; not deterred by your attitude in the slightest. In fact, she seems to expect it, smiling softly before speaking, “Have you been eating?”

Your hand slams down twice on the table before you.

It’s jarring; aggression was never something you’d displayed often, if ever, but Azriel only takes a step closer, nearly sitting on the edge of your cot with an arm wrapped around the back of your pillow.

“I’ll assume that’s a yes.” Madja continues writing, bullet pointing your behavior and way you reel in your snark for the shadowsinger beside you. “Have you been able to get to the bathroom on your own?”

Two more slams against the table but these are much harsher than the first, a cup full of water splashing at the sides and Azriel lets out a sigh. “Not on her own but she’s really close. The dizziness just gets to her when she’s standing for too long.”

Rhysand spares a glance at the towering frame standing in the corner behind them absorbing every word like a child experiencing the world for the first time. Cassian had been unbearably quiet, avoiding Azriel at all costs but he was the first who’d noticed you beginning to stir awake. He’d barely left, always getting caught with a rag and warm water, dragging at your skin gentler than fingertips on flower petals. Rhys had to knock Cass out himself when the med staff came to take you away, advising that the wiring was imperative but the General couldn’t stop screaming about how you’d already been through enough; about how you deserved a full day of peace before putting you through even more pain.

“Any other symptoms besides the dizziness?”

You hesitate, heated gaze faltering for a beat of time before you’re slamming your hand down once and Cassian waits a full thirty seconds; golden eyes boring into Azriel’s back, urging him to mention the nausea, the splitting headaches that had you gripping at the first hand you came in contact with for any sort of comfort.

But, Azriel doesn’t say a thing.

“That’s good, what about—“

“Headaches,” Cassian’s voice is raspy with such little use and he’s more than grateful for the brace preventing you from moving around too much because he’s certain one of those sickeningly sharp glares were being specially crafted with his name on it. “She gets headaches and throws up sometimes because of one of the tonics—it’s orange.”

Madja, ever the professional hums in acknowledgment, scribbling down more notes and a furrow grows at her brow. “Could be an allergy or maybe the mixture is too much on your stomach without solid foods yet,” She not even talking to you, just muttering her thoughts aloud while the others tense; awaiting your reaction. They wait for the ball to drop; wait for the throwing of the first item in sight. It wouldn’t have been the first time and Az’s shadows had gotten surprisingly good at predicting it, darkness darting before the window before you could smash it to pieces since Madja insisted she’d dock any damages from your pay. “Thank you, General, that was quite helpful.”

A full minute passes and still, there’s no yelling; no frustrated grunts or shouting in your mind—just utter silence and you’re too busy settling further into your pillow to notice Rhys’ curious stare.

“If you can manage no talking for seventy-two hours then I will clear you to finish your recovery from home,” You’re nodding before she can finish, Azriel gently pushing you back when you try to sit up in your excitement. “I mean it—I’ll know if you aren’t taking the physical therapy seriously. At least an hour of walking a day ; slowly so you don’t aggravate your ribs and I’ll take off the shoulder wrap if you swear not to do any heavy lifting of any kind.” You throw her a pointed look, a hand waving around to motion at the three men that had been permanently stationed around you.

“We’ll take good care of her.”

Madja exhales a steady breath, hands resting at her sides and way she regards you is nearly motherly; relief settling into her features when she can confidently say you’ll make it. “Then, I suppose you’re free to go.”

—

“Come on she said at least an hour.”

Azriel is a sturdy pillar before you, arms crossed and shadows incessantly tug at the thick duvet you’d been grasping at like your life depended on it since he barged in ten minutes ago. You grunt in disapproval, settling deeper into the mattress and you shield your eyes from the bright light steadily pouring through—even though you remembered closing the curtains last night.

“You’ve already skipped breakfast and lunch; it’s nearly three in the afternoon. Get up.”

Your inability to speak seems to work in your favor because all you offer Az in return is a hand peeking from the covers to flip him off.

A pause and one eye pries open when you hear footsteps retreating. Five minutes pass, then five more before you relax back into the fluffy pillows, dragging the covers up to your chin and a content smile curves at the corner of your mouth for a fraction of a second before your entire body is drenched in freezing cold water.

You lurch from the bed like a creature rising from the dead, feet bare and legs on full display when you slowly stare up at the pleased shadowsinger, eyes wide and arms frozen in surprise as you dripped all over the floor like a wet dog. “Good. Since you’re up and showered, let’s go downstairs and get you something to eat.” Azriel’s looping an arm in your own and leading you out before you even have time to change, sloshing footsteps left in your wake and when you enter the sitting room Mor has to slap a hand over her mouth to hide the laughter.

“Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

It’s harmless teasing; friendly laughs and eyes lined with water when they mention the rats nest atop your head but Cassian’s boisterous laugh doesn’t join in on the fun. He takes one look at you and quietly leaves the room; he'd been doing that a lot since the accident—ever so present when you weren't consious and practically non-existent when you were.

You catch Feyre staring at the bruises on your neck, the thick bandage stuck in place on your temple, how stiff your posture was from the tight wrappings securing your ribs in place and she flushes when you offer her a tight-lipped smile, trying to appear more sturdy than you looked. "Sit, I'll get your food."

Eyes roll at Az's choice of words, easing over to the couch with a low grunt. Food was a sorry excuse for whatever the fuck you'd been sentenced to consume until the wires were removed. A thick porridge like substance with a distinct grit that lingered on your tongue no matter how much water you chased it with.

It was nice to be home though, to sleep in your own bed and being able to ease the tension with a hot bath and a stealthily stolen glass of wine—even if it was impossible to wash your hair or to change your clothes without assistance. Fresh air breezes through the windows, ruffling the curtains and the High Lord is quick to dry your clothes with a wave of his hand. With nothing more than a quick touch to his shoulder in thanks, the others watch you brace your weight against things to get to the hallway, turning left in the same direction Cass had gone earlier.

It’s not hard to find him, cooped up in his room with a glass of amber liquid in hand; eyes trained on the crackling fire. “What are you doing in here?” He’s up in a flash, wings pulled tight behind him and a broad shoulder urges your good arm around his neck, warm hands are careful when lifting you off your feet and carrying you over to the neatly made bed against the wall. Pillows are stacked behind your back to prop you up in a way that didn’t agitate your ribs and you give a sad smile when Cassian’s eyes linger on the bruises that were steadily healing up the length of your legs and he’s carefully covering them in blankets with a shaky breath.

Usually, he’d have sat next to you but now you’re unbearably aware of the distance he puts between you; hands clutched at his sides like he was physically restraining himself from reaching out to touch. “You eat yet?” A slow shake of your head and Cass lets out a little chuckle in understanding. “Not surprised, that shit’s gross. Az never was that good in the kitchen.”

Everything smells like him; male and musk, cedarwood and bourbon. It’s overwhelming in the best way and years of memories begin to flood your senses; countless late nights spent in here drinking and laughing about nothing. Lazy mornings with breakfast in bed and amused snorts over buttered toast and tea when the Illyrian boasted about his latest conquest or earned accomplishments but then would go sheepish when you’d genuinely told him you were proud of him—happy that he seemed happy.

Cassian shifts his weight from foot to foot, unable to meet your eye because you were gazing at him so lovingly; not an ounce of hate in sight and guilt bubbles in his belly like curdled milk. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll make you something.”

A few minutes pass of you examining the room before you notice there’s a bottle of whiskey on the bedside table and your brows furrow in worry. You’re grabbing it without second thought, shoving the bottle under the bed frame and out of sight before you hear the thudding footsteps coming down the hall and through the doorway. A goblet of a glass is clutched in one hand with a metal straw hanging over the rim; he rambles off some of the fruits he used while he walks over, gently settling it in your hands. Fingers graze and in the blink of an eye he’s already taken three steps worth of space between you but the berry smoothie is a significant upgrade from Azriel’s porridge mixture—little wins. This was sweet but not too sweet, thick enough to quell the rumbling in your stomach and thin enough to push through the gaps in the wires with ease. It’s half gone quicker than you care to admit but Cass seems pleased, yet the small smile he wears is quickly wiped off when you motion for him to sit next to you.

“I can’t.”

Brows scrunch together in silent question, head tilting to the side.

His face crumples, features lined with stress and it’s then you notice just how broken he appears—sure, maybe he didn’t have the bandages and wrappings but the damage was still there. “Look at you, peach,” Tears well at the pet name, your head lowering as if it could possibly hide the ugly bruising on your neck; it was the only spot that seemed to be taking forever to get better, a kaleidoscope of purples and deep blues. “Look what I’ve done to you,” Breath catches and you ache to comfort him when he doesn’t even bother to hold his wings off the ground. “I’m so sorry.”

Cassian only moves closer when you set the cup down and make way to stand; it’s then he sits near you, urging you back down and you see the way his throat bobs with the thick swallow when your hand gently rests over his own. Words aren’t needed to express how much you didn’t blame him; not anymore—not after the nights he’d spent hunched over your bedside spewing out confessions of his feelings. The unconditional love that never stopping pouring over when it came to you and the shameful jealousy that had followed. Secrets he’d kept in fear that you didn’t return the same affections; terrified to ruin the carefully crafted friendship that took centuries to perfect. To become an extension of the other and adding his feelings seemed messy—too complicated and then all of this. You and the sounds of your cries for help permanently branded at the forefront of his mind for all eternity. Waiting in anticipation for Madja’s updates on your health, how you were fairing and if there was any lasting brain damage; a burden he was fully prepared to bare for you. Willing to sit by your side with his fingers kneeding through your hair to soothe away the headache he knew was coming in from the scrunch of your nose even after being pumped full of pain relievers.

It seems fitting that you can’t voice what you know; the pieces that you’d held onto while stuck in your mind. Body too numb to even pry your eyes open but the hope of hearing it while conscious was a strong enough anchor to have you clawing to the surface—back to Cass and those lazy mornings and tea with entirely too much honey.

He’s a mess when you pull him in closer, brushing your fingers through his hair the same way he’d done for you. You can feel the feather light kisses he presses to the exposed injuries, silent tears dripping on your skin, hushed whispers of his apologies, all the ways he’d planned to do in order make it up to you. All the things he should’ve and would’ve and could’ve done and you have to pry his face from the crease of your neck to make him look you in the eye.

There are no words but the intensity of your stare says plenty and he’s right back where he started; wanting things he shouldn’t and falling back into selfish habits. Leaning into the warmth of your mouth slotting over his own and every bruise and broken bone doesn’t even matter when he’s finally kissing you—soft and tender but all too quick and he’s pulling away before you can memorize the feel of him. “You’re perfect,” Cassian whispers, forehead pressed against your own, hands keeping you close. “I don’t deserve you for a second.”

But you only kiss him again because in that moment nothing else mattered.

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar #high lord rhysand #azriel #cassian #cassian x you #cassian fanfic #general of the night court #cassian x reader #cassian acosf #cassian acotar #cassian fluff #cassian fic #best friends to lovers

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shibaraki · 1 year ago

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KISS IT BETTER ┊ SHINSOU HITOSHI

tags: GN reader, pro hero shinsou, support engineer reader, brief descriptions of blood + injury, tending to wounds, mutual pining, fluff, idiots to lovers, love confessions

wc: 1.9k

“You know I’m not a doctor, Hitoshi,” your voice is a low murmur yet loud in the cramped space of your bathroom. Just you, his shallow breathing and the steady flow of water in the sink. “I wish you would actually go to a hospital, or someone with a healing quirk”.

Hitoshi shrugs in the reflection and immediately appears to regret it as his face twists in discomfort, the movement jostling his wound. The bullet grazed a vivid arc right across the back of his left shoulder; thankfully not deep enough to require stitches or to damage the layers of skin beneath, but given the awkward to reach area and the blood that had been streaming through his fingers upon arrival you can’t say you blame him for waking you.

“You do it better,” he rasps. The soft hair on the back of your neck stands on end as you sense his eyes on you in the mirror. “You’re gentle. And good with your hands”.

The gauze dabbed around his wound is saturated red, quickly darkening and taking on a brownish hue. Resolutely avoiding his gaze you toss it beside the molehill of stained swabs already on the counter, reaching for a clean one and running it under the cold water. “I’m good with your equipment,” you stress with a huff, willing the heat crawling up your neck to go away. Years of working with delicate machinery keeps your hands steady. “I fix gadgets, Hitoshi. Not people”.

Hitoshi hums. Rather than contemplative he sounds faintly amused at your strong denial, as though he knows something you don’t. “You fix me just fine,” comes his soft reply as you successfully staunch the bleeding. Following the steps that have become routine for you both, he passes back the usual tub from your med kit—used so often now that the label has worn off—and adds nothing further while you cover the wound with a thin layer of petroleum jelly.

“Bandage,” you say, proffering your hand once more. Hitoshi twists his good arm to give you the non-stick dressings. You mumble an apology at the quiet hiss drawn between gritted teeth as you smooth the covered edges around the wound. “And… there. You’re set. That’s as good as you’ll get from me”.

Hitoshi turns in place before you’ve the chance to step away. You find yourself closer than intended. The white luminescence drapes over his shoulders and glints off the silver studs in each earlobe. You don’t know where to look. His ribs expand as he takes a staggered breath and your chests meet; a brief touch of bare skin but enough to make the sound of your heart flood your ears.

You catch how his throat bobs and entertain the thought that he might be equally affected. “Thanks,” he says. The gentle timbre of his voice settles over you like a cold fog of longing.

Neither of you have moved. You do not address the proximity as you study his upper body. There’s old bruising on his hip that looks a bit like an abstract painting but nothing else of immediate concern. He’s lean and angular, tall enough to cast an impressive shadow; neither of you are children anymore.

“You don’t have any other injuries hidden, do you?” you ask, eyes trailing up the column of his throat and lingering on the healed scar tissue cutting through the right of his mouth. It begins beneath his nose, strikes through the dark scruff along his jaw and ends far beneath his jugular, a paint stroke left by a brush with death. The memory is fresh in your mind and guides your hands to cup his chin, thumb tracing the raised skin. You don’t recall ever being that afraid for anyone, and yet he returned to work the day after as though nothing had happened.

At the very least it gives you ample reason to stare at his mouth. You can feel his gaze on you, peering down through half lidded eyes. There’s warm intensity behind them, like he can see through your poorly strung excuse, but if that is the case then he’s allowing it to happen, and you think that reveals just as much.

“It healed perfectly. You don’t need to worry about it,” he murmurs. There’s almost a breathless quality to it that invites goosebumps. And you freeze, as if caught.

“Not worried,” his lips press thin at the sudden cold tone as you turn to gather the used gauze and throw it in the bin beside the sink. “Your funeral not mine”.

Hitoshi moves when you nudge him aside, blood staining the dispenser as you squeeze some soap into your hands and scrub yourself raw under the running tap. The murky red water gurgles down the drain, rivulets streaking higher up the basin and likely to stain. You’re so lost in the sight that you barely register the larger hand coming to cover your own.

“Stop. Let me,” he says, already prying your entwined fists apart to gently massage the soap along each finger. Body heat seeps through your sleep shirt as he loosely wraps around you. You lean into him a fraction and imagine he’s embracing you like a lover while he cleans the dried blood from beneath your nails.

Silence befalls the small space once the water cuts out. Rather than dry your hands Hitoshi keeps them there, encased in his, his thumbs stroking back and forth over your knuckles. He rests his forehead on the curve of your throat and something shifts. The atmosphere, the ephemeral thing between you that you called friendship, the hips that press closer until he’s shaped perfectly to your back.

“I’m sorry,” you hear him say.

Wild violet hair tickles your cheek. It’s shorter than last time. You stare at your conjoined reflection as you overturn your wrists, threading your wet fingers together until your palms kiss. “For what?” you prompt, watching his head lift while you speak. “For constantly breaking your support equipment? For bursting into my apartment after midnight and bleeding all over my carpet again? For scaring me and making me lose sleep? For this—” your eyes meet in the mirror and your mouth becomes dry. “For this less than professional relationship?”

At that the corner of Hitoshi’s mouth lifts in the suggestion of a smile, and suddenly exasperation and fondness is warring over your expression. He clears his throat, almost shy, and he tightens his grip on your fingers. “I guess I’m sorry for all of that, too. But that’s not what I meant”.

��What else is there?” you tilt your head. In a heart stopping move, he turns his nose into your temple.

“I’m sorry I can’t… shit. That I can’t be normal about this kind of thing,” he admits, jaw shifting as he fights the discomfort that so often accompanies being vulnerable. “I always feel like I need some dire excuse otherwise you’ll see right through me”.

“See through you—?” the clamouring in your mind comes to a standstill. Your tongue sits heavy behind your teeth. You spin in his arms, The sink counter digs into your lower back and your hands, mostly dried by the air, come to rest on his bare chest. A mottled blush spreads across his collarbones. “What, you bled on my carpet because you didn’t want me to know you liked me or something?”

Hitoshi grimaces. His eyes rose to the ceiling to avoid your scrutiny and he hesitates to hold your hips. “Sounds stupid when you put it like that,” he huffs.

“Because it is,” you remark, sliding your hands further up and around his ears. Cradling the back of his head you tip him forward and force him to look at you. “You could’ve just brought me coffee at work or something”.

“You’re missing the point,” he mutters, gaze dropping to your lips and away, staring at the space between your eyebrows. “I did it so you wouldn’t know”.

“Why not?”

“Because there’s no way that you’d…” he blinks. His words lose strength as your nose bumps his. You feel a shaky breath leave his lips.

“No way that I’d like you?” as you finish the sentence for him, unsure if he even hears you behind then far off look in his eyes. Emboldened, you pitch your voice lower, quiet enough to cover the short distance between your mouths. You stroke your thumb over the swell of his cheek and say, “You think I patch up every guy that rolls through my bedroom window?”

“Well. There better not be any other guys coming in through your windows,” he rasps, cautiously tipping forward. A playful furrow has etched into his brow. Hitoshi wets his lips, searching your expression for something—perhaps rejection or anything close to it. “I know you’re a good person. You’re good to me. I figured that’s all it was”.

“Right, I’m good to you,” you nod and hear his breathing hitch as your mouths brush. The blush across his chest has spread fingers up his throat to his cheeks, enough reach to stain his ears pink. Hitoshi sways forward. You collide. He kisses you, finally. It is every bit as solemnly sweet and respectful as the hands at your waist.

You can’t help but smile, and feel his smile in turn. There is something so boyish and coy about it; you would never expect it from a man of his status—a man that sees the worst of humanity and spends his nights both evading and preventing death.

“…Oh,” he breathes dumbly as you pull back, his focus caught on the swipe of your tongue.

“Oh,” you repeat to lightheartedly tease, pushing the heel of your hands to his cheeks together until his mouth juts into an ugly pout. Restlessness grips you seeing it paired with his dazed expression, already wanting more than he can give in his current condition.

You release his cheeks and rub them in apology. “You’re done for the night, yeah?”

“Yeah…?” fingers dig in at your soft waist, drawing you impossibly close, as though he were savouring the last of the moment. You smooth over his shoulders, down the curve of his biceps, along thick forearms to take his wrists.

“Good. You’re coming to bed with me,” you tell him. The stupefied look after tucking a kiss to the corner of his mouth will never get old, you’re sure of it. “We’re going to sleep. Tomorrow I’ll help you clean and redress your injury and then,” you press another kiss on his jaw, nuzzling the coarse stubble there, “then you can take me out for breakfast”.

You almost lose your footing. In one swift motion Hitoshi has swung the bathroom door open and begun corralling you through it toward the bedroom. There’s an echo of soft, near drunken laughter as you navigate the darkness, and you realise, belatedly, that it is coming from you.

The strong arms cinched around your middle unraveled to drop you on top of the covers. Reclining into the plush pillows at the head of your bed, you holdout your arms to welcome Hitoshi into honeyed repose. The mattress yields under his weight. Breath held, he crawls over to you—braces over you and sinks onto his forearms.

Seconds pass. Fingers dance across his back, avoiding his bandages. Your grin is concealed by the darkness but it’s clear in your voice. “Hitoshi,” you whisper. “You can breathe now”.

With an exaggerated exhale, Hitoshi sinks into the crook of your body and smooshes his face into the pillow beside your head. “I’ll try not to bleed on your bedsheets,” he says, muffled. Then quieter, much later, when he’s sure you won’t hear it, “I like you”.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader

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alwaysmicado · 1 year ago

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What you need

2.9k | 18+ NSFW | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 4

Warnings: no outbreak AU, implied age gap, facesitting, unprotected p in v, creampie, pet names, Joel is the little spoon Summary: Joel is sick and your pussy's the best medicine. A/N: This one’s just cute! 🤍 After the next two parts or so, we’ll start to get into it for real. Fucking around is fun, but it doesn’t last forever, does it…

pt. 1 ・ pt. 2 ・ pt. 3 ・ series masterlist ・ AO3

You: How was the client? Joel: I stayed home, not feeling too well You: You need anything? Joel: Just you ;) You: I’ll be there in 30. Stay in bed! Joel: No no babe, it’s okay Missed Call Missed Call Missed Call Joel: You’re unbelievable

“Oh, come on,” you groan and lift the measuring cup towards Joel’s lips. “Why are you such a stubborn baby, huh? Just drink the fuck-”

You stop yourself when you see him raise an eyebrow, a smug smirk tugging at the corners of his pale lips. He’s sitting in bed, his back supported by pillows, his head leaning against the wooden headboard panel.

Propping Joel up comfortably like this was a struggle in and of itself since this grown, successful man only sleeps with one, worn-out pillow he’s probably had since before you were born, so you also had to get two plumper ones from his couch to provide enough support for his poor back. What is it with him and refusing comfort?

At least now you know what to get him for his birthday in September…

“Hmm, you love it,” he teases and puts his hand on your waist to pinch you lightly.

“I would love it if you stopped fighting me and just took the damn NyQuil,” you counter and search his eyes. They’re heavy-lidded and glassy, revealing the exhaustion Joel’s been trying to fight all day.

You sigh and softly brush a strand of sweat-dampened hair from his forehead. He’s running a fever and the cool, damp washcloth you put on his forehead to alleviate at least some of his evident discomfort only did so much.

At this point, you really just need him to listen to you for once, take the damn medicine and, most importantly, lie down and give his body the rest it so desperately needs.

You look at the collection of bottles on the nightstand next to him and shake your head. Since you didn’t know what his symptoms were before you came, you stopped at a pharmacy on your way over and bought everything : DayQuil, NyQuil, a bottle of cough syrup, peppermint tea, a bunch of pain meds, Epsom salts with eucalyptus and essential oils, fresh produce to make a smoothie - hell, even a thermometer because you weren’t sure if he has one.

The only thing missing is the patient’s cooperation.

“I appreciate your care, darlin’,” Joel murmurs, reaching for your hand to pepper your palm with soft kisses, “but I really don’t need any of that. I’m just a bit under the weather, that’s all.”

“You’d rather die than admit you’re sick, huh,” you state with a tilted head and raised eyebrows.

“Now that’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it,” he murmurs and nibbles on your arm.

“Says the grown man who gagged from the tiniest sip of green smoothie,” you scoff.

“Yeah, well, that shit was disgusting,” he chuckles, pulling you closer by your waist so you’re straddling his lap. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

“You have a fever, Joel,” you sigh and cup his cheeks. “I’m worried, okay?”

“About little old me?” He smiles and squeezes your hips.

“Yeah,” you lean in to press soft kisses to his cheek. “And I need you to let me help you, so tell me what-”

“Sit on my face.”

“Huh?” You sit back up and look into his eyes in surprise.

“Take your slutty little pants off and sit on my face,” he repeats with a cocked eyebrow.

“How is that-”

“I’ll take the meds if you do,” he interrupts with a smirk, his eye crinkles giving away his genuine amusement at this genius suggestion.

You sigh deeply and look at the ceiling. How is this guy real? “And a whole smoothie,” you murmur as you get up.

You push your shorts down together with your panties, let them fall to the floor, then climb back onto the bed to straddle Joel’s lap without the covers separating you this time. He looks at you hungrily, the fever completely forgotten as he sees and feels your naked cunt and thighs.

“Mmm, that’s it, baby,” he groans softly, his big hands on you immediately, gripping your ass and moving you up and down the length of his hardening cock. “Look at the mess you’re already making on me,” he murmurs, turned on by the wetness you’re spreading over his gray sweatpants.

“You get off on caring for me, hm?” He taunts with a smug grin.

“Oh, shut up,” you roll your eyes and capture his lips in a bruising kiss. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, as close as he possibly can, kissing you greedily. You writhe and wriggle on his lap, moaning into his mouth, your hands tangled in his hair.

He breaks the kiss to nibble and bite at the soft skin of your neck, leaving marks behind. You’re letting it slide this time, enjoying the tantalizing sensation of slight pain mixed with the soft touch of his lips and facial hair that’s causing your pussy to clench around nothing.

You’re just going to have to wear a silk scarf or something to work.

“God, I wanna taste you so bad, baby,” Joel moans into the crook of your neck, his eyes closed. You bite your lip and hum as the friction of your movements on Joel’s pants stimulates your clit perfectly.

“You gonna be good if I let you?” You purr into his ear with a roll of your hips, eliciting a soft whimper from him.

“You come all over my face, angel, and I’ll do whatever you want,” he whispers, his fingers digging into your sides.

“Alright, baby,” you coo and lift your weight off his lap. “Lie down for me.”

Joel scoots down and lays his head on the pillows, looking at you intently with big eyes. You position yourself over his face, hold on to the bed’s headboard panel and lower your hips carefully.

“Look so fucking gorgeous,” he mumbles before hooking his arms over your thighs and pulling you further down. His warm breath and facial hair tickle you as he kisses your lips softly, then drags his nose through your wet folds, inhaling your mesmerizing scent and nudging your swollen clit before repeating the movement.

You throw your head back and moan softly as he slides his tongue between your folds, lapping at your dripping hole and pushing in ever so slightly before circling your clit. Your fingers tangle in his dark curls as the vibrations of his deep groans intensify every movement of his lips and tongue.

“Fuck, you taste divine like always,” Joel breathes as he dips his tongue into your wet heat to lap up as much of you as he can. You look down and clench around his tongue when you see his blown pupils and frenzied look. His mouth moves at a relentless pace, making you squirm and tug on his curls harder. You’re so close already.

When your moans get louder and Joel feels you grinding your pussy on his face harder to chase your imminent high, he can’t resist biting the marks already adorning your skin.

“Ow, fuck!” You cry out in surprise at the sudden pain shooting through you. You hadn’t even noticed the purple bruises on your inner thighs when you showered and got dressed today.

Maybe it should concern you that your body hasn’t been without bruises for a few months now. But it doesn’t, if you’re being honest with yourself. You just weren’t planning on showing someone else’s marks off to Joel this time. You really weren’t.

“Fun night?” Joel asks with a smirk before sucking on your swollen clit hard, keeping you in place with his hands splayed over your ass.

“Can’t complain,” you bite back back, or at least try to, since your voice devolves into a soft whine at Joel’s harsh treatment of your sensitive bundle of nerves. The deliciously painful feeling is almost enough to send you over the edge.

“Oh fuck, that’s it,” you moan as he starts lapping at your dripping hole again, his nose rubbing against your clit with every stroke. “Feels so good, baby.”

Joel groans with each lick to your puffy folds and throbbing clit, hooking his arms over your legs again and digging his fingers into your skin. “Please, Joel,” you whine, tugging on his hair harder.

“Use my face, angel,” he pants breathlessly, completely drunk on your pussy. You’re the sweetest thing he’s ever seen or tasted. “Take what you need from me.”

He's bucking his hips, trying to get as much friction from his pants as possible, precum leaking out of this cock steadily.

“I’m– oh fuck –I’m gonna come,” you moan, sliding your drenched pussy over Joel’s tongue and nose frantically. He hums blissfully, holding on to your thighs and watching your face as you arch your back and fall apart with a strangled moan.

You come on his tongue, your hips stuttering and your whole body trembling from the intense orgasm. Joel groans as he eagerly drinks your cum and slowly licks you clean when he feels you come down again. You yelp and your hips jolt at the overstimulation when he sucks your pulsating clit into his mouth, savoring your taste.

You lift your hips and look down at him, your chest heaving and a satisfied smile playing on your lips when you see his jaw and facial hair dripping with a mix of his saliva and your cum. He looks gorgeous like this.

You swing your leg over Joel’s chest and lie down beside him. He turns to face you and gently traces your thigh with his warm hand, still breathing heavily. You scoot closer, so you’re flush with his body and place your bent leg between his.

“Kiss me, Joel,” you purr as you nudge his wet nose with yours and caress his cheek with your palm. He gives you a smile before leaning in and capturing your swollen lips with his. You part your lips and allow his tongue to slip inside, feeding you your own cum. He grabs your ass to pull you closer against him, your bodies pressed together heatedly, both breathing heavily as you feel the thud of your combined heartbeat. Joel groans into your mouth softly as he rubs his throbbing cock against your hip, his hand traveling along your waist to your belly. You thrust your hips so your pussy rubs against his thigh on the bed, more than ready to come again.

“So perfect,” Joel murmurs against your lips as he slides his hand under your shirt and palms your breast. He tweaks your hard nipple, eliciting a soft moan from you. He furrows his brow and looks into your eyes intently, his pupils even bigger than before. Every fiber of his fevered body is aching for you, to be close to you, to become one with you, to be yours.

You see something shift in his face, but can’t put your finger on what it is, so you don't say anything.

“Can I fuck you?” He mumbles into your neck where he’s kissing and biting at you sloppily, his hand still massaging your breast and his cock screaming for release.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You breathe, your need for Joel to be alright still trumping your primal need to get off. You're an animal, not an asshole.

“I’m more than okay, darlin’,” he reassures you with a tired smile.

“And you’re not gonna die on me halfway through?”

“Don’t care,” he murmurs and takes your hand to press it against his erection. You rub up and down his length slowly as he slides his hand between your legs. You groan when he circles your sensitive clit a few times before sliding two of his fingers into your warm cunt. He pumps them in and out a few times before adding a third, the heel of his palm putting delicious pressure on your clit.

“You want me to ride you, baby?” You pant, feeling your second orgasm build already.

“Can we-,” Joel breathes, his cock throbbing, “can we just stay like this?”

“Of course,” you nod and help him pull down his sweatpants. He pulls his fingers out of you and wets his cock with your slick before removing his pants fully. “C’mere,” you coo as you draw him close to you and drape your leg over his hip. He strokes his length a few times before nudging your entrance with his pulsating tip and sliding in in one smooth thrust. He wraps his arm around you, splaying his hand on your back under your shirt, moaning into your hair when he bottoms out.

“Oh shit, you feel too good, baby,” he groans and holds on to your ass cheek to pull you toward him in unison with his frantic thrusts. “I– fuck –I ain’t gonna last long,” he pants. “You want me to fill you up?”

“Yeah,” you nod with a needy moan, your brow furrowed. Joel’s cock is hitting your g-spot repeatedly, causing the muscles in your thighs and lower belly to tense and your climax to approach rapidly.

“Tell me, baby,” he breathes, his cock massaging your inner walls with every snap of his hips.

“I-I want you to come inside me, Joel,” you whine, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Please, please fill me up.”

He can feel your walls tightening around him and your whole body tensing, so he tilts your head up by gripping the nape of your neck. “Look at me, baby,” he breathes and grinds his pelvis against your clit. It only takes a few more of his thrusts for the tension in your belly to snap with an intensity you’re never able to achieve on your own. Or with anyone else for that matter.

You come with his name on your lips, your walls spasming and contracting around his cock as you ride out your orgasm. Seeing and hearing and feeling you in such a state of ecstasy due to his touch pushes him over the edge, emptying himself deep inside of you with a breathless groan. He stays buried inside you as his cock pulses and your pussy swallows every last drop of his warm cum.

You stay like that for a minute, limbs intertwined, skin hot and sweaty, breathing heavily, hearts pounding, looking at each other curiously. You slowly trace Joel’s eye crinkles with your fingertips, then gently run your fingers along his perfect nose before moving further down to gently touch the bare spot on his jaw where his facial hair never grows.

“What’re you doing,” he chuckles, drawing shapes on your ass and thigh with his fingertips.

“Nothing,” you lie with a warm smile. “Just looking at the man who most definitely just gave me all of his germs and will most definitely come and clean my apartment when I’m lying in bed with a fever."

Joel rolls his eyes in mock offense and you giggle. “Told you to stay away when you showed up here,” he murmurs and slaps your ass playfully.

“Oh, Joel,” you sigh, “you’ve come inside me so many times that our DNA is probably the same at this point.” You kiss his forehead. “I don’t care about a few germs if I get to ride your face and hear your cute little whimpers when you almost come in your pants like a teenager.”

Joel's cheeks flush with a mix of fever and embarrassment as he catches the hint of a grin on your face. “Stop it,” he grumbles, the corner of his lips twitching involuntarily. “You’re mean.”

“And you’re impossible,” you chuckle, your hand reaching out gently to stroke his forehead and tousled hair in a soothing gesture. His eyelids flutter at your touch and a faint sigh escapes him, a small surrender to the tenderness you’re offering.

— “Thank you, darlin’,” Joel murmurs before setting down the glass on the nightstand and laying his head on the pillow mountain you’ve built for him. “I’m just gonna lie down for a bit.”

“Alright, baby” you coo, walking over to your bag to retrieve your phone, then sitting on the bed beside him. You play a game for a few minutes, relaxing and monitoring Joel’s rhythmic breathing. He’s lying on his belly, his head turned away from you, his left knee pulled toward his chest. It’s the same exact pose you sleep in.

In another life you might fall asleep like this together every night, two puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly, completing each other. You smile softly at the thought and reach out to stroke his back.

“All your fault,” Joel grumbles into the pillows.

“Huh?” You ask, startled and confused. You thought he was fast asleep.

“Haven’t seen you in over a week,” he mumbles. “Bad for my system.”

You chuckle and plant a soft kiss on his temple. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Won’t happen again.”

“Just stay for a while,” he murmurs, his voice a mere whisper. You linger for a few seconds, studying his profile, before lying down behind him. He instinctively turns from his belly onto his side, so you can drape your arm over him.

“You can sleep now, baby,” you whisper as you nestle against his back, molding your body to his contours, your warm breath ghosting the nape of his neck.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

---

Thank you for reading! 🤍

part 3 || part 5 || series masterlist

#fwb!joel miller x f!reader #fwb!joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller AU #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller tlou #joel the last of us #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel miller fluff #the last of us fic #smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal

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chiabeanz · 3 months ago

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Ice Packs and Peachy Delights

PAIRING: logan howlett x reader (she/her pronouns are used) SUMMARY: reader just got her wisdom teeth out and isn’t feeling very well, wade and logan are here to help | pure fluff, some tension and some swearing, PG-13 at most. WORD COUNT: 3k

The clinic's fluorescent lights flickered as the receptionist handed you a small slip of paper. “You’re all set,” she said, her tone a mix of sympathy and professionalism. You nodded, barely registering her words, and tried to say thank you through the gauze, probably sounding like something else completely but the receptionists understood. The local anesthesia had worn off just enough for you to feel the ache in your jaw, and the pain was starting to get worse by the minute.

Your face was a mix of soreness and the strange feeling of having no back molars. The dentist had handed you a small bag, its contents a bizarre souvenir from the day’s adventure—your wisdom teeth. You clutched the bag tightly, half-dismayed, half-amused at the thought of carrying around bits of yourself like a twisted memento, before carefully placing it into your tote bag.

You stumbled out into the waiting area, where Wade Wilson, aka Deadpool, was leaning against the wall, casually flipping through a comic book. His eyes lit up when he saw you, and he pushed himself off the wall with a flourish. “Look at you! Alive and… well, mostly intact.”

“I feel like shit,” you muttered, attempting a weak smile. Your face was still numb, but you could definitely feel the throbbing pain settling in. The gauze stuffed in your mouth made you talk with a muffled drawl.

"Well, I can promise you that you don’t look as bad as you feel." Wade tried to cheer you up, but you shot it down with a deadpan reply. "With blood pouring out of my mouth?" You say into the piece of tissue you've taken out of your bag to put over your mouth to at least save the eyes of the passerby, both of you walking towards the parking lot in front of the dentist after picking up the meds that were prescribed.

"Still a friendlier look than when you tried to throw that chair at me two months ago." He points out. "It was a joke, Wade." You reply trying to speak without messing with what feels like a crime scene in your mouth.

He replies in a softer tone, using an uncommon quieter voice he rarely used while sticking the keys into the ignition. "Still, it wasn’t very funny. Vanessa gave me that chair." You felt a pang in your chest, you didn’t mean for the conversation to shift like this, especially since he insisted from the day on that you mentioned that you had to get an appointment to get your wisdom teeth out because the pain and discomfort just kept coming and going to the point where you just did not want to procrastinate anymore, that he was going to pick you up from the dentist.

You replied, a bit more pronounced than you wanted to especially with the two pieces of gauze still sitting in the same spot that you, somehow, forgot in this second "I told you I didn’t knooooow and I already said I was SORRY- OW!" The gums didn’t like that, so you were reminded. You carefully moved your hand to cup your cheek which was slowly but surely becoming more swollen.

"Ok that one's on me," Wade replied, smiling again. "For what it's worth, I forgave you for that long ago, I know you didn't know. And I'll shut up now, for the sake of your squirell-hiding-a-fuck-ton-of-nuts cheeks." You could only throw him a heavy case of side-eye because was he wrong? The reflection of yourself glancing back at you on your phone screen would say no. Your eyes moved from the phone in your hands to a shiny piece of plastic reflecting the sunlight, picking it up from the opened bag sitting on your lap.

As Wade drove, he glanced over at you and noticed the bag you held. “What’s in the bag?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

With a smirk, you lifted it up. “My wisdom teeth.”

Wade’s eyes widened in mock horror. “Oh, that’s just wrong! You’re bringing home your wisdom like a trophy? How’s that for bragging rights?”

You chuckled, despite the pain. “Yeah, well, I figured I’d keep them as a reminder of how much I’ve endured for the sake of dental hygiene.”

Wade shook his head, laughing. “You’re braver than I am. I’d have left those suckers in the dumpster. I wanted to make a joke about your loss of wisdom but I guess you're still holding onto it after all."

You both shared a laugh, and the conversation shifted to lighter topics as Wade maneuvered through traffic. The absurdity of the situation made the discomfort more bearable, and the humor helped in forgetting, if only momentarily, the throbbing pain in your jaw.

---

By the time you reached your apartment, you were a picture of post-surgical misery: bloodstained gauze, swollen cheeks, and a general air of crankiness.

Wade was rummaging through your cabinets and muttering curses under his breath. “So, what you need is... Well you actually prepped everything here, I see ice packs, painkillers, and baby food- Look at this! We have 'Applesauce,' 'Carrot Puree,' and 'Peachy Delight.' If you have some left by the end of this let me know some of these actually sound kinda good-.” "Fuck…" You sighed when the realization hit.

You forgot the one thing that honestly feels like the most important thing right now with the presence of the blood and saliva mixture in your mouth. "I forgot to buy gauze and the clinic only gave one spare pair. Shiiiit."

You leaned back onto the couch before sitting up straighter again, reminded of what your dentist had said: "Try to sit up the first few hours after the surgery until the bleeding stops." You've gotta be fucking kidding me.

He turned to you “I’ll make a run to the store then." You grimaced, shifting uncomfortably on the couch.

"Please don't." You replied. "You already went all the way to pick me up, I'm not gonna let you go grocery shopping too."

He smirked and said "What are you gonna do? Stop me by challenging me to a chubby cheeks duel?" If only looks could kill, he would've been six feet under.

"Besides I'm not gonna leave you here all alone. You know what would make this whole recovery thing a lot better? Logan. He’s just around the corner. I could get him to swing by and keep you company.”

“No,” you said firmly, your voice muffled by the gauze. “I look like crap. I don’t want him seeing me like this.”

Wade raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You sure? He’s a big softie. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind seeing you like this.”

You shook your head, wincing at the pain. “No way. I’m fine. I don’t need him to—”

“Okay, okay. I hear you,” Wade said, though his grin suggested he wasn’t taking you seriously. He fished out his phone and started typing a message, not giving you a chance to protest further.

"Wade, I swear to god if you-" You speak after him as he closes the cabinets and grabs the car keys that were just recently plopped down onto the counter, making his way to the front door.

"Sorry can’t hear you through all the gauze byeeee." With that he slams the door behind him, leaving you to fume silently. The thought of Logan seeing you in such a state was mortifying. The last thing you wanted was to be seen like this by ANYONE, let alone HIM.

---

A short while later, the doorbell rang, and you shuffled to answer it, barely managing to pull yourself together. Logan stood on the other side, looking both bewildered and amused. “Wade said you needed some help?” he asked, his gaze sweeping over your flushed face and the half-empty bag of ice clutched to your cheek. Thank god the ice chips hack worked, you don’t think you would've opened the door if you still had to bite down on the gauze. Pretending to be dead would've been the better alternative. Maybe.

You tried to muster a smile, but it probably looked more like a grimace. “Yeah, well... Wade insisted. I didn’t ask for this.”

Logan’s expression softened as he stepped inside, a soft chuckle escaping him. “I see. Well, let’s make sure you’re comfortable, yeah?” You caught him glancing around the room, probably noting the slight disarray as you tried to make yourself comfortable.

As he made his way to the couch, you watched him with a mix of relief and embarrassment. “Thanks for coming. I didn’t mean to make a big deal out of it.”

“No trouble at all. Wade can be a bit pushy, but he’s got a good heart.” He replied and sat down on the couch next to you. The minutes ticked by, with Logan asking gentle questions and helping you adjust the ice pack. He didn’t push you to talk much, which you appreciated more than you could say.

In a moment of comfortable silence, Logan notices you shifting the ice pack in your hands. "You alright with that?" he raises his brow.

"Yeah, just a bit cold, hands are a bit frostbitey but it's fine." You reply smiling sheepishly, waving your other hand to help signify that it really is not as bad, because honestly, nothing can feel worse than your bottom jaw right now.

With that, he reaches over the couch, automatically scooting closer to you. "Give me that." He gestures towards the ice pack, making your hands a bit tingly, whether it's the cold, the nerves from the procedure, or him, you couldn't tell anymore.

"No, it's alright really. I'm serious." You reply, only for him to shut your attempt down with a short, stoic, yet sweet: "So am I." You stare into his eyes for a split second too long before you defeatedly hand the ice pack over to him.

Logan had taken to holding the ice pack for you, his touch surprisingly gentle. At first, you’d insisted you could manage it yourself. "I can do it myself, you know." You say, your voice now only a tiny bit above a whisper with how close his face has gotten to yours, his touch truly careful, becoming even softer when he doesn't miss the tiny wince that you tried to suppress when the ice pack met your cheek. You could feel the warmth of his body with how close he was to you at this point, contrasting the coldness of the ice.

“I know you can,” he said softly, “but I want you to know that you don’t always have to.”

You really hoped that he didn't see your eyes falling to his lips for a millisecond before you forcefully pulled them back to his eyes, but by the way his gaze softened and one corner of his lips shifted up ever so slightly, you couldn't be so sure anymore.

The comfortable silence settled back in again, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of your ice pack. The shift within the air, while small, was quite hard to ignore, existing like a floating invisible thread drawing you closer and closer. Logan’s presence was soothing. The way he moved, the way he breathed, the way his eyes crinkled with quiet amusement—it all made you feel oddly safe despite the pain you were in.

Just as that thread pulls you two closer than ever before, a pair of red scissors and way too fucking many grocery bags bursts through the door and cuts it straight down the middle. How he managed to unlock the door so quietly, and how the door remained in one piece, still attached to its hinges will forever remain a mystery.

“Guess who’s back with your very important gauze and baby food, and yes, I managed to avoid all the worst of the baby food aisle!”

Wade burst through the door, balancing a collection of grocery bags and a mischievous grin.

Logan’s eyebrows shot up, and you couldn’t help but laugh despite the throbbing in your mouth.

Wade set the bags down with a dramatic flourish. “I see Logan has managed to make himself comfortable. Good job, buddy. I knew you’d be the perfect substitute for me.”

Logan rolled his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips as he held the ice pack in a way like he was offering it to you but also hoping that you'd let him hold it for you a bit longer. “He certainly knows how to make an entrance.”

You take the ice pack from his hand whispering a soft thank you.

Wade’s gaze turned back to you, his grin softening. “So, how’s our patient holding up? I got you a mountain of gauze because you can never have too much gauze. And some top-of-the-line baby food, most of this is for me but that's not the point."

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Thanks, Wade. You really didn't have to.”

He shrugged, winking at you. “Hey, you’re the one who got her wisdom teeth yanked out. It’s practically my duty to be overly dramatic about it…Wait, don't tell me you don't need gauze anymore." He adds as he notices the lack of gauze-ness in your speech.

"I'm afraid so since you chose to take your fucking time," Logan adds as he gets up to put the now almost room-temperature ice pack back in the freezer, switching it with a new one.

You couldn’t help but smile at the friendly banter. “I appreciate it. Both of you.”

Your gaze lingered on his hands which, thank god, he didn't pick up on. Turning to Wade, however, confirmed that your eyes weren't as secretive as you hoped they were, as he wiggled his eyebrows at you before winking, earning a subtle middle finger from you while you pretended to move a strand off from your face.

Logan walks towards the couch and hands you a neatly wrapped icy cool ice pack which you take from his hands, fingertips brushing, but pulling yourself together pretending that that didn't happen because you've let yourself slip one too many times already today. You lean back against the couch and softly put the ice pack back on your cheek, feeling a bit sleepy after the entire ordeal today. Wade turns the TV on to see if anything interesting is on, settling on the armchair next to the couch while Logan takes the gauze out of the bags.

"Do you store these in your bathroom or the kitchen?" He asks looking at you, whose eyes are closed, trying not to think about the pain. Ibuprofen WILL be taken after the next meal you promised yourself.

"Both are fine but you can leave it in the bathroom, on the shelf under the mirror maybe." You reply.

"Yes ma'am," Logan replies causing you to take a subtle but deeper breath. Why was that so attractive, c’mon he's just trying to help you out what is wrong with you, you thought?

You could only say "Thank you." in return, trying to keep your voice as unaffected by whatever that was.

As Logan comes back into the living area he gestures to Wade and says "You bought so much baby food, do you know that?"

"Do you have something that you want to tell us about?" You open your eyes and jokingly raise your brow at him.

"Not in the way that you think, no, but this baby right here-" he holds his stomach. "Loves to explore all types of cuisines and he's been lustin' after 'Peachy Delight' from the second he laid his eyes on her."

"Your stomach has eyes?" You and Logan deadpan at the same time making you look at each other in amusement. You add a quick great minds think alike, narrowing your eyes in a tone of semi-seriousness but also lighthearted comment before tuning back into Wade's culinary rant. That rant then turned into a dinner party of three, taste-testing of the best of the best jars of baby food, according to the now culinary master apparently. Before the conversation moves to the couch and armchair in front of the TV.

A few more hours in, the ibuprofen after dinner has kicked in, and the comfort of the fluffy blanket you have draped over your thighs has returned, no longer being drowned out by the throbbing pain in your jaw, which is subsiding bit by bit. This return to coziness has made your eyelids feel rather heavy, something Logan noticed when he sensed your breathing become more calm and even. Wade was too glued to the TV to notice anything really. Logan’s gaze falls on your slightly flushed face caused by the ice packs that have been held against your face for most parts of the day before his gaze drifts from your cheeks to your lashes.

“You’re starting to fall asleep,” Logan said softly, adjusting the ice pack gently. He has to fight to tear his eyes away and redirect them back to the TV. “We should let you get some rest.”

You blinked sleepily, nodding in agreement. “I think this is the first time it doesn’t feel like I'm being screamed at by my own jaw since this morning.”

Logan offered a reassuring smile, carefully standing up from the couch to not disturb you, and stretched slightly. “If you need anything, just knock on the wall. We’re right next door.”

You managed a small smile, feeling a sense of comfort in his words. “Thanks, Logan. I’ll do that.”

Wade, now standing by the door with a grocery bag of baby food in hand, gave a dramatic sigh. “Alright, alright. I guess we’ll leave you to your rest. But don’t be shy about knocking. Seriously, I’ve got more baby food than any one person should ever need.”

Logan smiles at you while he grabs the doorknob. “Let’s give her some space. You know where we are if anything comes up.”

You watched them with sleepy eyes, feeling a mix of warmth and gratitude. Logan’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, a hint of something unspoken in his eyes.

“Rest well,” he said softly, heading towards the door with Wade in tow.

As the door clicked shut behind them, you settled into the couch, feeling the soothing quiet of the apartment around you. The soft murmurs of their conversation through the thin wall were a comforting reminder of their presence. With a contented sigh, you allowed yourself to slip into sleep.

A/N: just got all my wisdom teeth out this morning so this is how i cope with the pain y'all, i also usually don't write stuff so i'm sorry if this was shite oops (edit: there were so many typos and mistakes i missed last night i’m so sorry to everyone who read that version omg)

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kamotecue · 1 year ago

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from strangers to friends—friends into lovers (and now we’re strangers again) ✬ m. leon

pairing: mapi leon x reader

summary: you were the center-back’s first love, yet you couldn’t really act upon it. how could you, a royal and a commoner?

you felt someone wrap their tiny hand around the pinky of your finger, it was astrid—you’re only daughter the heiress to the swedish throne. a soft smile was worn upon your face, as you heard her hum to one of your favorite songs.

you looked beside her only to see her twin brother, andres who followed suit—carrying a small bag, his sister’s to be exact. she had always been a fan of sweets, something she had gotten from you. her brother however, preferred something sour—but was never one to deny a treat from his sister.

“du gillade aldrig riktigt att ta pauser, mamma. [you never really liked taking breaks, mom.]” andres commented, as you chuckled. they were right—ever since the tragedy that happened to the swedish monarch, you were held up in the office.

but you always managed to have time for the mischievous duo. they’d love to play pranks on you, you would never get mad but instead have a laugh about it.

“jag kanske inte gillar att ta pauser, men om det är med er två—skulle jag ta en paus när som helst. [i may not like taking breaks, but if it’s with the two of you—i’d take a break anytime.]” you chuckled as andres gave you a small hum, clearly satisfied with your answer.

“kan jag spela på stranden, mamma? [can i play on the beach, mom?]” you heard andres asked, as you gave him a soft look before nodding.

he cheered brightly before rushing, the assigned bodyguard followed suit—ensuring his safety as you snickered.

“var försiktig! [be careful!]” he looked back before giving you a nod. you looked down to see astrid looking at her brother with a soft look—the best duo you’ve ever known.

“mamma, kan vi få glass? [mom, can we have ice cream?]” you gave her a hum, clearly thinking about it before giving her a small yes.

you gave a small nod to a bodyguard, as he returned it, heading to the beach to catch up to your son. you were in disbelief of what was yet to come, memories that you desperately tried so hard to hide.

meanwhile, on the beach a small child was walking around—finding the perfect place to build a sand castle. the two bodyguards were always five steps behind, but it was enough to catch attention from people they passed by.

but a soft oof was heard as andres had accidentally bumped into someone, sending him to the sand. isak, his personal guard’s eyes widens as he rushed forward kneeling on the sand—as he analyzed the young heir.

“är du okej, din höghet? [are you okay, your highness?]” isak’s soft voice was heard, as andres gave him a small nod. he helped the prince up, carefully dusting off the sand that resided in his hair.

“tack, isak. [thank you, isak.]” a lopsided grin was shown on the prince’s face, but a thankful expression was noticeable.

andres looked up to see a woman with a concerned look, but he had noticed the tattoo that was written on her neck—looks can be deceiving.

“are you alright?” she asked, her voice was soft yet filled with concern. but the young prince looked a bit gobsmacked.

“it’s you—you’re the one my mother talks about.” the swedish prince spoke in english, as isak hummed at the prince’s words. mapi looked at him in confusion, slightly tilting her head.

but with a slight pat on the back from her club teammate, frido gave him a formal bow—recognizing him from afar.

“ers höghet, jag ber om ursäkt för min vän. vi spelade fotboll och hon gick för att hämta bollen. [your highness, i apologize for my friend. we were playing football and she went to grab the ball.]” mapi who looked confused, yet flabbergasted at the swedish words clearly not understanding a thing.

the prince just hummed before giving frido a soft smile.

“det är okej, det var ingen skada. [it’s alright, there’s no harm.] however, it’s nice to finally meet you—maria leon.” the prince gave the spanish center back a soft smile, as frido hummed in confusion.

“how do you know me?” mapi asked, slowly pointing to herself as her attention was quickly brought somewhere else.

“broder, vad har du gjort nu? [brother, what have you done now?]” astrid slowly approached the scene followed by a pair of body guards as well. her pink dress stood out as the bodyguards wore suits, yet it fitted the future queen.

frido’s eyes widened a bit, as she gave the crown princess a formal bow—also pulling mapi in a bowing gesture. the barca players had watched from afar, not knowing if they should join or simply watch from afar in amusement.

“i would hear stories about you from my mother, y/n l/n. además, es imposible no conocer al central del barça. [furthermore, it’s impossible not to know the barça center back.]” mapi’s eyes widened at the mention of her first love—while frido looked absolutely stunned at the prince’s fluent spanish.

“jag tror inte att mamma skulle vara nöjd med det. [i don’t think mom would be happy with that.]” astrid said, as andres hummed at her sister’s words.

“pido disculpas por mi hermano gemelo, soy astrid l/n, es cierto que nuestra madre ha hablado de ti. [i apologize for my twin brother, i’m astrid l/n—but it’s true that our mother has talked about you.]” astrid said, holding her hand out—mapi softly shook it, still stunned by the fact that she met the children of her first love.

it was a sudden goodbye after all, you and mapi were childhood friends—almost turned into lovers. the reasons that she has yet to know.

“vi måste gå små, jag fick ett viktigt samtal. [we have to go little ones, i had an important call.]” your voice rang from afar, as you had gazed to where your children were. mapi’s eyes had interlocked with yours, as yours widened with realization.

frido had done a formal bow, it was her queen after all. yet you were shell shocked at the whole thing. little did you know, this wasn’t the last time that you’ll meet again.

#mapi leon #mapi leon x reader #mapi leon imagine #espwnt x reader #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso one shot

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steddieas-shegoes · 10 months ago

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someday soon

for @steddielovemonth prompt 'love is having hope for the future'

rated t | 1,237 words | cw: ptsd, injury recovery, negative view of self (Steve) | tags: angst with a happy ending, getting together, hurt/comfort, falling in love

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Steve ignored his bat bites for too long.

That's what all the doctors and nurses said when he'd been rushed into the ER by Robin, panicked when he passed out and woke up with very little memory of what they'd done that day.

She assumed it was the concussions catching up to him, but it turned out to be a hell of an infection. The infection had spread from the worst bite on his side to his hip and down his leg. They caught it in time to save the leg, but it would be weak for months, if not years, and he'd need to do physical therapy to keep the muscle dense enough to walk.

Everyone was pissed at him, but mostly just happy he was finally getting taken care of. That was a difficult thing for him.

Eddie joked that it was his turn to keep him company in the hospital now, but Steve wasn't up for jokes. Not when he'd become such a burden. Not when he was pulling attention from things and people that actually needed it. He was using up resources that were already barely available for people much worse off than him.

When he was finally fever-free, showing signs of improvement, and promising to keep taking the antibiotics for two more weeks, he was set free. Eddie and Robin brought him to Eddie's trailer to ensure he would actually take care of himself, and he didn't have the heart to argue with either of them.

He felt ridiculous, every single time he got stuck on the couch because his leg was too numb to stand, every time Wayne would grab whatever thing he couldn't quite reach from the top shelf of the cabinet because he couldn't stand on both of his tip toes, whenever Eddie would half-carry him to the shower and wait by the door in case he fell on his bad days. It was all so stupid. He was stupid.

He spent his days doing what he was supposed to, but only the bare minimum. He did the exercises, but only alone in Eddie's room while he was busy at work or picking up Steve's slack. He took the meds when he was in pain instead of "suffering in silence" like Robin told him to. He packed Wayne's lunches for work as a thank you for letting him stay even though Wayne always insisted he didn't need to do anything to deserve a roof over his head and people to care.

He ignored the stupid churning in his stomach that started when he thought about what would happen when Eddie brought him back to his empty house. He ignored the butterflies every time Eddie got home while he was faking sleep on the couch and covered him with the blanket that was by his feet. He ignored the way his heart fluttered every time Eddie would make him the tea he secretly liked instead of the coffee he normally forced himself to drink.

He pretended that the love that grew in his chest was made up, that Eddie was only doing what any friend would do.

Steve only let his imagination run away with him on the nights when Eddie was at Hellfire late, when he was curled up in Eddie's bed at Eddie's insistence that he sleep there. He let himself picture a future like this: waiting up for Eddie to get home from work or a show, curled up with a pillow that smelled like him against his chest, wearing a t-shirt that had holes from being worn too much, and the mixtape Eddie made for Steve playing low in the background.

It was a perfect future.

He fell asleep to the thought of Eddie's arms around him, holding him because he wanted to, not because he had to.

He woke up to Eddie's arms around him, the dark and silent room around him making him panic until Eddie's grip tightened and he pulled him closer.

"You awake?" Eddie whispered against the top of his head.

"Yeah." Steve didn't pull away, couldn't make himself even though the alarms were going off in his brain telling him to put space between them before Eddie realized what this meant to him. "When'd you get back?"

"Hour ago maybe. Didn't mean to run so late, sorry," Eddie's fingers were tracing patterns up and down his spine.

"It's okay. You can do whatever you want," Steve let himself have this moment. He nudged his face further into Eddie's shirt, smiling at the warmth of his chest. "You sleep at all yet?"

"No, I was busy."

Steve's brows furrowed in confusion. "Doing what?"

"Watching you."

Steve turned his head so he was looking up at him. "Watching me sleep? Why the hell were you doing that?"

He should probably sound more upset, maybe more concerned about being watched while he was unconscious. But a pretty big part of him was fine with it, wanted it, hoped it meant more to Eddie too.

"The corner of your mouth twitches a lot in your sleep, did you know that? And when you're in pain or having a nightmare, it stops. Sometimes I just watch to make sure you're sleeping okay," he answered simply. "Been at least a few nights since you've had any nightmares right?"

Steve nodded, speechless at the fact that Eddie had noticed something like that.

"You curl the blanket in your hand when you sleep, too. Or my shirt. Sometimes your own shirt if you can't find anything else," Eddie continued.

Steve felt his fingers loosen in Eddie's shirt, not having noticed the way they'd been holding on for dear life this entire time.

Eddie's hand covered his, squeezing something that felt like reassurance and love right into his skin.

"You're not the same Steve you used to be, but you still worry about what people think. You can just be you. Just be Steve. I promise the Steve you are is the Steve we love," Eddie smiled down at him.

"I-" Steve took a breath. "I just don't wanna ruin it all."

"Stevie, sweetheart." Eddie shook his head. "You couldn't ruin it. When are you gonna get it through that thick head of yours that we're all stickin' this out with you?"

"But you don't have to."

"No, we don't." Eddie squeezed his hand again. "But we do. And we will."

"Even if I'm always like this?"

"Like what?"

"Recovering. Having nightmares. Scared. Robin says I might be depressed? I'm probably gonna limp forever."

"Stevie, look at me," Eddie said, tilting his face back towards him. Steve hadn't even realized he'd turned away so much. "I love you. Okay?"

"You do?"

"Do you think I notice what other people's lips do when they're sleeping?"

Steve snorted. "No, I guess not."

"I love you and sometimes that might mean I have to deal with your shit, but I want to, okay? It won't always be this much shit. I can hold your hand through it," Eddie smiled. "Now, you should go back to sleep."

"You didn't kiss me yet," Steve said around a yawn.

"We've got plenty of time for it, sweetheart. Go to sleep."

Steve believed him.

He knew it would still be shit. He knew he wouldn't always believe what Eddie said. He knew he'd still feel like a burden.

But they had time to wade through it together.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddielovemonth #love is having hope for the future #angst with a happy ending #established relationship #hurt/comfort #injury recovery #ptsd

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maviscat123 · 4 months ago

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ORIGINAL STORY BY CHUBBYMENVORE.

Ron pulled into his driveway and up into the garage of his small suburban home. He carefully parked the car and shut off the engine of his cheap sedan, the noise of the engine finally stopped ringing in his ears. He rubbed his eyes, the long week finally coming to an end. He reached over to the passenger seat, initially going for his briefcase, before a small green object caught his eye. An old baseball cap, with a worn rim and a logo he recognized from the local university sport teams was on the floor. In his burnt-out state it took him a few seconds to remember who it belonged to. It finally dawned on him that it belonged to this nice young man he picked up at the bar a few weeks ago. A familiar feeling washed over him as he picked up the hat. The young guy followed him back to his seedy motel room in the hopes of getting laid, but Ron was there for a different urge.

The older man looked down at his belly. He was in his mid 50s, but he'd been dealing with his problem for over 3 decades. Back in his 20s, he started having problems with his appetite. He suddenly became insatiable. It got so bad that he ate entire months worth of groceries in a single sitting. Nothing would satisfy. He went to the doctor, and with just one look the doc told him words that would haunt him.

Being told he was a Pred and his problems stemmed from not eating enough put him in a downer mood. He initially tried to live with it, swearing not to eat anyone. He lasted a few weeks, but eventually, just like every Pred, he relented when he saw his neighbor swimming next door. It was his first meal, and it drove him wild. Swallowing the man was second nature to him, not even having to pause or slow himself as he easily wolfed him down. After being hungry for so long he finally had the relief he so desperately needed. That full feeling. It was euphoric for him. His big pot gut wiggling about as his poor neighbor struggled in vain was too good to pass up. Despite that amazing feeling, he swore off eating others.

It didn't last, however. A little over a month later, the hunger came back. He tried to hold it off, but it never subsided. He relented again and again. He ate a co-worker, a mail man, a multitude of delivery guys, another neighbor, and finally one of his good friends over the course of a few weeks. He finally asked the doc for help, and he was put on some appetite suppressants. After months of eating dozens of poor guys, he finally had his insatiable appetite under control with the help of the meds. Even now, years later, they had helped him live a somewhat normal life. However, now a few decades later, they were starting to lose their edge.

He'd been hiding his 'affliction' from everyone. His co-workers, his boss, his friends, but most importantly; his family. Most of the time it wasn't a concern, as his medication kept his urges in check. Some days though his primal needs slipped through, and he had to relent. There were no early warnings for him, just randomly at some point in the day he would become ravenous. His stomach would ache like it had been withheld food for days. And he started seeing everyone as a delicious 3 course meal all in one.

Sometimes it would be months, and even had gone over a year a few times without having to eat some poor guy. Hiding it from his son, however, was usually pretty easy. His urges would usually come around lunchtime, and he would take the day off of work and go find somebody he could stuff down his gullet. He'd gone to dating sites, hookup apps, and local bars to find someone he could easily lure to some dark private corner to wolf them down to appease his appetite.

His hunger had almost gotten him caught once though. Shane and his buddies had gone out to the bar and invited him to come along. Ron knew all of Shane's friends for a while now so having him come along wasn't awkward or out of place for them. The night was going fine right up until Ron felt that unmistakable rumble deep in his belly. He knew he couldn't leave or hold off for the night. It had been over a year since his last Pred urges had called, and he needed to sate it. It was like an itch that could never be relieved, unless he had some poor man digesting away in his gut.

He went to the bar's restroom and scouted out a meal. He waited in the big stall at the end for potential meals to come in, peeking through a small crack in the door. Men came and went while he sized each of them up. Too big. Too small. Too skinny. Not meaty enough. Too drunk. Too strong looking. He profiled everyone like he was picking off a menu. Finally, some chunky blue-collar type walked in, and Ron picked his mark. Without any hesitation, Ron dragged him into one of the stalls and worked him into his mouth. It wasn't dignified or pleasant for either of them, but it had to be done. He couldn't even remove his clothes since he had to hide the evidence. It took several minutes, but soon Ron was alone in the stall, with a gut jutting almost 5 feet from his chest, bulging, squirming, and stretching in every direction.

He braced himself against the wall of the stall. He hated this part. Despite how good it made him feel, he was always guilty about it. Having to put someone through this ordeal to satisfy himself. To keep himself from going off the deep end from having to endure his never-ceasing hunger. He sat back on the toilet, letting his gut rest on his lap as he tried to put the thoughts of what was happening in his gut out of his mind. He tried to reason with himself like he always did, justifying his actions with the notion that it would be over for his meal soon and how he wasn't as bad as other Preds who ate people daily.

Ron had gotten away with it. His gut was satisfied, and nobody was the wiser. At least he thought that for a few moments until he heard his son walk in the bathroom and call for him. They were getting ready to leave and were waiting for him. He was stuck, a great gut full of squirming meat, and a time limit before his son would get suspicious. He tried to digest faster. He squeezed his gut. Kneaded the bulges down. Tried to do up his shirt to hide his girth. Nothing worked.

He belched out his air, which at least caused him to lose a bit of girth. He had to hurry. He squeezed harder, but the distinct man shaped bulge in his gut was too obvious to hide. He tried to reorient his meal to hide it better, but his gut soon started to gurgle loudly. Digestion had started, but it would take hours and hours to churn his meal down to where his gut looked normal. He had an idea, but it was cruel. He had no other choice and had to go for it. He backed up to one side of the stall and ran, gut first, into the wall. A sickening crunch was heard, before all movement in his gut ceased. The bulges had smoothed out slightly, and with some more kneading and squeezing, he got his belly looking presentable, albeit significantly larger than before.

Neither Shane nor any of his friends caught on to Ron's excess girth he had suddenly claimed from his long trip to the restroom. They all drove home in the car with him, all unaware of the extra passenger Ron had taken on in the bar's restroom. He swore off eating with his son so close by ever again. He tried to put it out of his mind, but all he could think about the entire drive home was the sharpness of the crunch when his gut hit the wall. It played in his mind every time they went back to that bar, but like every meal he had ever eaten, their last moments stuck with him.

He'd only eaten a few dozen people over the years, and the young man he took to the motel room from a few weeks ago was one of them. He had some fun with him, but the entire time he knew what was coming. He tried to hold himself back, but he couldn't help himself. He tried several times to let him go, even while in the middle of eating him. He tried to pull him out of his mouth, but he couldn't bring himself to let his food go. He stayed awake all that evening as he lay on the cheap motel bed, full of regret of what he was putting this young man in his stomach through. It wasn't right, but he couldn't undo what he did. His gut slowly going from wiggling, to still, to loudly digesting his meal away. His hunger was sated, and he hoped it would be for the last time.

Ron took the hat with him as he got out of his car. He sighed as he squeezed his girth between his car and the wall of his garage. He tossed the hat into one of his trash bins as he passed by, disposing of the last of his previous meal. Walking into his house he was met with a loud cacophony of shouting, dramatic music, and some explosions of some kind all coming from his den. It took him a moment in his tired state to realize it had to be a movie of some kind. He walked into the den and saw 8 young men all splayed out on the furniture watching the movie. The room had a large sectional couch sitting in front of a large TV, and there were all kinds of snacks and food on the cheap coffee table. They were somber all things considered.

His son Shane had friends over. Being a Friday, it wasn't uncommon for Shane and his buddies to hang out and drink and have a fun night playing games or watching movies. His son still lived with him and helped pay the bills since he wasn't going to college, and rather instead took a labor job down at the docks. It was where all he and his friends worked together. They had the weekends off, so they mostly just drank, smoked, and goofed off on their days off, all happy with where they were in life.

"Evening lads." Ron announced.

"Hey Mr P!" Wes, one of Shane's friends waved.

"Hey Dad! Work okay?" Shane asked, grabbing a few of the nachos from the table.

"Not too shabby. You guys need anything?" Ron asked.

"Nah I think we're good. We got a bunch of snacks in the kitchen, and we ordered a bunch of pizza." Shane said.

"Good. I'll be in my room reading." Ron said.

"Okay Dad. Help yourself to some of our snacks if you want."

"Will do." Ron said as he left the room.

He made his way to the kitchen and saw a bunch of snacks all over the counter. There were chips, cookies, mini doughnuts, brownies, tubs of cookie dough, cinnamon rolls, pastries, pizza rolls, cream puffs, fries, bagels bites, and a load of others all over the counter.

"Jeez." Ron gasped. He knew that his son and his friends ate a lot, but this was a ton of food even by their standards.

He grabbed a few pizza rolls and a cinnamon roll. While munching on them, he scrolled through his phone and caught up on some news articles. When he finished, he decided to go relax in his room and read more of his novel for the evening until he would make something for dinner. As he was leaving, he saw the brownies, which were his favorite. They were homemade, and there were four square trays, but one was empty and another had a few taken already. He shrugged and grabbed three, slowly eating them as he made his way to his bedroom.

Ron unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it open, letting his large beer belly and large fat pecs jut out from their confines. He sighed as he took off his pants, leaving his underwear on as he lay on his bed. He stretched out and scratched at the light hair by his navel, letting his gut rest above him like a small hill. He grabbed his novel and reading glasses from his night table and settled in, opening up his book to where he last left off.

20 minutes later, Ron felt sleepy. It was weird for him to feel this way so early since he had a consistent sleep schedule. He closed his eyes for a few minutes until he was awoken by a loud noise.

*GLORP*

He put his book down on the bed and listened. He heard it again, but it got slightly louder. He sat up from the bed and his belly rumbled deeply.

*GUUUURGLE*

His belly suddenly ached with hunger. It felt like he hadn't eaten anything all day, which was mostly true. He grumbled as he thought that he should have some actual dinner. He got up and grabbed his house coat and put it on, his gut making it hard to fully close. He made his way back into the kitchen to get some food when he saw the snacks again. Several of the snacks were gone and several plates were empty. He noticed the brownies were still there and grabbed another three while he opened the fridge to make some sandwiches. As he was eating the brownies, his belly began roaring at him, demanding more. He began cramming the brownies in, barely chewing as he wolfed them down.

"Why am I so hungry?" He looked down at his large gut while it churned and burbled. The brownies soon weren't enough, so he grabbed more snacks. He finished off the tray of brownies and grabbed the twinkies. He barely unwrapped them before he shoved them in his mouth and swallowed them down. He grabbed a tub of cookie dough and ripped the lid off. He tiled his head back and dumped the entire extra-large tub into his mouth. He forced his mouth closed and swallowed, letting the massive 20lb lump of cookie dough slide down his gullet and drop into his belly.

"Ahh." Ron gasped as he felt the cookie dough reach his belly. His gut stopped grumbling and he felt satisfied for the moment. He returned to the sandwiches he was making before.

And then his belly roared again, the hunger returning almost tenfold. He quickly went through the next 3 tubs of dough and tossed the empty containers aside. He anxiously grabbed more food, gulping it down as fast as he could. With most of the snacks finished, he sought to raid the fridge. He opened the fridge and grabbed anything he could and shoved it in, some things still even had wrappers on them. His belly began to swell as it continued to rumble in extreme hunger. He saw the chicken sitting on a platter in the fridge. He gasped as he reached in and grabbed it in pure desperation. He opened his mouth and shoved it in. He felt his throat open wide to accommodate the cooked bird as he crammed it between his lips. Once it was fully in his mouth, he closed his lips and laboriously swallowed. He could feel the large lump stretch out his throat as it slowly descended down his fat neck and vanished into his belly. His belly swelled out further with the addition. His housecoat's belt came undone, letting his gut jut out of the front.

Again, the hunger subsided for a moment and again it came back. He continued to cram anything he could in his mouth. Apples, oranges, eggs, lettuce, cake, chicken, cold cuts, cheeses, peppers, milk, melon all went down his gullet and into his belly. The sandwiches were out of the question now as he had eaten the entire loaf of bread whole, along with the other 4 of them. He finally reached for the watermelon. He pulled it out of the fridge and placed it on the counter. He quickly looked for his large knife to cut it but couldn't find it.

"Fuck it." Ron muttered. He grabbed the melon and opened his mouth wide. He pushed and crammed the large melon into his mouth. He felt his jaw stretch wider and wider as more of the melon was pulled in. His lips finally slid over the widest part of the melon, and it began to slide in faster. In one massive gulp, Ron powered the large melon down his gullet. He clawed at his throat to help it down as the large lump made its way down and finally vanished into his large belly. Ron gasped as he felt the melon land in his gut among the other food he had swallowed.

"Hey Mr P." A voice said.

Ron turned around to see Simon, one of Shane's friends, standing there. He was carrying 8 extra large pizza boxes.

"Uh Hi Simon." Ron said, his belly grumbling loudly.

"You okay?" Simon asked while he put the pizza on the counter. "Your stomach is really loud."

"Yeah.." Ron trailed as the grumble grew louder. "I'm just really hungry."

"Well do you want some pizza? We got a lot." Simon said, opening the box on top of the stack to reveal an extra-large greasy pepperoni pizza.

Ron licked his lips as his belly roared and grumbled loudly.

"Sounds like a yes to me Mr P." Simon laughed.

Ron didn't even acknowledge Simon's cheekiness as he grabbed a slice of pizza and crammed it into his maw. Simon watched in awe as his friend's dad shoved the 8-inch pizza slice entirely into his mouth and swallowed it down whole.

"Holy shit." Simon gasped as Ron grabbed another slice and stuffed it in.

Ron quickly finished the second slice and grabbed another two. He shoved both of them in at the same time and swallowed them both in one go.

"Sorry. I don't know whats going with me but I'm just so hungry." Ron apologized as he grabbed another two slices and gulped em down.

"Well here let me help Mr P!" Simon offered, handing him the last two slices of the first pizza. Ron quickly swiped them and stuffed them in.

"*Gulp* ...more." Ron moaned. His head began spinning as his hunger was making him loopy.

Simon opened the next box and handed him slice after slice, each time Ron grabbing them from his hands and shoving them in his mouth. After the 6th pizza, Simon got too close and Ron accidentally grabbed his hands along with the slices and stuck them in his mouth. Before Simon or Ron could even register what had happened, Ron swallowed, pulling Simon's hands into his throat and pulling his arms in. The two were face to face for a moment as they both realized what was happening.

"M-M-Mr P?" Simon trembled.

Ron's face gave an 'I'm Sorry' look and he opened his mouth wide. Before Simon could shout, Ron clamped his mouth over Simon's head. Ron's mouth stretched wide around Simon's blocky head. He was a bit larger than most of the meals Ron had eaten over the years, but right now Ron was more concerned with having Simon in his gut than the consequences of it. He gluttonously wolfed down his son's friend's shoulders, not even bothering to remove his meal's shirt. The poor guy tried to wiggle his way out of Ron's mouth, but he couldn't gain an inch of ground. Ron's jaws ached as he had to open them wider to engulf Simon's small pot gut and wide hips, but his hunger pains greatly outweighed his care for anything other than having his belly full.

Getting to Simon's legs, Ron had to reorient his meal to work the rest of him down. He recklessly tossed his head back, making Simon's legs flail about as they were brought above him, quickly sinking downwards as Ron chugged the hefty thighs down his throat. The old man stood in his kitchen, housecoat splayed open as his gut surged forward as more of Simon was crammed inside. His gut contorted and bulged as Simon's face was pressed tightly against the walls of his stomach, stretching out his flabby gut so much that you could see his expression of terror. Finally, Ron worked Simon's feet into his mouth, not even stopping to remove his socks before gulping down the rest of his meal in a flash.

Ron carefully propped himself up against the counter as Simon attempted to thrash about inside his gut. He quietly moaned as his gut's aching hunger slowly disappeared, turning into that euphoric feeling of a stuffed belly. He looked down at his accomplishment, seeing the round spherical belly he once had turn into a misshaped ball of squirming flab jutting from his chest. He carefully lifted his gut and hovered it over the counter, before dropping it and taking the weight off his legs. He could hear Simon's muffled shouts just barely through his gut, but they were too quiet to make out. It wouldn't matter anyway, as nothing he could say or ask would change his predicament.

As the full feeling washed over him, regret immediately set in. He'd known Simon for a few years now. Shane had been out of school for some years and had brought him home from work one day along with a few other friends. They've had barbecues and all gone out drinking together at some bars, plus Ron sees him and everyone else almost every weekend. But that was now over. Simon was in his gut, and there was no changing that. He, like everyone else Ron had ever swallowed, would be nothing more than a few extra pounds by morning.

Ron carefully reached over and grabbed the last two pizza boxes. He quickly ate his way through the last two pies and stifled a belch. He cautiously pulled his squirming gut off the counter and re-centered himself, getting used to the few hundred pounds of food in his gut. His regret soon took over, tearing at himself internally to let his meal go. Simon would tell Shane and he would lose everything in his life that mattered. All the strife over his insatiable appetite. He changed his thought process like he did every time he ate someone. It was no longer Simon anymore in there, it was a big slab of meat waiting to be digested. And that is food's only purpose: to satisfy.

He grabbed the empty pizza boxes and took them back to his room, careful not to let his belly throw him off balance. He hoped that Shane and his other friends wouldn't miss Simon too much. At least for the night so he could get away with it without having to tell his son that he swallowed his friend. He knew in the long term though Shane and his friends would probably be a bit broken up about never seeing him again, without knowing that Shane's voracious dad had eaten him like an oversized hotdog. Ron hoped that if they didn't see the pizza, they could assume Simon had gone home and it hadn't arrived yet, or Simon had to go get it. Either way it provided him with some deniability of what had transpired, as long as none of them saw his big Simon-shaped gut protruding from his torso.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, his gut hanging down between his legs. His food was still moving about, but somewhat slower. It had to be awful trapped inside the cramped space, but Ron tried to put the thought out of his mind. He carefully leaned back and lay down, letting his gut rest on top of him. He could still see Simon's face pressed again his gut, which made him shut his eyes. He tried to put the image of what he saw out of his mind, but he knew that's all he would ever think about when he heard Simon's name.

Ron didn't know how much time had passed, but his eyes shot open when he felt that unmistakable twinge once again. He looked down at his gut, the whole thing vibrating with hunger despite it still being packed with food. Simon was still moving around inside, and clearly unhappy with those wet gurgling noises all around him. Ron tried to ignore it, but it was unbearable. He reached over to his nightstand and looked at the appetite suppressants. He read over the bottle while his gut rumbled loudly.

"Take 1 pill 1 time(s) a day."

He scoffed as he read the directions. He read further and finally saw what he hoped for.

"Maximum 4 a day."

He breathed a sigh of relief as he popped open the bottle and tossed another 3 pills in his mouth. He gulped them down and lay back in his bed, hoping that it wouldn't take long for the pills to take effect. He grit his teeth as the rumbling ramped up. He finally relented and stood up, the weight of his belly not even in the back of his mind. He threw on his housecoat again and stomped down to the kitchen to find anything else he could hork down until his meds kicked in. He threw open cupboards and ate anything edible. Spices, condiments, cans of goods, even a sack of potatoes all went down without prejudice. As he was chugging back a can of tomatoes, Norm, one of Shane's other friends walked in.

Ron almost gagged as he hid the can behind his back and leaned himself behind the kitchen island to hide his gut that held his friend. He put on his best 'casual but trying to hide that I ate your friend' face he could.

"Hey Mr P." Norm said. "Are you hungry for some pizza?"

"Oh, uh sure." Ron said. "Did you order some?"

"Yeah. We ordered some a while ago, but it never came. We called the store, and they sent out some more." Norm shrugged.

"Oh, that's too bad. Must have got the wrong house." Ron lied.

"Oh well it happens. Have you seen Simon?" Norm asked. "I think he went home, but none of us remember him saying he was leaving."

"Nope." Ron lied again. "Maybe he was tired from work."

"Haha yeah. Boss put us through the ringer today. Some team fell behind, so we had to cover for them." Norm shrugged. "That or maybe the weed made him tired. Those pot brownies make him sleepy."

The gears in Ron's head chugged for a minute before it all clicked.

"P-pot brownies?" Ron stuttered.

"Yeah. Hoss made them this morning. Its why we got all these snacks. They make you feel great, but oh boy do they make you famished." Norm said as he checked his phone.

Ron's eyes watered from the churning his gut was doing. He found out why he was so hungry at least. But now, 12 whole pot brownies down, his hunger was out of control. Ron's gut let out another ground rumbling roar in hunger which made Norm look up from his phone and laugh.

"Wow. Guess it's good that pizza will be here soon. You sound like you haven't eaten for days."

Ron didn't answer. He stared at Norm, a single glob of drool dripping down from his lip where his toothy grin glimmered. Norm looked down at his friend's dad's gut jutting out from his housecoat. The distinct human shaped bulge crammed tightly inside twitching fruitlessly. Norm gasped as his gaze looked up to Ron, who was already standing right in front of him. He saw that enormous wide-open maw hovering above him, the large tongue covered in slimy drool and the deep dark pulsating gullet beyond it.

Before Norm could realize Ron's intent, it was already too late. In a primal act of gluttonous hunger, Ron pounced on his son's friend, shoving his entire head, shoulders, and chest down his throat with one enormous swallow. Norm wasn't much smaller than Simon, but Ron's voracity had tripled since then. Ron held Norm's arms at his sides tightly as he lifted him up and began to stuff him in like a foot long sub sandwich. Norm's legs kicked wildly, knocking into some pans hanging from the rack above the island. Ron swallowed his big meal with such speed and force, he didn't even get to taste him.

With another toss of his head, Norm's legs went right up to the ceiling, dropping down several inches with each insatiable gulp Ron took. His neck stretched and bulged, and his gut swelled forward as he worked Norm down, his gut becoming tighter and more cramped as Norm was forced to nuzzle up next to Simon inside. There wasn't much fanfare when Ron finished him off, instead only stifling a belch as to not alert anyone in the next room that their friend had become a part of Ron's evening menu.

His belly, now twice as large, still ached. Ron was going mad now. How could some minuscule brownies make him so hungry that two 250lbs men plus almost a quarter ton of food not satisfy his hunger. He shook his gut in anger to quell it, but all it did was shake his poor occupants around in the swarths of food stuffed inside with them. Just as he was about to blurt out some profanities, the doorbell rang. He stopped for a minute, and then remembered what Norm had said about the pizza.

He flew to the foyer, lucky that he didn't have to go past the den to get to it and flung open the door. He shouted to the den that he would answer the door so nobody would see him in this state. At least anyone else that mattered to him. Some portly pizza guy was standing there, arms carrying 8 more extra-large pizzas. He was about to hand Ron the pizzas, but Ron instead stepped outside onto the porch and shut the door behind him.

"Hey sorry about my co-worker. I think he must've gotten the wrong house earlier. We've given you 30% off to make up for it so your total is-"

Ron couldn't wait through his spiel. Right out on his porch, he stuffed the unfortunate pizza guy's head into his mouth and began swallowing. The pizza clattered to the floor, along with the 3 delivery bags and his car keys. The pizza guy's arms quickly went up to Ron's mouth to try and pry him off, but Ron just stuffed his arms in alongside his blocky head. Luckily it was the evening, so he hoped that nobody would notice him wolfing down this portly delivery guy right out in the open.

The greasy pizza-stained shirt added some extra flavor, but Ron wasn't in the mindset to be tasting his food. He was there for quantity not quality at the moment, and this 300lb delivery guy was significantly more substantial than either Simon or Norm. His pot gut gave Ron a slight speed bump, but it didn't help keep him out of Ron's gut in the end. Ron began to cram the guy in just to have him in his gut faster. He needed this man in his belly more badly than anything else in the world. Everything else around him didn't matter, so long as he got this man where he needed him to be; his gut. Gulp after gulp, Ron swallowed him down. The chunky thighs followed him down Ron's throat, and soon the cheap shoes slipped between s. With that final gulp, Ron was now carrying three whole men in his belly.

His hunger finally subsided. It took almost everything edible in the house, and 3 whole men, but his gut grumbled in satisfaction. He moaned happily as it was finally over. He picked up the pizza and went inside, leaving the keys and delivery bag on his porch, along with the driver's car in the driveway. He shut the door behind him and waddled his way back to the kitchen, resting the stack of boxes on his new temporary girth. He opened a single box and munched on a slice to make sure his hunger wouldn't return and to his relief it didn't.

#malevore

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prettythrills · 4 months ago

Text

Chapter One - One That Got Away

Dont buy TLOU | Daily Click | Series Masterlist

Kinks/Warnings: Canon-typical violence, death, light gore, mild language, canon-typical setting

🎙️ Xan Says: Woo woo I really like this chapter actually! 😆 I did edit this late last night but for the most part there shouldn’t be many typos? But if there are, just ignore them. :p So anyways I hope you guys enjoy this! Also also, if you didn’t notice I added dialogue in from the game! I’m really proud of that but I think its a wee choppy but look past it for the love of god.

W/C: 1.1K

A loud bang wakes you from your sleep. You jolt awake, your dreams of a peaceful life fading away fast. You were familiar with the person standing before you — a new addition to the WLF that was learning quickly.

“Did you forget? We’re doing that raid on the village today. Issac told me to come find you. We have to go, now.” She said, obviously being in a rush. “Cmon, we have to go,” She’s trying to pull you up but you don’t move. “Seriously!” She stresses.

You were reluctant to leave for two reasons. One, the raid was poorly planned. It seemed like another one of Issacs plans for more bases all over Seattle. It was so fucking stupid. You had no other information other than you’d go in, wipe them out, and take over their village — horrible in the eyes of others but a-okay in the eyes of these soldiers. Second, because you were exhausted.

The large black clock on the wall of the dingy med-bay reads 09:45:06. Why was literally anyone willing to leave right now? You could barely see anything from how dark it had been, not to mention that it’d been raining out.

You weren’t really in the mood to hear anything from Issac or anyone else, so you drag your feet towards your worn backpack, retrieving your guns and snagging a med kit before following the girl.

Rain water sloshes underneath your feet as you step out. You pull your hood over your head before you listen for instructions.

“Listen up!” Issac barks from the front of the group. “We’re raiding that island of Scars. Don’t hesitate, take anyone and everyone out immediately. Do we understand?” His voice was full of disdain when speaking about the Scars. A resounding “yes sir!” waves over the crowd. A few people break off into groups but of course, you were stuck with Issac and his posse.

You hated every second of this. You were shivering as it became slightly windy out, the trees swaying in the direction of the wind. Leaves are spread across the ground of all different shades.

Had you have been inside right now, the rain would’ve been peaceful. But now you hate every second of the rain.

The trip to the village was long and hard. Seraphites were in your every corner. You heard the screams from your people and theirs. It was gruesome to say the least. This overall seemed like a death mission. It was too risky — it seemed like they had more people than you and god were they armed to the nines.

You can hear bullets in the distance mixed with your own. You’d never gotten used to the kickback on this new gun you’d stolen once on lookout, but you were trying it again.

You ignored the shoulder pain and you continued forward. Whistles vary from long to short, which you’d assumed was their way of communicating. These people might’ve been trained but you knew you were better.

In terms of skill, you and Abby were on the same level; albeit not like, exactly level. But you two had skills that could get you a spot as the “best Scar killers” compared to the other soldiers.

You’re currently ducking behind a large truck as you reload your guns and wrap bandages around any scars that were visible to you at the moment.

“How did we let this happen?” A male Seraphite questioned. “I don’t know, but we’re ready.” Another male responds. But how ready were they? This was like a two-fer. They let their guards down just enough so that they hadn’t been paying much attention to their surroundings.

You aim your gun. Inhale. You line up your shot on the first guy, resting your finger on the trigger of your gun. Exhale. You pull the trigger and the bullet flies, landing in his forehead. The other guy looks around frantically, yelling and pointing his gun in any direction.

You sneak up behind him, putting him in a chokehold. “Not a word.” You grumble angrily, grunting with effort. When life slips away from his body, you toss him to the floor. Obviously you pick up their guns, inspecting them and taking the ammo out. Slim chance any of this could be useful anyway.

You make your way back to your group, moving through the mainly cleared parts of the village. Boots sloshed in the mud and people screamed as your guns blazed. You switch to a pistol with a makeshift silencer. The gun, in your opinion, had been a bit faster than the one you were currently using.

“Maggie, is this area secure?” A man yells over gunfire. “It better be! We just mowed down these fucks. What’s the plan?” She responded while also firing her gun. “We’re heading to the capital. Take your team and clean the villages by the farmlands.”

You listened to the conversation, and it intrigued you. You almost followed the woman but any ideas of that are gone as more Scars appear. “How many of these motherfuckers are on this island?” You grumbled. The bloodshed continued, more bodies dropped and weapons flew.

To the unarmed, scared people, this would’ve been a great area to snag a couple guns and whatnot from. You continue following behind Issac. For what it seems now, it was clear. Walking the streets was.. hard. Bodies of Seraphites and Wolves line the streets with gruesome injuries, blood gushing from their wounds. The sight of death always almost nearly made you gag, but you chose to ignore it.

Chatter passes through Issacs group. He was taking the group towards an old radio tower. You looked up into the distance and it didn’t seem to be very far away — maybe a few minutes give or take. You were glad that by now the rain wasn’t as hard as it was. It was quiet for a while, then gunshots rang out.

“More Scars ahead. Keep your head on a swivel.” Issac instructed. The groups ahead of you were fighting back, but it’s hard to tell if it’s a winning or a losing battle— but why would you care about that right now? You wanted to survive. Every man for himself. Horrible mentality to have obviously. But that’s just the way this crazy, fucked up world works.

You join your team in the onslaught of killings, snapping necks and killing Scars that lunged at you. Some part of you wishes that this wasn’t so gruesome.

A gun fired. “Got one!” A guy from your team yells. Your head shoots up, looking towards him. “No! Yara!” A voice yells. You know this voice, it’s all too familiar to you. You couldn’t believe it. “Holy fuck, is that Abby?”

#lottieinterrupted #✎ᝰ - 𝐱𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐛𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐚 #tlou #the last of us #the last of us two #the last of us part two #abby anderson #abby x reader #abby the last of us #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson x reader #abby tlou #abby x you #i Hope this isn’t as fast as it is in my mind..#methinks i just read too fast

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thinking1bee · 2 months ago

Text

You Haven't Failed Part 20

Requested by Anonymous

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Tags: Spidey!Reader, Venom!Reader, So Much Angst, Fluff, Established Relationship, Graphic Depictions of Injuries, Blood, Violence, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Smut

Everything Taglist: @ara-a-bird, @iliketozoneout

Series Taglist: @alexawynters @dorabledewdroop @ima-gi--na-tion

Once Nick gave you what you needed, you went to Tony’s lab. Your suit, still in its idle form of a bracelet, sat in a glass case near his desk and you took it, slipped it on your wrist, and activated it. The feeling of the nanobots unfurling to engulf your body felt comforting and familiar even though you’ve only worn this suit once or twice. The blue, black, and silver were all familiar and you smiled at Tony and his brilliance, even if he was unhinged and childish at times. It’s what gave him the “crazy uncle” energy you loved so much.

“Hello, Y/n,” FRIDAY’s voice said as the nanobots surrounded your head and filtered the voice through the helmet.

“Hey FRIDAY. Long time, no see,” you said genuinely. Oddly enough, you missed the interface Tony made.

“How are you recovering?”

You watched as the suit molded to you, the tech rippling as it settled on your skin. Panel after panel of scans highlighted the screen, and you watched as FRIDAY synced the suit to your metrics.

“It’s going well, but that’s not the reason I need you today.”

“Does this have to do with the missing Avengers?”

You nodded and watched as FRIDAY concluded the scans. Though it was unsurprising, you were bummed to see the area around your spine flash red.

“Y/n,” FRIDAY began. “My readings show some healing damage around your spine. You may not be ready for the mission ahead.”

“I know FRIDAY, but I’m the only one here, and I need to get my family back. Can I work around this?”

There was a pause, and you waited with pursed lips.

“I am currently downloading a protocol that was created by Ms. Maximoff.”

“Protocol? What protocol?” you asked. You went around the lab, gathering gadgets and extra web shooters in the event something happened to your natural webs.

“The protocol she made for you. She called it PAP, and it is to be activated the moment you become incapacitated.”

You raised your eyebrows, but you trusted in Wanda more than anything. Whatever it was, you knew that it was there for a reason.

“FRIDAY, I’m going to need your help,” you said as you sighed. “HYDRA has everyone that I care about. I’m not at my best, and I know that, but I can’t sit here and do nothing. God knows what they’re doing to them, and I have no idea what we will see. I know I fucked up with Venom. Please don’t let me fuck this up.”

“I will do everything that I can to assist you, Y/n. You won’t be alone.”

You nodded as you grabbed a bag full of supplies. You continued to the jet and loaded it up with everything you needed. You knew that your ride could attach to the side of the quinjet. It was that small, so you could only take so much, but you didn’t know what HYDRA was doing. Some extra food and med kits may be needed. You activated the comm in your helmet.

“I’m leaving, Nick.”

“Be safe out there, kid.”

You could hear how weary he was, his voice grumbling with fatigue and stress. You just knew that his tequila shot glass was testing on his desk.

“I’ll do my best.”

With your haul in hand, you entered the jet and inputted the last known coordinates that you had for your team. Then you locked in and took off.

+++

“I swear to fucking god! Fury is getting my foot right up his ass, all the way to the fucking knee!”

The HYDRA base you were infiltrating was crawling with agents. If it weren’t for the invisibility cloak that Tony gave you, you would have been so utterly screwed. You haven’t gone on a mission in so long. It’s been almost a year since the Venom incident, and never in your life had you seen a HYDRA base this loaded with security. You were currently scaling the ceiling, your hands and feet securely locked to the cement as you made your way through the base. It took an hour to fully map it all out. Before you even entered, you sent in several small recon drones and watched as FRIDAY mapped the facility. What you found was horrible. All the Avengers were being experimented on. It looked like HYDRA scientists were trying to recreate powers and abilities. Through the cameras of all your drones, you could see that your friends were all restrained. All of them were hooked up to various machines and devices, and your heart dropped when you saw that Wanda was restrained in a straitjacket. A collar was secured to her neck, and you could only assume that it was to keep her from using her powers.

“I’m coming for you, baby. Hang on.”

The more you mapped out the base, the more your odds of capture ratcheted higher and higher. You sat inside of the jet while FRIDAY made a holographic, 3-D reconstruction of the building you needed to infiltrate. You sat on the floor, your helmet by your hip while you rested your arms on your bended knees. Sighing tiredly, you interacted with the map, spinning it this way and that while trying to plan a method of entry.

“We’re fucked, aren’t we, FRIDAY?” you asked bitterly. There were multiple floors of agents and concrete levels separating you from the people you loved. You were just one person who was still walking with a cane.

“Gaining entry will be difficult,” she confirmed, and you nodded. You wanted nothing more than to get Fury on the phone and kick his ass. Several invisible drones were still in the building, and the more they scanned, the more the structure was revealed to you.

“I think I can help you gain entry,” FRIDAY said after several beats of silence. “Unfortunately, this relies on your ability to remain stealthy. I found their security system, and if an alarm is tripped, the building immediately goes into lockdown. No one is permitted in or out.”

“Perfect,” you grumbled. This was exactly what you needed. A suicide mission.

“There is more,” she continued. “The moment the alarm is activated, their infrared systems are activated as well. It would render your invisibility useless. The best way to do this, is to not get caught.”

You nodded as you checked your arms for gadgets. You had your web bombs and stun webs. You were going to bring more, but the rest of Peter’s or Tony’s other inventions weren’t...inconspicuous.

“How well does this suit perform ballistically?” you asked.

“This suit can protect you from all projectiles. It can also absorb most forms of electricity.”

Well, at least you didn’t have to worry about catching a bullet.

“What about knives?”

“Handheld blades cannot penetrate the suit.”

Good. You didn’t want to get stabbed either. Been there, done that, and you didn’t want to rinse and repeat.

By the next hour, you were in the base, and in the hour after, you were in the lab where all of your friends were held hostage. Your blood boiled at what you saw as you crawled across the ceiling. Though everyone was in the same room, they were all separated from each other and bound in one way or another. You could tell that they all put up a fight. Most of them were covered in injuries and blood. Their suits were ripped and tattered. Their faces were bruised and swollen. More than that, more blood smudged the floor, and you released a quiet but furious breath at what you saw.

“FRIDAY,” you whispered. “Can you tag the enemies?”

She did so without answering, and by the time she was done, there were 20 people that you were going to have to take out as quietly as possible. You were in stealth mode, your body invisible already. If you did this right, you may be able to pull this off.

“FRIDAY, map their movements and highlight the trails.”

Again, the interface did as you asked, and you watched for several movements as all the HYDRA agents followed a pattern. This might be easier than you thought. You flicked each of your wrists and readied your gadgets as you focused. You moved fast, taking out the seven outermost agents that patrolled the perimeter. You knocked them out with well placed, silent punches before webbing them and launching them into the air. From there, you’d cover them, head to toe, in web before webbing them to the ceiling. You added more layers of webs just in case so that they couldn’t escape. By the time you were done, seven cocoon shaped lumps littered the ceiling, and you moved your attention to the inner most part of the lab. The lab was enormous considering the tech and equipment that they had. The room was tall enough that the ceiling was shrouded in shadows, so unless someone really looked, no one was going to see your handy work above them.

This was when things started to become difficult. There were too many obstacles in the way, which meant that if you weren’t careful, you could accidentally web something instead of someone. You observed the highlighted trails of their walking patterns and noticed that there were small gaps in their patrols where you could intercept them and attack. However, you wouldn’t be able to do it from the ceiling. If you wanted to be accurate, you couldn’t take the chance to attack so far away. You readied your stun webs before detaching from the ceiling and landing silently on the ground. You snuck up behind one guard before you shot him in the mouth with your web. Immediately, his body went ridged as the electric current coursed through him. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and you took him down quickly and quietly. You immediately launched him into the air and shot your webs at him, the sticky substance glueing him to the ceiling with the others. You kept doing that for the next five agents. You moved amongst the desks and lab equipment as you took down more of your enemies. By this point, the other Avengers could see what was happening. They couldn’t see you, but they could see what you were doing. Their eyes followed your movements as you sent bodies and web fluid up into the ceiling.

You had seven agents left, and the lab was looking visibly scarce. The bodies on the ceiling were still and unmoving, and you were crouched on the wall as you watched your next targets. Some conversed among themselves in German and you watched them as you followed their highlighted trail.

“Status check,” one of them said in English.

You froze, your eyes widening as you looked around. Status check? Fuck!

“Status check,” he repeated as he looked around the room. His reaction was immediate when he saw the lack of reinforcements where people were once patrolling.

“Intruder alert!”

You moved, your body reacting before you had a chance to truly think about what you were doing. One soldier was moving towards a red button on the wall, and you shot webs at him, the substance stunning him as he tripped over his feet, fell over heavily, and skidded to a stop on the ground. You were still invisible, which wasn’t going to help you here shortly, but you still took advantage of the precious seconds that you had to web that same soldier to the floor. You attacked two more as you launched yourself into the air and executed a series of punches and kicks that knocked them out. You webbed them to the floor as well.

Four more, but that was when things took a turn for the worst.

You watched as they each activated a pair of goggles before slipping them over their eyes. Even from where you were, there was a high-pitched whine when the tech activated. Invisibility wasn’t going to save you now, but you did have one thing in your favor. There were four of them, and one of you, and it looked like their line of communication was limited to just this room. That meant that if they wanted reinforcements, they were going to have to get to the red button behind you.

“The spider is here!” one of them yelled as they pointed towards you. “Get them! We need their power!”

No part of you desired to be a science experiment. You frowned as you faced you’re remaining enemies. There was no point in invisibility anymore.

“FRIDAY, divert all energy to suit durability and integrity.”

Immediately, the light shifted around you. You could feel the nanobots undulate minutely as your suit seemed to ripple. The invisibility faded away to reveal you standing there, and there was a perceptible flash of light from the tech as your suit fortified. The moment you were visible again, all guns pointed at you and fired. It was a hail of bullets, and you moved quickly to upturn a metal desk and duck behind it. You were cornered and you hugged your limbs closer to your body. Bullets were ricocheting off the surrounding equipment and floors, but the worry that you felt wasn’t for yourself when you heard more metal bounce off the desk. You were terrified that someone that you loved was going to get shot in all of this.

“Uh, FRIDAY?” you said in an ill contained, nervous voice as beads of sweat trailed down your face. “Help.”

“Get to the alarm!” someone yelled behind you.

You heard feet thumping against the concrete floor and that was when FRIDAY chimed to life.

“On your right.”

No sooner was it said did an agent try to sprint past you. Instantly, you webbed his feet, and you watched as he tripped unceremoniously and slam heavily onto the floor. You covered him in a thick layer of more webs before you tucked yourself back behind the desk.

You were cornered, trapped. You leaned your head against the metal as your breaths came in short, heated pants. Your friends were still behind you. You were consumed with the thought of their safety, but now, you couldn’t think straight at all. Suddenly, the air around you was sweltering. It was like a desert-like heat suffocated you, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you began to feel your pulse throb painfully in your temples. Your hands clawed at your chest, the metal grating against metal. You knew, intrinsically, that it wasn’t the suit that was making you feel like this, but you still felt trapped inside of it. Something inside of you was screaming at you to take it off, to free yourself and breathe as tears welled behind your closed eyes.

“F-FRIDAY,” you whimpered breathlessly before you gasped.

There was a searing flash of pain in your back, an agony that rivaled the heat that was suffocating your whole body and choking out your ability to think.

“You’re having a panic attack.”

The hail of bullets suddenly stopped, and you heard screaming in both German and English.

“Surrender or we kill your friends!”

You heard the threat along with the cock of guns. They weren’t kidding, especially when you heard them grab someone.

“We will kill her!” they warned again.

Right on cue, you heard them viciously slam something against the person that they held, and her cry of pain was what almost made you spiral. Wanda. You peaked from behind the desk and saw that they were pointing a gun at her. The others were struggling to free themselves, their vigor renewed when they saw how dire the situation was. Wanda tried to use her powers, but the moment she tried, the collar flashed red before it shocked her. She didn’t get the chance to react to that pain before she was met with the butt of a gun. Her head snapped to the side and a mixture of blood and saliva sprayed out of her mouth. You gasped, your heart almost seizing in your chest at what they were doing to her. You went to stand up, the urgency to save her and everyone else strong, but not strong enough to override the panic that was about to make you vomit.

“What do I do?” you gasped violently. “What do I do?!”

“Activating protocol PAP,” FRIDAY immediately announced. The screen suddenly went dark, and you saw PAP fill the space. Panic Attack Protocol. Instantly, her voice melted away to make room for another one.

“Hey, baby.”

Wanda’s voice. It was pre-recorded and the screen flashed to life to reveal not just her, but everyone else that you loved in the compound. They all gave you loving looks and smiles. Even Fury was there, and while what you saw wasn’t really a smile, it was his version of one and you couldn’t help the silent chuckle.

“You gotta breathe for us, Y/n. Can you do that? Can you take a deep breath?”

You closed your eyes and sniffled before you took that deep breath. The video continued to play as you focused on calming down.

“That’s right, honey,” Nat’s voice said. “We’re here for you.”

“It’s been hard, kid,” Fury said in his rich timber. “It’s okay that you feel like this. Just keep breathing for us.”

The voices of your friends filled your ears, and when more tears trailed down your cheeks, it wasn’t from the panic. It was from the care and love you felt from them, that they all loved you and implemented a protocol for when you felt like this.

“Hey, Y/n.” Tony. “I know you don’t hear me say this enough, but I’m proud of you. I’m so proud of you. You survived a lot, even before Venom. You’re one of the strongest people I know. Take this moment. Breathe. Know that we’re all here for you.”

You let the voices fill you, their words of encouragement louder than the agonizing beat of your heart. You let their love chase away the fear. You inhaled deep breaths at a time and exhaled all the fiery heat that suffocated you. It took a few seconds, but you felt yourself go back to normal, and when you did, you opened your eyes and focused. The pain in your back disappeared the moment your fear did, and you clenched your hands into fists.

“FRIDAY?”

The video ended abruptly, the screen going back to reveal multiple readings on your surroundings.

“I’m here.”

“There are three of them left. What’s the best way to take them all out?”

“I won’t repeat myself!” he warned.

You forced yourself to stay calm as you waited. When FRIDAY was done, she showed you what to do in a step-by-step tutorial. You watched the animation, your eyebrow quirking. It would be tricky, but it was manageable. You readied your last gadgets in each arm, stood up, and faced the last few agents with your hands up.

“Don’t do anything stupid!”

You shrugged your shoulders and fluttered your fingers. Meanwhile, you gauged just how far apart everyone was from each other. Everyone’s sole focus was on you, which was good. You looked at Wanda, and despite her being unable to see your face, she knew that you were looking at her. It was like she read your mind though her powers were blocked. She swallowed thickly and nodded inconspicuously. You both knew that while her hands were bound to her chest, her body was free to move. She could get away from him if the timing was right. You hoped that she could feel you mentally count down as you swallowed thickly. The man that held her pressed the nozzle of his gun to the underside of her chin.

“Surrend-”

You were already moving. With one outstretched arm, you launched a stun web straight at Wanda, and with the other arm, you launched your web bomb. The bomb detonated and took out the two agents that stood too closely to each other. A web of fluid soaked them, and it stuck them to each other and to the desks that they were standing nearby. You could hear grunts, yelling, and the grating sounds of desks moving as they tried and failed to free themselves. The moment you moved was the same moment that the man tried to pull the trigger. You heard the loud pop, but luckily, you and Wanda were a second faster than him. She jumped out of the way of his gun, just as your electrified web landed on her collar. The juice it had was just enough to fry the circuitry and render it powerless. The moment it shut down, Wanda’s eyes turned a furious red, her magic engulfing him before she launched him across the room. He hit the far wall with a sickening crack, the solid surface cracking under the force before he landed in a silent heap on the ground. It was quiet for a second, the immediate danger taken care of before you released the breath you were holding. Your friends all shot you grateful smiles as you went and freed them one by one.

“I love you all but, uh, I’m never doing some shit like this again,” you said jokingly, your hands moving to release them from their bonds and the machines that they were all attached to.

Part 21

#ladies of marvel #the avengers #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #reader insert #x reader #fem!reader #spidey!reader #venom!reader #graphic depictions of injuries #graphic depictions of violence #angst #so much angst #fluff #smut #violence #blood #feelings #lgbtqia

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