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moonlinos · 2 months

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It’s so tasty, come and chase me

♡ Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin × fem!reader

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of food

♡ Word count: 2.3k

♡ Synopsis: It’s your first birthday with Hyunjin as your boyfriend, and he wants to give you the best day since you were born. He racks his brain, wondering what’s the perfect way to impress you, and ultimately settles on surprising you with a homemade birthday cake. That’s romantic, right? Too bad you accidentally ruin his plans in the best way possible.

♡ A/N: Based off a request by anon (happy birthday! 🩷) Title from Red Velvet’s Ice Cream Cake bc we all know that song ain’t about cake. I quickly wrote this to try and get out of my writing slump, and I think it worked lol so I’ll hopefully be able to start posting other longer stories and requests in a couple of weeks 🧚‍♀️

You and Hyunjin began dating exactly two hours after your birthday.

Being acquaintances for long due to being in the same friend group, he’d been a part of your birthday celebrations for a few years. But you were never really that close — he’d always been too shy to approach you, and you spent an awfully long time thinking he hated your guts. It was a drunken confession that made you both realize the mutual crush you had been hiding for far too long.

Hyunjin cursed himself inwardly for taking so long to properly ask you out. He sat with your friends and discussed birthday plans with you, then watched as you enjoyed your surprise party. He had a pout on his lips throughout the entire night, desperately wishing he could openly hold and kiss you in front of your friends. The silly secret you both had decided to keep from them until things were official between you drove him to the brink of insanity. You two were skirting around the big question for a while, and it wasn’t until Hyunjin’s veins were flowing with quite a lot of Soju that he finally mustered up the courage to do it.

Only he was too late — it was already 2 a.m, and no longer your birthday.

“You’ll have to put up with me for another year if you really wanna be my boyfriend on my birthday,” you told him with a grin.

Hyunjin was determined to make your first birthday together as a couple unforgettable, even through simple gestures. These two days were incredibly meaningful to him; the day you were born and the day he finally got to call you his, one after the other.

Too bad the universe seems to love conspiring against him.

He put on his best near-death voice and faked coughs over the phone, trying to convince you he was sick. You were understandably worried, but he assured you he would be fine after taking some medicine. He needed alone time to figure out how to bake a cake, and your presence would be a tempting distraction.

Hyunjin was halfway through frosting your cake for the third time when the sound of his door being unlocked made him jump.

Perhaps it wasn’t the universe’s animosity towards him after all, but rather his own stupidity for not remembering that you had the code to his door lock.

He stood there motionless, feeling like a teenager who had been caught doing something wrong, his hand clutching the spatula tightly as you eyed him with confusion. You raised a brow at him.

“Weren’t you dying?”

“Why are you here?” Hyunjin all but whines, and you close the door behind you with a chuckle.

“I’m here because you told me you were dying,” you explain. “Why the fuck are you frosting a cake?” He doesn’t answer, and after a beat and a half, you grasp the situation and your mouth falls open. “It’s for my birthday, isn’t it?”

Hyunjin drops the spatula on the counter with a loud clink. “No.”

“Shut the fuck up.” You grin at the sight before you. “That’s so cute.”

“It’s not for your birthday,” He insists, promptly removing his apron. “I lost a bet and owe Seungmin a cake.”

You roll your eyes. “Hyunjin, you’re a terrible liar.”

“Fine,” He grumbles, glaring at the lumpy, messy frosting spread on the cake. He was so sure he was nailing it this time, but the more he looks at it, the more it looks borderline inedible. “I wanted to surprise you, be like super boyfriend material and bake your birthday cake myself. Turns out I’m fucking awful at it.”

“It’s not that bad…” Your voice trails off, the telltale rise in pitch whenever you lie betraying you. Hyunjin shoots you a glance, narrowing his eyes. “Okay, so it is a little crooked, and the frosting is a bit clumpy but I can fix that—”

He cuts you off, drawing out your name with a pout. “No, I’m the one who’s supposed to make you a pretty cake. It’s your special day, I should be the one doing things for you.”

“It’s not my birthday till midnight,” you argue, tossing your bag onto the floor and gently nudging Hyunjin to the side, making room for you on his counter. “Let me help.”

You take the spatula in your hands, ignoring Hyunjin’s loud protests and trying your best to smooth out the thick layer of frosting Hyunjin had spread onto the cake. Your brows knit together in concentration as your boyfriend continues to grumble beside you, eventually moving his nagging to the counter behind you. You hear the water running and the clinking of dishes as you finally start making progress, before Hyunjin’s hands are gripping your hips and pushing you against the counter.

You furrow your brows, ready to complain about him disrupting you, but he’s pressing his lips to your neck before you can mutter out a word. Hyunjin’s breath as he mumbles against your skin tickles you, your body instinctively jolting, causing your hand to slip and mess up the frosting (again).

“Hyunjin,” you berate him, and his only response is to hum. “This frosting is already borderline unusable, if you—”

“Hey!” He snaps, and you can hear the pout on his voice. “Don’t insult my frosting.”

“Then stop disrupting me.”

Hyunjin shakes his head, his body pressing against yours.

“You’re the one who ruined my surprise,” he corrects you, “So if you wanna decorate this cake so badly, you’ll have to do it while I disrupt you,” he mimics your voice. You roll your eyes while a huff of amusement slips from your lips.

“Be my guest,” you shrug.

Hyunjin simply buries his face in the crook of your neck, his lips curling into a grin against your skin and igniting a smile on your own face. You bite the inside of your cheek, turning your focus back to the disastrous cake. But your smile only widens at the sight of the decorations thrown around on the countertop; heart-shaped sprinkles, various candles and your favorite candies. The image of Hyunjin clumsily following a recipe, his pretty face dusted in flour, making frosting from scratch simply to make your birthday cake more special has your heart swelling with love.

But just as you spread more frosting on the cake, your concentration is shattered by the sudden touch of Hyunjin’s hand sliding under your skirt and into your panties.

“Excuse me?”

“I told you I was gonna disrupt you,” he shrugs, pressing a chaste kiss to your shoulder. “But I’m sure it won’t work. You’re too focused on the cake, anyway.”

You scoff. Hyunjin really is such a menace when he wants to be — no wonder you spent such a long time thinking he hated you. Little did you know that behind his teasing and cold exterior lay such a sweet and sensitive man.

He remained still for a while, his hand nonchalantly cupping your cunt while he watched you try your best to make the cake look presentable.

“You missed a spot,” he points out, one single finger gliding along your folds. You hiss.

“Fuck off.”

Hyunjin chuckles, the digit now teasing your already slick entrance. You wait for a minute, then two, then three, but he remains still. Tightening your hold on the spatula, you buck your hips toward his hand, willing him to do something.

But he doesn’t, resting his chin on your shoulder with a lazy sigh instead.

“Is this your best attempt at disrupting me?”

He hums. “Focus on the cake, baby. Weren’t you so excited about fixing it?”

You can tell he is undoubtedly a bit upset at you. This cake was his birthday surprise to you, after all. You had essentially fucked it up, taking over the task without him even asking you for help.

So you nod slowly, turning your face to shoot him a small smile. “Can you help me? It’ll be better if we do it together.”

A grin tugs at the corner of his lips, and his finger finally pushes into you, your walls immediately clenching around it.

“I’d love to help you.”

With his other hand, Hyunjin scrambles with the sprinkles packet before finally tearing it open. Cursing under his breath, he watches some of the red and pink hearts escape from the packaging and scatter across the counter. You’re ready to tease him, but a moan swallows your voice as his finger curls inside you, pressing against the spot that has you almost dropping the spatula onto the cake.

Your hands grip the counter as another finger slips inside of you, then a third, all while Hyunjin casually dusts a handful of sprinkles over the white frosting. You could feel yourself leaking around his fingers, the heel of his palm grazing over your clit, and your vision goes slightly blurry watching how the heart shapes cascade from his hand onto the cake.

“I think those candies would look nice with the sprinkles, don’t you think?” Hyunjin asks, his breath brushing against the shell of your ear, causing goosebumps to ripple across your entire body. You simply nod, too focused on the way his fingers stretch you, igniting a wildfire inside your chest with each pump of his wrist. “Could you grab the bag for me, baby?”

You nod and mindlessly reach out in front of you, until your eyes land on the bag sitting across the counter, just barely out of reach. You stretch out your fingers, but Hyunjin circles your waist with his left arm and pulls you flush against his body before you can get a hold of it.

“Hyunjin,” you whine, feeling the warmth of his chest as it rumbles against your back with a chuckle.

“Grab the bag for me, hm?”

You let out a shuddering breath and reach out toward the candy package, your body bending over the marble counter, the thick outline of Hyunjin’s cock pressing against your ass. As soon as your trembling fingers wrap around the bag, his hand leaves your cunt and pushes your soaked panties to the side.

He slides his length along your folds, hovering over your body, the swollen head of his cock catching against your clit evoking a heavy sigh from your lips.

“Go on,” Hyunjin prompts, “Let’s finish decorating your cake.”

Clumsily, you pull yourself up, forearms resting against the counter as you tear the bag open. With shaky hands, you slowly tip the bag over, lightly sprinkling the colorful candies across the cake. Until Hyunjin rolls his hips forward, plunging into you. Your breath catches in your throat as he fills you with his thick length, pumping into you in full force, causing your body to writhe in his arms and sending candies flying out of the bag, scattering across the cake and countertop.

“Fuck, Hyunjin,” you grunt when his hand slides down your body to trace circles around your swollen clit. “The ca- the fucking cake.”

Hyunjin lets out a hearty laugh before pressing his lips to your neck, sucking the skin between his teeth, each thrust of his hips slamming your body against the counter. Your eyes flutter closed, a haze of lust wrapping around you while your climax ripples through your body. Hyunjin shudders as your cunt clenches around him, squeezing as he hastily rams into you, his grip on your waist tightening with each stroke.

“Gonna come,” he rasps in your ear, grabbing a handful of your hair and tugging your head back to look at him, his eyes completely clouded over. “Where do you want it?”

“Inside,” you whimper, barely registering the way your fingers graze across the forgotten cake when you feel his cock twitch at your words. He mutters a string of curses through clenched teeth before flooding you with his warmth.

You slowly catch your breaths, Hyunjin pressing light kisses across your face with a contented hum as his cock slowly softens inside of you.

And then both your eyes land on the cake.

Somehow, the sprinkles melted, leaving behind a garish kaleidoscope of colors, and the candies adorned more of Hyunjin’s counter than the cake itself. The already sloppy-looking cake had three lines running across it, and the sticky white frosting clinging to your fingertips serves as undeniable evidence of your guilt. You grimace, mentally bracing yourself for the disappointed look in Hyunjin’s eyes.

Instead, his loud laughter you love so much echoes in your ears.

“That’s so fucking ugly,” he slurs between giggles.

You frown, turning to look at him, watching tears gather in his lashes as his laughter slowly fades away. He presses a kiss to your agape lips, wrapping both arms around your body before resting his forehead against yours.

“I love it,” he assures you after taking in your befuddled expression. “We made it together. Plus, we had a lot of fun doing it, yeah?” He grins before crashing his lips against yours again.

Your birthday party was the same as it has been for a couple of years; just you and your friend group gathered around your apartment’s rooftop. Except this year, you had the pleasure of watching people’s bewildered looks as they glanced at your birthday cake, proudly displayed on a plastic folding table.

“The fuck is that cake?” Jeongin asked, and Hyunjin burst out laughing as soon as the words left your friend’s lips.

After singing happy birthday, you were surprised to find that the cake — although an assault on the eyes — tasted quite good. You were quick to praise Hyunjin, who sheepishly admitted to using a store-bought box cake mix.

A while later, you two discreetly escaped the chatter and laughter from your friends. While you watched the stars, Hyunjin’s attention was fixated on the passing seconds on his phone. He counted down from five, and at the stroke of midnight, he pressed his lips to yours, smiling into the kiss.

“Happy one year together,” he whispered against your lips.

“Congratulations for putting up with me,” you beamed, and Hyunjin feigned an exasperated sigh, his lips curling into a grin.

“Can’t believe I’ll have to go through that again if I want to be your boyfriend on your birthday next year.”

♡ taglist: @bloom-ings, @linocz, @farahia, @mirbokk, @jisunglyricist, @jazziwritesthings, @seungseung-minmin, @yourcvndx, @hynjinnnnnnnie, @vlctorriaa, @yongbokkiesworld, @kiensecent, @redstayrosie, @binniesbabygirl, @pynchkilledme

#stray kids #hyunjin smut #skz smut #stray kids x reader #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin #hyunjin x you #stray kids smut #skz #hyunjin fluff

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mediumsizedpidegon · 9 months

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Another avenue I want to explore in an Amity Park is Weird scenario is all the niche sub-cultures going on.

There is absolutely NO WAY there isn't a thriving goth community in Amity Park. They're holding picnics every full moon. They're holding crafting sessions in their friends' basements. They're adopting ghost animals left and right: eight-legged dogs and blob-cats, skeletal fish and neon bearded dragons.

There's a young man called Raphael who performs live music every week at a dance club with his band: he's got a myriad of shiny piercings, and a phone camera roll full of his rabbits, Morningstar and Salem. Perhaps those ghosts are bad business like the Fentons say, but the club's never felt more alive.

The scene and emo kids are multiplying at a rapid rate. The punks and grunge folks are doing shit with textiles that makes every quilting grandmother in a five mile radius swoop in to pass on their skills. Josie and Betty, old friends who periodically upload photos online of their handmade lace, suddenly gain an influx of young folks who want to learn how to make their own ghoulish patterns.

There's a new group peeling off from the goths that dress like the embodiment of Halloween– all bones, pumpkin orange and lengths of costume jewelry.

The historical costuming community is alive and well in these times, and they fall upon the few ghosts from times past willing to share knowledge like starving wolves. Their minds are full of patterning-math and fabric prices, and their excitement is, quite literally, infectious.

A revolution starts up in food service: a great many restaurants closed or moved to follow the many people who left Amity after the ghosts first came. A pair of brothers open a restaurant that has the best Polish food around: people politely don't comment on how the owners are dressed in clothes a century out of date or how their eyes gleam. Two cat cafes open, one space themed and another with loose definitions of what counts as a "cat." Assorted coffee and tea shops dot the landscape: some serve donuts, some have cupcakes, and others have breakfast wraps, sandwiches or savory hand pies.

People that can't afford to open a restaurant sell food out of their homes, advertised by cardboard signs with phrases like CAKES FOR $10, and BARBEQUE RIBS FOR SALE painted on them in gigantic bright letters. High school students bring in bags of cookies they made the night before and completely sell out of stock before the day is done. One woman's house has no signage and yet is known by word of mouth to be a herbalist, selling tins of homemade tea blends, flowers, assorted plant clippings, and cough drops.

Someone down the street of Casper High sells small batches of eco-friendly soap at a nearby corner store.

During summer time, lemonade stands are everywhere. Some of the lemonade is made with the strange fruits from one of the parks: no one dies, so it's fine.

The Farmer's Market has gotten... intense.

#amity park is weird #danny phantom #dp #amity park #i love wordbuilding :))#i didn't mention it but i think Josie the lacemaker dies only a year after the ghost shit starts happening and becomes a ghost herself.#The Drs. Fentons don't notice :)#however they would notice the Ghost Pets so there's a town-wide conspiracy to keep them in the dark about it/keep them away #sorry Drs. Fenton but Snuggles the Nightmare Ghost Cat is beloved by all. you're not going to catch her #my posts

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lalacliffthorne · 9 months

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because it does have it's perks that Azriel is running cool sometimes

(brought to you by me remembering how awfully sick I was a few months ago, and how I wished for something like this. now you do too. you're welcome.)

“Ugh.” Burying my nose in my pillow, I slowly breathed out through my open mouth, feeling a scowl form on my face, even though it felt a little weak.

I hated being sick.

An awful scratch started forming in my throat, and I coughed, my body shaking with the force of it and tears building at the corners of my eyes from the pain.

Groaning softly, I pushed myself up on an elbow, still coughing lightly, the sound rattling my body as I reached for one of the many cups on the nightstand. The tea within was one of the things Feyre had brought yesterday.

She had appeared in the middle of the apartment out of thin air, cringing at the sound of the cough welcoming her, carrying two bags, one of which contained homemade chicken soup and the other supplies Madja had given her, including drops against the stuffed nose so that I could at least try and sleep at night, teas and syrups against the sore throat, paste for the fever – it felt like she had whizzed once through the whole infirmary.

It was clear Madja had not believed me a bit when I had told her I was fine.

But the whole of Velaris was currently plagued by a rather nasty flu, and she and the other healers had their hands full. It was the only reason I had been helping in the infirmary in the first place – and probably how I had gotten to where I was now: Sick and miserable.

Carefully taking a sip of tea, I pushed the cup back onto my nightstand, breathing against my closed up nose and carefully sinking back into the pillows, my head thrumming with the movement.

Ow.

Blinking, I felt my eyes begin to burn and scowled as I squeezed them shut, breathing through my open lips as I tried to blend out the way my body ached and how my head pulsed.

Help.

I felt a soft brush of air that should not have existed, because all the windows were closed, and when I furrowed my brows and cracked open an eye, my heart skipped weakly.

The last two and a half days, since I had locked myself up to not get anyone else sick, the only person who had visited was Feyre, mostly because when she had appeared in my apartment on the first day without prompt, I had first thrown a pillow at her head for risking to get sick before I made her promise to not let any of the others get in here.

Of course that had not kept him away.

Azriel's eyes moved over the apartment that was unusally dark even in the middle of the day, the curtains drawn because even the halflight made my head pound. His shadows whispered curiously, moving over the big carpet that was covered with tissues, the nightstand crowded by used cups and cans with tea, the sink full of unwashed dishes – and me, buried deep under my blanket and trying to glare at him.

“What are you doing here?”, I croaked, almost cringing at my own voice, hoarse from coughing and nasal from my stuffed nose as I slowly pushed myself up, wincing at the way my head protested. “Get out, you'll get sick.”

Azriel threw me a look, and even if the halflight, I saw the way he scowled back.

“I knew Feyre played this down.” His deep mumble caused my heart to skip weakly again, and I glowered at him.

“Yes, because I told her to, so that no one else would turn up here.” My voice broke with the last word, and a new fit of coughs shook my body, my eyes tearing up as I turned, but before I could reach for my mug, a gloved hand picked it up, and when my gaze darted up, Azriel crouched down next to the bed and handed it to me. A wrinkle had formed between his brows as his gaze moved over my face. His cheekbones were tinged pink from the cold outside, his dark brows were furrowed, his lips looked soft -

Maybe it was the fact that I was so sick, I felt a little delirious. But he looked so beautiful, it made my chest ache.

Forcing down a few sips of tea, I breathed out through my mouth, burying back into the pillows when Azriel took the mug and placed it on the bedside table. The crease on his forehead deepend, and then he slipped off a glove and reached out.

My breath hitched a little, something turning over in my chest, and in reflex, I pulled away.

Something shifted through Azriel's eyes, and his face froze over, his scarred hand stilling in the air.

My heart tightened as I realized what it looked like, and I breathed out in frustration at myself.

“I don't want you to get sick,”, I mumbled, my voice raspy as I dropped my head into the pillow, my lids heavy and eyes burning from being open.

I could feel Azriel's gaze, could feel it piercing the side of my face. Then something brushed my shoulder, and the next, he carefully placed the back of his hand on my forehead.

I sucked in a soft breath, because his skin was cool, even after being under his lined gloves, like it really was freezing outside and he had been flying the whole morning. It felt heavenly.

Which is why I blamed it on the fact I was sick and delirious that when Azriel pulled back his hand, my own shot out to catch it, and without missing a beat, I tugged it close, dragging his whole arm towards me as I tucked Azriel's hand, rough and far bigger than my own, against my chest, almost whimpering with relief when it pressed against my too hot skin.

I could feel the shadowsinger grow rigid. His fingers froze in mine, and I felt my cheeks heat a little more as I cracked open an eye, ready to defend myself. But the words got stuck in my throat.

Azriel was staring at me. His lips were a little agape, the crease still between his brows, but almost smoothed over, like what I had done had made him forget about the reason it had been there in the first place. His fingers twitched, and I already prepared for him to pull his hand out of my grip and away from my body – but then Azriel blinked, and his hand shifted, gently closing around mine as the back of his forefinger carefully stroked over my chest.

“You're burning up,”, he mumbled, and I was almost sure his low voice sounded a little raspy.

“Knew you think I'm hot,”, I mumbled back, my head thrumming as I blinked heavily and grinned weakly, and Azriel rolled his eyes, but for a second, I caught his lips curving.

For a second, his gaze moved over my face, then he blinked and dropped his head, and something flickered a little in my chest when he pulled his other glove off with his teeth, dropping it carelessly as he raised his free hand.

My eyes fluttered shut and a blissful whimper left me when Azriel pressed his palm against my forehead, his thumb slowly brushing over my cheek. I nuzzled my face into his hand, not caring about anything but the fact that his skin was cool, the fever made my body feel like it was on fire and this was the closest to being a little more comfortable I had gotten in days.

My eyes fluttered shut as the movement triggered another wave of pounding headaches, and I coughed lightly, the rattling sound making my own face pull into a wince as I sniffled against my blocked nose.

“I still don't want to get you sick,”, I mumbled, my voice hoarse, and Azriel's hand shifted in mine, his fingers carefully linking with mine as his deep voice gently rumbled over me.

“You won't.”

“I think you're overestimating yourself.” Tipping my head slightly, I stared at him in exhaustion, feeling my lips curve as I raised an eyebrow tiredly. “Even big bad Illyrian warriors can get the flu.”

Azriel's eyes flickered over my face, and the shadow of a crease formed in his cheek. Then he blinked and straightened up, his hands slipping away from me. Something tightened a little in my chest, but when I opened my eyes that had already started to droop again, my heart jumped so high, it got stuck in my throat.

Azriel was stripping out of his chest armor, the winter leathers heavy as he peeled them off and dropped them to the ground with a thud. Muscles shifted under his skin, causing his tattoos to shift as well, like they were moving over his shoulders like his shadows, and suddenly, breathing felt even more difficult than before as my eyes dragged over his torso, chiselled like carved from marble, the dip of his shoulders where they met his neck, the planes of his chest over his lean, muscled middle -

Azriel's thigh holsters with his knives hit the floor, then he kicked off his boots and moved towards me, and I felt my lips part, my voice so croaky I couldn't even blame it onto the flu anymore as I mumbled: “You know, I'm not sure I'm in the shape for that right now -“

Azriel huffed, and I was almost sure to see a twinkle flash through his eyes when he glared at me.

“We need to get your temperature down.” The mattress dipped, and I could just stare with hitching breaths when Azriel climbed over me, dropping onto the mattress and propping himself up until he could spread his wings comfortably. Then he raised his eyes, and something started fluttering weakly against my ribs when they met mine, twinkling just a little bit as he held out his arm. “Come on.”

I felt my lips part, my head thrumming as I stared, stared at the male that just had to be so godsdamned gloriously perfect, and one corner of Azriel's lips twitched a little. Then he softly arched an eyebrow, like a silent challenge.

And maybe it was because there was pain thrumming under my temples and my skin was burning up and I was just utterly exhausted, or the overwhelming urge to be close to him had just finally gotten too much – but I just breathed a soft grumble and turned around, simply flopping onto his chest. My cheek met his skin, my arm wrapping around his middle as I curled into his side, and I almost purred at the sensation of his cool skin against my own, way too hot and flushed.

I would have been completely content like this, my eyes already drooping, ready to doze off to hopefully get a reprieve from the thrum in my head – only the shadowsinger had other plans.

His arm snuck around my back, sliding under me, the other wrapped around my waist, and smoothly, like I weighed nothing, Azriel pulled me up onto his chest.

I almost groaned at the sensation of his cool skin pressing against mine wherever it was exposed. I had long shed any shirts I used for sleeping and was only wearing underwear and a soft bra under a short flimsy thing with thin straps, and I had never been happier about little clothing before.

Draping my arm over his chest, I nuzzled my face into the crook of his neck, feeling my eyes flutter shut when just for a second, the pulsing pain in my head seemed to subside a bit. I thought I could feel Azriel shudder a little when my nose brushed over his throat, then I shuffled a bit, pulling up my leg and draping it over Azriel's waist, almost shivering blissfully when my bare thigh pressed against his cool skin.

Azriel's muscles shifted under me. I could feel it ripple through his body as he grew still, his hand tensing where it was pressed against my hip, my top ridden up far enough for his skin to be flush against mine, and my heart stumbled a little.

Suddenly, the pounding in my head was back, only it had transferred to my chest, the ache growing as I felt myself grow stiff, because maybe I had gone too far, crossed a line –

Quickly, I raised my head, almost wincing at the way the movement caused my head to swim, and my eyes found Azriel's, only inches away, so close I could see the golden sprinkles in his honey-colored iris, so close I could count the shadows of the few freckles on his nose.

Azriel blinked. Then something shifted in his eyes, and a deep exhale left him. His head dipped forward, and I simply lost my breath when his arm wrapped tighter around my waist and hauled me up, up until my whole body was completely draped over his, his rough hand slipping under my top and up my back until his whole arm pressed against my spine and his other hand – his other hand grabbed my blanket and threw it over us before it slid under my knee, pulling it up further until his arm slipped under it and his whole forearm was curled around my thigh.

And again, maybe because I was delirious with fever and pain thrumming through my head and whole body, my heart just fluttered softly and warmly as I curled deeper into his chest, burying my face in the crook of his neck and closing my heavy eyes.

And when Azriel pulled me closer, dropping his nose into my hair as his thumb started to gently brush over my spine and I began to slowly doze off, I thought that maybe, just maybe, this stupid flu had turned out to have some perks after all.

#azriel #az #azriel x reader #azriel x female!reader #azriel imagine #azriel/reader #az x reader #az imagine #az/reader #acotar x reader #acomaf #acotar #acowar #lalacliffthorne #azriel drabble

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runningfrom2am · 3 months

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cold nights // part nineteen

summary: you showed him colours he knows he can't see with anyone else.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.3k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: i'm sorry it took me so long to post this omg i am behind on writing bc i'm so sick but i'm also trying to get ahead on requiem BUT-

Important Announcement!!:

cold nights will officially have a season 3! i wasn't sure but i had a good idea for what the epilogue would be and then i realized it would be so much better as another fully developed idea. so, that will be coming soon!!

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist

Coryo smiles as you run up ahead of him, picking up his pace slightly and dropping his bag next to yours.

Some of the others are already stripped down to their bathing suits and running down the dock. It is beautiful here, not that he ever doubted you.

He watches as you peel off your dress, another short one similar to the one you had worn for most of the time he'd known you. This one wasn't sewn in at the middle, so you can slip it quickly over your head. Your bathing suit must have been homemade, too, and it allowed him to see how the bruises and scratches on your back were all but healed while you toss your dress to the ground. He notices quickly that it was exactly the same as Lucy Gray's, maybe your mother had made you matching ones. That's so sweet.

Your skin looked so beautifully soft- just like it should have the first time he saw it, spare for the scars on your calf and your arm, it was just what he imagined.

You kick your shoes off, and the wood of the dock is hot against your bare feet as you run down to the end, diving head-first off to the side to avoid jumping right onto any of your friends.

It seemed to Coryo that you weren't afraid anymore as you briefly looked back at him while you were running. The excited scream you let out when you lept from the dock made his heart flutter. This is exactly what he had wanted, from the very beginning.

When Coryo jumps in behind you, you can hear his shout and feel the water shift around you as his body breaks the surface. You turn under the water, its clarity allowing you to see where everyone is. You loved this. The memories of this lake kept you safe, almost. You can hear muffled laughter above the water, deciding to take your time before coming up for air. You didn't need it just yet.

You swim away from everyone deep under the surface, scanning the lake floor for anything interesting. Really, it was just sticks and rocks and mud, but one day you may find something else exciting, but not today.

"Where is she going?" Coryo comments, watching your body as you kick away deeper under the water.

"Wherever she wants." Lennox answers plainly, treading water as he stares at him.

"She's looking for secrets." Maude Ivory giggles, splashing him in the face. At least she gave him somewhat of an answer.

He quickly lifts an arm to block the wave, but it fails miserably. "What kind of secrets will she find at the bottom of the lake?" He coughs out, wiping the water from his eyes.

"Once we found a watch." Lucy Gray shrugs, looking from him to you. "Which is odd because we didn't know anyone else knew about this place. The secrets are what happens when we aren't here."

You hardly noticed the lack of oxygen until it almost felt too late, quickly swimming up and pushing your hair out of your face so you don't inhale it by mistake.

"Anything good today?" Lucy Gray shouts over to you as soon as she's noticed you've come up.

"There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so!" You pant, pushing yourself through the water back toward her.

"So, that's a no?" Sejanus asks and you laugh, shaking your head.

"Just rocks and sticks." You explain, joining them again and bumping shoulders with Lucy Gray. "Some weeds, if that's your fancy."

"Oh, yes, that's right up my alley." Sejanus chuckles, cupping his hands to block out the glare of the sun as he looks down into the water anyway.

"I've never been to a lake before," Coryo says, breathing heavily as the waves from the kids splashing keep coming up too close to his face.

"What? Really?" Lucy Gray and Sejanus ask in unison, and you smile at him.

He nods, eyes locking with yours. You feel the need to say something. "Is it everything you dreamt of?" You ask.

"Just about." He grins.

"Oh? What's missing?" You giggle.

Oh, only being able to hold you without retraumatizing you.

"It's not that anything is missing," He comes up with as an excuse. "There's just more birds than I expected."

"Oh, yeah. They like it out here." You hum, looking up at the trees while Lucy Gray whistles out a tune for them to mimic. You smile. "Why, you don't like birds either?"

"Never been the biggest fan, no." He chuckles.

The birds echo her song back to you repeatedly. Coryo turns around to watch as if there was anything to see besides these black birds flitting around the trees and above the cabin. "What kind of birds are they?" He asks. "I've never seen that before."

"We call 'em Mockingjays." Lucy Gray tells him.

"'Cause they'll mock ya if you mess up the song!" Clerk Carmine jumps in, climbing onto Lucy Gray's back under the water.

"Oh, I wouldn't know." Your friend teases him, gripping tight onto the boy's legs as he starts to shout. He knows what's about to happen, and clearly you do too as Coryo watches you and your brother quickly swim out of their reach and closer to him.

You laugh, watching as Lucy Gray takes a big dramatic breath in and sinks under the surface of the water, pulling CC down with her as he screams and splashes.

The sun dried you quickly after you decided you had had enough of the water, climbing back out onto the dock and deciding to just lay your blanket there to dry off on while you took the book and snacks from your bag.

Coryo had been sitting with Lucy Gray and Sejanus, but they were just talking to each other more than him. Not that he could have paid much attention. He was just watching you.

"Can I go talk to her?" He asks with little regard for the conversation that he was interrupting.

They both look over at him. "I mean, you could try. Would that be okay?" Sejanus answers, looking to Lucy Gray for confirmation.

"No. Let her have her peace and quiet." Lennox interrupts as he walks back up in front of them, pulling his shirt back onto his now fully dried skin.

Lucy Gray sighs."Just... Don't be stupid." She advises Coryo, nodding him on. "Len, we'll be right here."

Your brother shakes his head slightly, glaring between the three of them with nothing short of adamant disapproval.

Coryo nods slightly, taking the preferable answer by getting up and heading back down onto the dock.

Lennox looks back over his shoulder to where he just was with Maude Ivory looking for katniss, before taking Coryo's spot on the deck.

"Did she not tell you anything about him?" Lennox mumbles to Lucy Gray, eyes locked on his sister and her 'friend' as he stands over her. "No, she must have- because you were at The Hob last week. You saw it."

"I saw a girl with a lot of unresolved trauma have an episode." Lucy Gray explains, watching Lennox take Coryo's spot next to her. "He made a mistake, but he wouldn't ever hurt her."

Your brother opens his mouth to argue, but Sejanus interrupts. "I know it isn't my place, but Lucy Gray is right. He would sooner die than hurt her."

"Okay, well, explain how he's sitting right next to her when he's already hurt her so bad she may never recover!" Lennox whispers, gesturing to the dock as if they couldn't already see you there.

"I'm not defending anything he's done. That's not what I meant." Sejanus explains. "I just mean he would never do it on purpose."

"Accidents are clearly bad enough."

"Len, he just wants to make amends now." Lucy Gray insists. "And she wants that. I know she does, she's really trying."

"Listen, if it helps..." Sejanus starts, looking back out at you and Coryo on the dock. He can tell how nervous his friend is, watching you intently as he picks at the wood finish beneath him and listening to you talk. "He really loves her. I know it's not my place to tell you that, but it was bad when she was gone. He hardly spoke a word to anyone, he wouldn't put her book down- it was really hard on him. We weren't sure if she had been executed for cheating, and it was killing him to be left in the dark."

"That's not love, that's guilt." Lennox mutters, watching you closely.

"What's the difference between love and guilt?" Lucy Gray asks him rhetorically. "He wouldn't feel guilty if he didn't care."

"The difference is he wouldn't have come here and made the same mistake again."

Lucy Gray bites into her lip, slightly shaking her head. That was an honestly good point.

"I was in the arena, too. I saw what he did." Sejanus says after a moment. "He saved my life, it was my fault. It was shocking... you know, the overkill, but I can't say for certain I wouldn't have done the same thing. We were both pumped so full of adrenaline that I truly believe that's what it was." He explains. "I mean, I was behind him, so I don't know what she saw- but it looked like adrenaline to me."

"How do you think she felt?" Lennox asks, eyes wide. "She was in there for three days! You and him were there for what, ten minutes?"

"Wait..." Lucy Gray backpedals, looking at Sejanus. "Sejanus, what do you mean you thought he was executed for cheating? Like, in the games?"

Sejanus swallows, nodding. He looks over at you but quickly looks away. "Yeah, uh... Coryo told me that she used rat poison to kill two of the others. And he did something to keep the snakes from biting her, but I don't think he was caught for that."

Your brother and best friend look at each other like they'd just seen a ghost before their eyes simultaneously track to you. You were laughing.

"She didn't... She didn't tell me that." Lucy Gray says quietly. "Did you know, Len?"

"No."

"That doesn't surprise me." Sejanus shrugs and they both look at him, shocked and confused. "Well, she doesn't know either. I don't think, definitely not about the snakes, but she told the Dean it was salt. That I gave her." He laughs slightly at the end, but they don't find it funny. "By the time she left, she was fully delusional about it. She knew what it was, Coryo gave it to her to protect herself because he needed her to win. She was really upset by the insinuation that it, in fact, was not salt."

Lucy Gray and Lennox look at each other again, unsure what to say. It must have been worse than they thought. Regardless, they knew it must be eating you alive.

"Can I join you?" You hear Coryo's voice above you after about ten minutes of listening to the mockingjays sing Lucy Gray's song back to her as she sat on the porch of the cabin. The sun was so warm on your skin that you could have fallen asleep here if you weren't reading your book.

You squint against the sun as you look up at him. "Yes, you may." You agree, and you feel him sitting down next to you as the wood creaks below him.

You find yourself holding your breath, even as you return to your book to try and remain relaxed.

He's not going to hurt you.

"What are you reading?" He asks after a moment, thinking your arms must be asleep for using them to hold the book and support your weight for so long.

"It's called 'Much Ado About Nothing'." You answer. "Another Shakespeare piece."

"Do you like it?" He asks, lifting his leg to rest his elbow on his knee while you sit up, crossing your legs and letting the book fall into your lap.

"I do." You smile down at the page. It is much more lighthearted than Romeo and Juliet, as much as you would have loved to come home and drown yourself in your favourite book- the boy next to you unintentionally made it impossible. God, you were so embarrassed by the letter you wrote to him. Your cheeks flush just think about it. All you did by surviving was make everything weird.

"Another tragedy?" He inquires, attempting to read some of the words on the page as it's opened on your lap.

"No." You chuckle, shaking your head. "It's a romantic comedy, actually."

"Oh, wow. You changed it up?" He asks, only somewhat shocked. It would only make sense that you couldn't handle much more tragedy since you've been home.

"I did." You smile. "It's quite funny."

"Will you read me your favourite part?" He suggests, watching your eyes as they light up with excitement from the request.

"Okay, so..." You quickly flip back through the pages and into the first act, scanning for the lines you're looking for. "Okay. Here." You pretend to clear your throat.

"In our last conflict four of his five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man governed with one: so that if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him bear it for a difference between himself and his horse; for it is all the wealth that he hath left, to be known a reasonable creature." You recite, dragging your finger along the page so he can track what you are reading. You remembered it, but it might have been easier for him to follow that way.

Coryo watched you the whole time, and by the end, you were a giggling mess. You thought it was absolutely hilarious, and he smiles at that.

"What does that mean?" He chuckles.

"So," You laugh, a hand pressed to your chest. "Basically, she's talking about how she was arguing with Benedick and won. The punchline is that she let him keep one of his wits, because if she didn't no one would be able to tell him from his horse."

Coryo laughs at that, shaking his head. "That is good." He agrees.

"Isn't it?" You smile. "It's a welcome change of pace."

"Yeah, Romeo and Juliet was... yikes." He says, ticking his jaw and peeling up some of the wood from the dock between you.

"You read it?" You ask quietly, eyes widening as you look over at him. It shouldn't shock you, he told you he would, and that he even looked forward to it. "What did you think?"

"Of course I did," Coryo nods. "I really enjoyed it."

"It doesn't seem like it..." You laugh nervously, looking down as you flip back to the page you were on before closing the book.

"No, truly. I did." He insists. "Just... for lack of a better term, it was tragic."

"Yes, well..." You chuckle, shrugging slightly and tucking your book back into the bag next to you.

"It was heartbreaking!" He laughs suddenly. "And that's your favourite?" He looks at you then, head tilted as he slightly shakes his head.

"Okay, so," You laugh, rolling your eyes. You were used to defending this to others who have tried reading it. "That's what makes it so beautiful. It's so touching, they died for each other thinking they were in love, but they also hardly knew each other. It forces you to wonder what could have been, and I like that."

"Okay, well, you're right." Coryo agrees. "I didn't like the ending, but that's the point, I suppose. The rest was good, it reminded me a lot of you."

"I think I forced a bias onto you. My apologies."

"You didn't force anything on me." He smiles, shaking his head. "All I knew is that you loved it, and that made it so much better."

Your cheeks flush as you busy yourself by pulling out the bag of cherries. "Would you like some?" You offer the bag to him and he reaches in, taking just a couple out and popping one into his mouth.

"I finished it all before you left." Coryo tells you, and you hold him out another empty paper bag to spit the pits into.

"That good?" You smile and he nods.

"Can I..." Coryo starts, and you tilt your head at him. He doesn't want to ruin your day by bringing this up. Everything on your face shows hope, even excitement for what he is going to say. "If you can't hear this stop me, but the book made great company in the mentor hall."

For a moment, he saw nervousness flicker behind your eyes, but still, you nodded. You wanted to hear anything he had to say- you just hoped you could stomach it.

"Oh, that's fine. I'm... I'm glad." You try and smile, distracting yourself by popping a cherry into your mouth.

"I was alone most of the time. I didn't go home." He tells you, trying to say what he wanted but still be as vague as possible.

"It must have been so horribly boring." You laugh nervously, swallowing the cherry pit as you reach for another of the small red fruits, picking the stem from it and flicking it into the lake.

"I wish it was." He replies, watching you closely to see if and when he's crossed a line. You nod in understanding, and he takes a nervous breath in. "I... The alternative was that I got sent home like some of my classmates. I wasn't going to leave until I had to."

'Until I had to.'

So he was forced to go in for Sejanus. Why on earth would they not send peacekeepers? Why another child?

"I... I appreciate that." You stammer out, looking down at your lap, noticing for the first time that your hands were trembling. "That must have been uncomfortable. I apologize."

Coryo furrows his brow at you. "No, I'm sorry. Why would you apologize to me?" He asks. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you. That I couldn't get you out."

"You did more than you had to." You say, voice quiet with your honesty.

"No." He shakes his head. "I had to do everything I did. I couldn't let you die."

"You saved my life, and... and-" It happens very suddenly when a tear falls down your cheek; you didn't even notice you were starting to panic.

"No, wait, I'm sorry, hey, don't cry..." Coryo says quickly. He wants to help, to do something, but he feels helpless. Again. He feels sick with the knowledge that he always says the wrong thing.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." You mumble, trying to wipe your eyes but you're finding it hard to speak.

"Don't be, please don't be sorry." He pleads with you, shifting so he's kneeling next to you, placing a hand on your back.

You almost jump away, head flying to look at him. He's just rubbing your back. He's only trying to help.

Instinctively, your eyes search for his. They aren't hard to find, and all you can see as you search them is worry. Nothing malicious. "I... Do you want me to get Lucy Gray? Or your brother?" He offers, grabbing your shaking hands in his free one. "Just take deep breaths."

You nod, scared to look away for even a second. So he has to.

Coryo turns back, swallowing his pride. "Lennox! Lucy Gray!" He shouts, drawing their attention quickly.

He accepted the berating he was about to get from your brother before it even came.

"What did you do?" Lennox asks him, forcing himself between the two of you.

"We were just talking and I think I said something- I don't know, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." Coryo answers honestly, standing up and taking a step back.

You're watching him, intently, despite Lucy Gray taking over holding you and talking to you in hushed tones, trying to ease your mind.

"I'm okay." You tell her, nodding. You don't look at her, only watching him. Watching his eyes- but nothing changes. Baby blue. Worry. More worry.

taglist: @soulessjourney , @that-veela-girl , @dreamyysouls, @rockstarbfs , @maysileeewrites , @baybieruth , @kitscutie , @fratboyharrysgf0201 , @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @drewsandsebastianswife , @niicole-87 , @queenofshinigamis , @innercreationflower , @nallasstuff , @iovemoonyy , @thatmarvelchick19 , @wearemadeofstardust0 , @regulusblackcore , @puredreamagination , @fantasticchaosthing , @becauseseaotters , @secretsicanthideanymore

okay suddenly tumblr isn't letting me tag more people than this so i just made some cuts unfortunately :') i just left the max amount of people i could whose users i recognized and see in my notifs all the time :) if you're not on here and you should be i'm so sorry!

also this taglist is closed now!! if you’d like to get a notification when i update, turn on my post notifications!! i promise i won’t spam y'all :,)

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ramblingoak · 7 months

Text

Care Package

Papa Emeritus IV x GN Reader ~ You take care of Copia after he gets sick at the end of the tour

Warnings: Copia being dramatic while sick, fluff, sfw, 1k words, not proofread forgive me

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“I’m dying.”

Here we go. It was a good thing your back was turned because Copia would pitch a fit if he saw you rolling your eyes. You sighed and continued to pick up all of the used tissues that were littering the floor. When he let out a pitiful sigh you groaned, turning your head to glare at him.

“Copia, you’re fine.”

“No, no this is it. I can feel it.” You bit your lip to stifle the laugh that wanted to bubble out. Copia was endlessly dramatic whenever he was under the weather. “It’s near.”

“What’s near?”

“Death.”

“Oh Lucifer, you’re not going to die from a cold.” He started to respond but was immediately interrupted by a series of violent sneezes, the whole bed shaking from the force of them. You turned back to the dirty tissues, shoving them into a trash bag while he recovered. The sound of him blowing his nose filled the room and right when you were turning to check on him again a wet, balled up tissue hit you right in the face. “Son of a fuck! Copia!”

“Eh?” His adorably confused look stopped you from leaping onto the bed and strangling him, but just barely. The sight of his red, watery eyes made your irritation disappear. His face was flushed from the fever and sweaty locks of hair had fallen across his forehead. When Copia realized you were staring at him he groaned and threw his arm over his face. “You shouldn’t see me like this.”

“Like what?” You dropped the trash bag and grabbed another box of tissues, slowly walking around the bed to sit by his hip. He whined when you tugged on his arm so you could see his face. “Hey, like what?”

“Pathetic.” You cooed at him, reaching out to brush his hair back. He sighed when you placed your cool hand on his forehead. “Weak and old. Hideous.”

“Well, this is all true bu–”

“Dolcezza!” Copia’s voice broke while he whined and he was overcome with a fit of coughing. You helped turn him so he was coughing away from you, rubbing his back as they came to an end. “Ugh, why are you here?”

“Someone has to take care of you.”

“You’re going to get sick too.” He rolled back over on his back with a groan. “I don’t want you to catch this.”

“I’ll just have to risk it.” You smoothed his hair out again, giving him a soft smile when he met your eyes. “I want to take care of you, Copia.”

“Fine, fine. Twist my arm.” He managed a weak smile and you resisted the urge to lean down and kiss him. “Thank you, amore.”

“You’re welcome, Papa.” You reached towards his night stand and grabbed the damp cloth you had set there earlier. Copia let out a relieved sigh when you wiped the sweat off his face. “Now, I’m going to clean you up a bit and then you’ll need to eat something before you take any more medicine.”

“I couldn’t possib–”

“It's homemade chicken noodle soup.”

You laughed when he grabbed your hand, his eyes lighting up at your words.

“Did Secondo make it?”

“Yes, your brothers gave me a care package for you.” Copia sniffled a bit and you let him pretend it was from his cold. You got up to grab the laundry basket Terzo had given you and brought it over to the bed, setting it at Copia’s feet so you could show him everything inside. “Your ghouls also added a few things.”

“Anything good?”

“Primo gave me a salve I’m supposed to rub on your chest.” You shook her head at him when he waggled his eyebrows. Even when feverish he couldn’t help himself. “And Terzo added a book and these penis shaped hard candies for your throat.”

“Where does he find this stuff?” Copia made grabby hands for the candies and you tossed them over. He opened the bag quickly, popping one into his mouth and smiling around it. “These aren’t bad though, what book is it?”

“The Hobbit.” His eyes immediately started watering and you frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing. He used to read that to me when we were kids.” Copia cleared his throat and smiled. “What did the ghouls send?”

“Um, Phantom knit you a sweater but he ran out of yarn so it’s missing a sleeve.” You held up the bright blue monstrosity that the quintessence ghoul had proudly shoved into your hands that morning. “Other than that you got some eucalyptus candles and tea, a few crossword puzzle books and Aurora is letting you borrow her box set of all the Halloween movies.”

Copia’s face lit up at the last item, both he and the ghoulette had bonded over an intense love for slasher movies. You laid the sweater over his chest and handed him the dvd’s then busied yourself putting the basket away and setting the candles around the room while you both pretended he wasn’t crying. After he blew his nose a few times you wandered back over, the book from Terzo in your hands. Copia yawned and settled back into his pillows while you fussed over him, helping him get comfortable.

“Will you read to me, amore?” You wanted to get him to eat some soup first, but rest would be good for him as well. As carefully as possible you got up on the bed and sat next to him, smiling when he scooted closer and rested his head against your thigh. “Just until I fall asleep.”

“Whatever you need, Copia. I’ll be right here.” His breath was already evening out, his body going limp as you ran your fingers through his hair. You quietly opened the book in your lap, taking a few seconds to watch him before you started to read. “In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit…”

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

my masterlist of fic

my archive of our own page

#my fic #my writing #papa emeritus iv x gn reader #copia x gn reader #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfiction #ghost band fanfiction #papa emeritus iv fanfiction #copia fanfiction #papa emeritus iv x reader #copia x reader #papa emeritus x reader

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cameronspecial · 7 months

Text

Let Me Take Care of You, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Threatening to Get Someone Fired, Reader being sick

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.8K

Summary: Y/N can barely stand but it doesn't stop her from trying to go to class, so Rafe steps up and goes for her.

A/N: This is like a prequel to Let Me Handle It, Angel, but you can read it by itself or in any order.

Masterlist

Her nose shouldn’t be so stuffy with the amount of liquid dripping down from it right now. The tickle in the back of her throat that won’t go away no matter how many cough drops or tea she drinks is driving her crazy. To top it all off, she is constantly going between being hot and cold, which causes her to turn dizzy as she is taking Rafe’s sweater on and off. She blows her nose again to alleviate some of the build-up, but she still can’t breathe.

Meanwhile, Rafe is in the kitchen getting her lunch ready. He hopes his mom’s homemade chicken noodle soup has enough broth to counterbalance the too much salt he accidentally put in. The butter bread he lays on the tray is to give her a little more substance and he is about to pour her some freshly squeezed orange juice into her favourite mug. He goes to get the juice to find his frat brother, Topper, about to pour the last of the juice into his own cup. The death glare Rafe sends his best friend stops the other boy. Rafe grabs the glass jug from the boy and pours it into her mug. He brings the tray of food upstairs to find her trying to change into some leggings. She got dizzy trying to put them on standing up so now, she is rolling around his bedroom floor trying to yank her pants up her bloated lower body. Rafe sighs at the sight of her and places the tray on his desk.

“Stop, please. Let me take care of you, Angel. Please,” he begs, taking off the leggings and putting his sweatpants back on for her. She resists a little, not because she is uncomfortable with his help but because she wants the leggings on, “No, Rafe. I have to go to class. I need to put some clothes on.” He shakes her head at her begging. “No, angel. You can barely stand up, let alone go to class. Please, sit back down and eat something,” he orders, guiding her to sit up against his headboard so she can eat. She refuses, “I have class, Rafe. I need to go. This prof takes attendance for a mark.” “Well, then I’ll go for you. I’ll record the lecture and even take notes for you, angel. Just please, stay here and get some rest,” he offers, starting to get changed into some clothes to head to her class.

“Rafe, that would never work. The professor knows what I look like and that I’m a girl.”

“Don’t worry about it, my sweet angel. I’ll take care of it. Now, I expect to see all of that food gone by the time I get back, understand?”

——

Rafe sits at the back of the lecture hall with different coloured pens and a pencil before him. He writes the date in her notebook as neatly as possible then switches to a blue pen for the title. One lazy afternoon together, when they first got together, she was studying while he just watched her. He asked her why she liked handwritten notes and why she used different colours. She explained that the handwritten notes are better for her to transcribe when she studies and the different pens help her visualize the notes better. So he is going to try his best to copy her notes how she likes it.

The clock hits 2 P.M. and Professor Simmons begins the attendance. “Y/N Y/L/N,” he calls out, looking around the front rows for her familiar face. Rafe’s hand darts up, “Present.” The masculine voice causes Professor Simmons to look up from his computer. “You aren’t Ms. Y/L/N,” he questions with an arch brow.

“No, I am not. But she is currently sick at the moment so I’m filling in. So you can just mark her as here.”

“I don’t know who you are, but this isn’t how this works.”

“Well, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Rafe Cameron. Y/N’s loving boyfriend, but also a Cameron. The same Cameron, whose name is on the business building. One phone call and I can have you fired. Tenure or not. So do we have any problem with me being here for Y/N?”

Rafe holds his phone up about to dial his dad, who would do anything in a heartbeat for Y/N because he thinks she is good for Rafe. The auditorium goes silent as they wait for the professor to answer. Professor Simmons shakes his head and continues on with the list.

——

The door opening makes Y/N look towards it. Her boyfriend stands at the entrance with a grin on his face and ice cream in his hand. “How did it go?” she barely gets out between coughs, reaching for the pint of ice cream she knows she shouldn’t be eating. Rafe wraps his arm around her and places a kiss on her temple, “Without a problem. How are you feeling, angel?” “That’s good. Thank you for going. And a little better. I haven’t puked since you left,” she tells him, eating another bite of ice cream. He smiles at that fact, “I would do anything for you. I’m so glad you are better. I love you, angel.”

“I love you too, Rafe.”

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harryforvogue · 2 months

Text

or the one where annaliese is sick and harry has never hated himself more <3

read wtss in full here

read more wtss content here

***

Every morning, without fail, Harry gets up to make his wife breakfast and lunch before she leaves for work.

Lunch is the easy part – usually leftovers from the night before with a fresh salad and dressing, drink, and snack. She really enjoys having something sweet after a large meal, and she often falls victim to taking a nap after lunch, so to keep her awake, he packs a bar of dark chocolate into her lunch bag.

Breakfast is trickier because sometimes she doesn’t wake with an appetite. Still, he’ll put out something small on the table. A single slice of toast with butter and coffee, or even just yogurt with his homemade granola. Something that will keep her fed until lunch. It was a part of his vow of course. Keeping her fed and happy. He can’t do the latter but he can certainly put all his effort into the first.

Once her bag is zipped up, and her yogurt is left on the dining table, he grabs an apple for himself and then returns to his room. She’ll be getting up in ten minutes. She gets ready quickly too thanks to her hair, outfit, and skin preparations from the night before, so he never has to worry about her coffee getting cold. It’s an unspoken routine.

Harry sits on his bed, knees drawn to his chest, waiting for her door to open so that he can go back to sleep.

Ten minutes pass. The door doesn’t open. He doesn’t hear the soft pad of her sleepy steps making their way to the bathroom down the hall. He gives her an additional five minutes. Perhaps she wants to sleep in. But then five minutes become ten and then fifteen, and then Harry worries she’ll be late for work.

He’s torn between waking her and leaving her alone when he hears a wet cough from the other side of the wall. His heart drops.

Harry quietly opens his door and walks to her room. Her door is closed, but when he presses his ear against it, he can hear her coughs, followed by a whimper of distress. Alarm bells ring through his head, his hand shooting out to grab the door handle without thinking. He stops himself just as he begins turning it open, his other hand balled into a fist in frustration at himself.

At least Annaliese knows she’s too ill to go to work. Harry moves away from the door slowly and goes back to the kitchen, putting all the food he’s prepared for her in the fridge. He rolls up his sleeves, taking out several vegetables, stock, and a cutting board. He gets to work without thinking.

The sounds of Annaliese coughing travels through the house, hitting him square in the chest.

Had he missed something important? A pale flush of her cheeks that he mistook for the effects of the cold draft that swept her into the house? Several sneezes that he brushed off as allergies? A red nose that he blamed on the wintery February? Fatigue that he assumed was from the long day on her feet?

He feels terrible.

He should have known.

Harry cooks the stock on high flames, adding a tiny tinge of spice as she enjoys it. While that continues, he kneads dough and sets it aside for dinner later. He’ll make her a fresh, herbed loaf. Run the store to get that sweet cream butter she likes so much.

Once the food is done, he puts all the dishes on the tray, and carefully makes his way back to the rooms. He knocks on Annaliese’s door once before allowing himself in.

He rarely comes into this room anymore, so the memories of the shared space hit him hard. He keeps a neutral face, but his eyes dart around, seeing the things exactly that way he left them. Lamps in the same spots, the same curtains, the same number of pillows on the bed. His side of the bed, in fact, is messy, as if Annaliese often travels to that side during her sleep. The image of her reaching for him in the middle of the night makes him falter in his step, an odd pain near his ribs.

To his surprise, his wife is sitting up in bed, her wild curls in her face, one shoulder bare from the neckline sliding down too far as if she unbuttoned the top of her pajama set due to discomfort. She raises her head to look at him, but it’s so hard to as if her head is heavy.

“Could you call the school?” she whispers, a quiver to her voice.

Harry nods and goes to put the food on the side table. At the sight of what’s on the table, though, his breath hitches.

A framed photograph rests in the center of the wood, an outtake that wasn’t put in with the rest of the photo album. It’s from their wedding: Harry feeding Annaliese a bit of cake, the two of them unwinding during their reception with Harry’s tie already undone and Annaliese’s veil abandoned somewhere in the hall. He recalls the moment violently, remembering how she looked at him from under her lashes, a wild glimpse of excitement at the promise of their new life together. It’s the first time he called her his wife. He kissed her messy mouth afterwards.

Harry puts the tray down with trembling fingers.

She looks at the food curiously but doesn’t say anything more.

He hands her a large cup of water first, which she enthusiastically drinks. Then, he fixes the sheets around her thighs and places the tray beside her.

“Want this?” he asks, holding up a packet of saltines.

“Mhm.”

He rips open the plastic and crushes the crackers into her soup. She holds her hands out for the bowl, shuddering delicately when the warmth hits her. "Thank you."

Annaliese tilts her head back and sighs deeply. Her fingers curl around the spoon, stirring the soup weakly. Her hair is still in her face, and she makes no move to give herself between visual access.

Harry hesitates, but then sits on the bed beside her legs, reaching out. She shudders when his cold fingertips touch the sides of her face – though it’s just barely. He unravels the curls, separating them from her clips, and then uses two of the largest ones to pin her hair back. Annaliese’s eyes flutter shut, and through the warm morning light, he sees her fever flushed waxy skin and parted lips. He somehow resists the urge to hold her face.

“Thank you,” she murmurs again, keeping her eyes closed.

Harry doesn’t know what to say. So he stands, brings her medicine from the bathroom, and then goes to the kitchen to give her school a call. He introduces himself as Annaliese’s husband, details how she’s in no circumstance to get to work for today, and takes a wild guess to say she has lesson plans in her classroom. The administration must like her very much because the woman he talks to sounds sad to hear his wife isn't not doing well. It makes Harry feel better though, knowing that she’s well taken care of outside this odd routine they have.

He returns to her room, prepared to ask her if she needs anything more.

She’s halfway done with her soup, and the overwhelming warmth has caused her hairline to go all damp. He enters the door with a hand towel, rolling it up. When she looks up at him with her tired eyes, he’s unsure if he should be the one mopping that sweat, or if she’ll even let him.

“Did they ask what time I’ll come in?” she asks instead, voice low as if she won't be able to get it any louder.

Harry’s brows furrow together. “You’re taking the day off.”

As stubborn as always, Annaliese says, “I don’t need the entire day off. Just the morning. My students have a written exam after lunchtime.”

“You are in no health to go to work today.”

Annaliese looks sad. She takes another weak spoonful of her soup.

Harry suddenly feels the urge to explain himself. “I would have made something more if I had the time,” he says, wringing the towel between his hands. “But that’s all the stock we have. We didn’t have any carrots or eggs or I would have added them in. Maybe the celery isn’t cooked all the way through either.”

His wife shakes her head, and then winces. “It’s good.”

“Is it spicy enough?”

“Yes.”

“And the pepper?”

“It’s good.”

“The salt?”

“Harry,” Annaliese whispers. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

He stops, though he has several more things to say.

Annaliese looks up at him after a moment. “Will you sit?”

He does, towel still in hand. She looks at it, and then goes back to her soup until it’s finished, and she’s setting it aside. Annaliese has more water, and then she reaches for her medicine.

Harry beats her to it. He unscrews the top, pours a healthy bit into the tablespoon and then carries it over to her mouth. The dread is in her eyes, and she makes a face as she swallows it. Harry doesn’t realize he has a ghostly smile on his face until he’s putting the spoon down, watching her take several more gulps of water.

“I hate that taste more than anything,” Annaliese says.

“I know,” Harry answers softly, because he does.

Her jaw tenses, eyes glazed over with an expression Harry doesn’t have the capability to fully understand, and she slides down against the mattress, her head against the pillow. With her knees drawn up, they touch Harry’s thighs, and the briefest contact makes him yearn to feel the real touch of his wife. She closes her eyes, hands under her chin.

Her skin is still pale, her lower lip trembling with fever, and every part of him hurts knowing he can’t lay in bed with her and nurse her back to health. The reminder of his vows again deliver a swift punch to his gut, and emotion makes his throat close. The love he feels for her is binding, suffocating, and the pull to give in is so urgent, it’s a wonder that he keeps himself upright instead of draping his body over hers.

Annaliese doesn’t ask him to do anything more either.

So he takes a deep breath, rolls up the towel a bit better and then carefully lays it against her hairline. She shifts to let him adjust it better, lets him pull the covers over her bare shoulder to shield her from the cold and also to get the idea of kissing her burning skin out of his head.

It goes without saying, but he says it anyway. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Annaliese nods once, eyes still shut.

He wonders if she’s upset with him. The thought of disappointing her makes him want to double over with anger at himself.

He's entirely pathetic. How dare he think he can keep his wife satisfied.

As he’s exiting her room, he passes by the dresser. On it, more framed photos sit. Some from their wedding, some of their families. The picture that rests on her side table once sat with the rest on her dresser. He wonders when she brought that one closer to her. If she looks at it every night before she goes to sleep, every morning when she wakes. If she holds it under her pillow or her cheek to have him right beside her. If she stains the glass with her tears.

Harry turns his head to look at Annaliese once more. She’s asleep, and though she’s fed and being brought back to good health, Harry has never felt more of a failure in his life.

He shuts the door behind him when he leaves, puts the dishes in the sink, and then goes to his room wishing Annaliese would rip the bandaid off and find someone better for herself.

#wtss #harry and annaliese #that was fun!#harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x oc #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff

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steddieas-shegoes · 2 months

Text

how are you even alive?

for @steddielovemonth prompt ‘love is watching them do stupid things’

rated t | 1,351 words | cw: minor injury, suggestive language | tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, the hurt is Steve being stubborn, the comfort is Eddie loving him even though he should accept help

♥️❤️♥️❤️♥️❤️♥️❤️♥️❤️♥️❤️♥️

Twice a year, Steve deep cleaned the house.

Eddie had never witnessed anything like it before.

It’s not that he and Wayne were slobs, but they just did what was necessary, never spending an entire week going over a checklist a mile long to cover every inch of their house.

Steve did.

He said that when he was young, his parents hired people to do it and he was always fascinated with the way the house smelled so fresh for weeks after. He loved watching something go from dusty to shiny, loved seeing the way the windows glistened without any fingerprints from him.

And as he got older, his parents stopped hiring people and just expected it to get done, so he did. And he loved it.

Eddie couldn’t understand it, but he did love the way Steve’s eyes lit up when they got to his cleaning weeks in March and September. He’d plan it all out on a notepad by room, made a list of cleaning supplies he needed, and put stars next to things Eddie would have to help him with.

There were few stars, thankfully.

Eddie didn’t really mind helping. It was his home, too, and any time spent with Steve was time well spent. But the bleach sometimes bothered his sinuses and he’d end up coughing and sneezing for two days after.

He checked the lists now and noticed his name was only on three things:

Flip mattresses

Gutter cleaning (hold ladder and refill pressure washer)

Bookshelves (remove all books, dust, put books back)

He fist pumped once at the realization that he got off easy this time, much easier than he’d been expecting.

Actually, he almost always was enlisted to help with holding the ladder when Steve dusted the-

A bang interrupted his thoughts and he ran without even thinking what it could be.

He walked into the kitchen to see Steve on their ladder, some kind of homemade cleaning solution in a spray bottle in one hand and a washcloth in the other.

“What was that noise?” Eddie asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched Steve reach as far as he could without falling off the ladder. He’d probably land on his feet from that height and be fine, but it wouldn’t exactly feel great.

“Dropped the other bottle I had hanging on my belt. It’s fine, just furniture polish. I can get it when I’m done dusting,” Steve was busy, barely even glanced back at Eddie as he answered.

“Why didn’t you tell me you needed a supervisor?” Eddie found the furniture polish and set it on the counter, watching as Steve furiously rubbed at the top of the cabinets.

“I don’t. But gutter cleaning is tomorrow and I’ll need one then.”

“Steve…”

“Don’t Steve me. I’m fine! I’m already halfway done.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and stepped away, not wanting to argue with Steve when he was at his happiest.

“Can you put the radio on please, baby? I forgot to before I climbed up here.”

Eddie went over to the radio on the kitchen table and turned it on, surprised to find it tuned to the rock station instead of the hits station.

“Well color me shocked! Were you listening to,” he gasped and held his chest. “Rock?”

“Yes, I was. But if you’re gonna make a big deal about it then change it to the hits,” Steves eye roll was almost audible.

“No, no. Let’s listen to Def Leppard, sweetheart. It’s been my dream for one whole minute to check out your ass while listening to Pour Some Sugar On Me.”

Steve snorted, but continued his work.

Eddie continued watching.

And then Steve wobbled a little. He caught himself, but Eddie stood up straighter.

He wobbles more and Eddie started to move towards the ladder to hold it steady.

But it was too late.

Steve was already falling.

He landed on his ass with a yelp and a groan, the washcloth and bottle flying across the floor.

“Shit, Stevie, you okay?” Eddie crouched down next to him, hands cupping his cheeks as he looked him over.

“Yeah. Just twisted my ankle a little when I tried to catch myself,” Steve gestured down at his ankle. “Might need to ice it before I clean more.”

“Maybe you should rest so it doesn’t swell.” Eddie rolled the sweatpants he was wearing up and saw the way it was already swelling. “Okay, you have no choice but to rest since it’s swelling.”

“Fuck me.”

“I can do that after we ice it,” Eddie said as he gently moved his ankle left and right to see if it was broken.

Steve snorted. “Of course this would happen the first day of my spring cleaning.”

“Maybe if you’d let me supervise earlier…”

“I never lose my balance on the ladder! I thought I’d be fine.”

“Steve, you remember how last year when you were cleaning the pool you insisted the water wouldn’t overfill because of the filters?” Eddie smirked. “And then 6 hours later we were trying to rescue your pool chairs from floating away?”

“That isn’t the same!”

“And then when we first moved in and you insisted you could paint the ceiling yourself and you insisted on handpainting instead of a roller because it wouldn't be even to you and then you dripped paint everywhere and we had to get new carpet? Remember how you ended up breaking your finger because you insisted on rolling the carpet yourself?"

"Okay, that was just bad luck."

"And when you put out the Christmas decorations last year while I was helping Wayne with his truck and I came home to you stuck on the roof?"

"Listen, I am almost 100% sure one of the neighbor kids knocked the ladder over. There was no other way!"

Eddie kissed Steve's forehead. "I'm not sure how you're even alive. You're asking for an accident to happen."

"Weren't you supposed to be getting me ice?" Steve pouted.

Eddie leaned in and nipped at his bottom lip. "You want help getting to the couch first?"

"Nope. It's cleaning week. 20 minutes with an ice pack and then I'm back to dusting."

Eddie shook his head. "You're ridiculous. We'll ice it for 20 and then you're gonna rest for at least an hour so we know if we need to wrap it and keep weight off of it."

"I'm fine, Eds."

"Humor me, sweetheart."

It's a damn good thing Steve did because an hour and a half later, they were on their way to the emergency room for x-rays.

As the doctor told them both that Steve seemed to have fractured a small bone in his ankle, Eddie did his best not to look too smug.

"It won't require a cast or boot, but I do recommend ice every couple of hours and staying off of it as much as possible for the next week or so. If anything starts to hurt worse, come back for a boot."

"Thanks, doc." Eddie waited until the doctor left the room to turn to Steve. "How about next time you want to dust above the fridge and the top of the cabinets, you let me be there to catch you?"

"Yeah, yeah. Fine."

Eddie kissed his lips softly, barely brushed them just in case someone decided to walk in again. "You want me to stop on the way home to get some more pain meds?"

"Please."

"You hurtin'?"

"A little."

"You want me to take your mind off it?" Eddie wiggled his brows suggestively. "I can keep your ankle elevated, even."

"We'll see when we get home. But you know what?"

"What?"

"Someone has to do the cleaning, baby. Since I can't, looks like you've got a checklist to get to."

"Or we could just put off the cleaning until your ankle heals."

Steve shook his head. "No, I think you can handle it. I'll supervise."

"You're lucky you're so pretty," Eddie groaned.

"Don't forget I'm also very good at sucking your-"

"Yeah, yeah. Okay. Let's go before you get us discriminated against."

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddielovemonth #love is watching them do stupid things #established relationship #cw: minor injury

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marvelslut16 · 7 months

Text

The Flu

Prompt number: 22 "Who takes care of you?"

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner

Rating: T(een)

Word count: 2.8k+

Warnings: Age gap relationship. Dbf. Swearing. Boss and employee.

A/N: A few hours late for day 4, but I was a busy woman today. Aaron and Jack never go into the witness protection program, they catch Peter Lewis right away.

The job was just supposed to be temporary, one to help you get back on your feet after dropping out of school, and you got to help your long time infatuation Aaron Hotchner now that Jess was moving out of state. It was a win win in your eyes, and it got your dad off your back. But that was almost two years ago now, and there was no end in sight for your current arrangement as Jack’s live in nanny.

The one flaw in your logic was how drop dead gorgeous your boss is. Not that that is new information, you’d been drooling over him since you were sixteen when you saw him shirtless at a backyard/pool party your dad threw. But now it’s so much worse, because he’s so sexy doing all of his mundane tasks. Making coffee at five in the morning with bedhead? Sexy. Making dinner in one of his tight white dress shirts when he gets home from a case early? Still sexy. Dressed down in casual clothes coaching Jack’s soccer team? The most sexy.

As you lament, yet again, to your best friend over text about how unfairly hot Aaron Hotchner is, the front door opens. As if he knew you were talking about him, he enters the house with a thud having dropped his go bag by the front door. He slowly makes his way to the kitchen, where you are, and when he does you finally notice how miserable he looks. His dark hair is slicked to his forehead, his face pale- except for his cheeks which are bright red, and his eyes are bloodshot.

“Oh my god, Aaron! Are you okay?” your voice raising an octave, you rush over to him and guide him to one of the barstools in front of his large island.

“I’m fine, the team overreacted and sent me home,” he almost sounds convincing, until he finishes the sentence with a loud sneeze.

“Awww,” you rub your hand up and down his back comfortingly. “Did Jackers give you the flu?”

“No,” he argues, and tries to quietly sniffle.

“That’s it, straight to bed young man,” your hands resting on your hips as you tell him the same thing you told Jack a week ago when he came home from school with the flu. “While you take a nap I’ll make you some homemade chicken noodle soup.”

“It’s fine (Y/N), you don’t have to do that. I’m capable of making my own lunch,” he looks like a petulant child, his hands balled in fists also resting on his hips.

“When was the last time you let someone take care of you Aaron?” you ask, becoming annoyed that he keeps fighting you. “Six months ago when you were in the hospital, that’s when. And then you still fought it tooth and nail. Who takes care of you?”

“I can take care of myself,” he starts coughing as a result of lowering his voice in order to use his boss voice. A voice he only ever uses on you when you try to care for him too.

“You want to go back to work again soon right?” he nods. “So just listen to me. Take some Tylenol and go lay down. Please let me make you some soup.”

He finally relents and heads upstairs to bed, but not before you get him a large glass of water. Thankfully you were planning on making chicken for dinner, so you already have some thawing. You waste no time and start cooking the chicken in one pot, then you chop the vegetables. After the chicken has been shredded and the soup is simmering, making the whole house smell delicious, you sneak upstairs to check on your patient.

You’re happy to see that he’s laying in the middle of his bed bundled up in his sheets with little snores escaping him.Despite him being sick, he still looks far more at peace and relaxed in this moment then he has since you met him back when he was still a prosecutor. After a few minutes of taking him in, you head back to the kitchen and toast and butter bread to go with his soup. The soup is done ten minutes later, and you ladle a nice heaping bowl for him.

You trek back up the stairs, walk into Aaron’s room and stand beside his bed. You’ve woken him up a bunch of times when he falls asleep watching movies with you and Jack or when he falls asleep at the island going over paperwork for work, but this feels different. You’re in his bedroom, you’re boss’ bedroom. Overcoming your nerves you reach forward and gently shake his shoulder, he wakes with a start whipping his hand to grasp your wrist in a bruising grip.

“Aaron,” you startle, he doesn’t register that you aren’t a threat in his half asleep stupor. “It’s me, it’s (Y/N).”

“(Y/N)?” he snaps out of it, face contorting into a frown when he sees his white knuckled grip around your wrist. “Shit! I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine,” you smile lightly, rubbing your wrist when he finally lets go. “It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have woken you up like that.”

“It’s my fault,” he argues, sitting up and leaning against his mahogany headboard. “I couldn’t stop thinking about the case at work before I fell asleep, I must have dreamt about it.”

“It’s fine Aaron, I just wanted to let you know the soup is done, there’s a bowl cooling on the island for you,” you smile as you slowly back out of his room, suddenly feeling like you’re intruding.

Aaron doesn’t say anything else, so you slip out of the room and head back to the kitchen to start cleaning up. Aaron joins you a few minutes later, wrapped tightly in his blue robe Jack picked out for him for Christmas last year. Aaron lets out an involuntary moan after taking a spoonful of soup, and you clench your thighs together at the delicious sound.

“This is the best chicken noodle soup I’ve ever had,” Aaron says once he’s scarfed down half of his bowl.

“You hate chicken noodle soup,” you giggle, remembering the cute way his nose crinkled in disgust when that was the only soup at some fancy restaurant the team and their families went to last year.

“Not this one!” he shovels in another spoonful.

You give Aaron another helping of the soup, glad that he’s eating and hydrating himself, before putting the rest into a container and into the fridge. You have just enough time to wash the pot and counters before heading to pick Jack up from school.

“I’m gonna head out and get Jackers in a few minutes,” you tell Aaron as he starts sneezing again. “Once you finish that, go lay back down and drink lots of water.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” he murmurs thinking you won’t be able to hear him. But you do, and you glare at him for his childish antics. He finally relents, “okay.”

The drive to get Jack isn’t very long, but after the whole Peter Lewis fiasco, Aaron won’t let Jack walk home or ride the bus. And you don’t blame him. Your dad told you about Jack getting stalked during one of your weekly phone calls while you were away for school, you were rattled for the Hotchner’s.

“(Y/N)!” Jack comes running at you when he sees you, you bend down and scoop him into your arms and carry him to the car. You’ll never get tired of how excited he gets to see you when you pick him up, it’s the same happy reaction every day.

“How was school buddy? Get all the homework you missed last week when you were home sick?” you bombard him with questions as you unlock the car.

“It was great! We got to play soccer in gym today and I scored three times!” Jack wiggles in excitement before you set him back on the ground.

“That's great buddy!” you smile at him as he slips into his seat.

“Yes I got all of my make up work,” he pouts once you get into the driver's seat. “Lots of fractions, and you know how much I hate those.”

“I’ll tell ya what, you do one of your math worksheets and then we can make your dad a get well soon card,” over your time with the Hotchner’s you’ve learned that bargaining is how to incentivise the both of them. “He came home from work early with the flu.”

“Dad’s home?” Jack start’s to excitedly bounce in his seat, happy that he’ll get to spend more time with his favorite person.

“Yeah, but just remember that he’s not feeling his best so he won’t be able to do a lot,” a bittersweet smile crosses your face, it’s not fair that they don’t get to spend more time with one another. It’s not fair that Aaron has to sacrifice his personal life to make the world a better place for everyone else.

When you walk in the door you're greeted with the sight of Aaron bundled up on the couch under three blankets, the news playing quietly on the TV. Jack gives his dad a big hug before scurrying off to the kitchen to grab a snack and start his homework. You walk up to the lump on the couch that was once Aaron and reach your forearm forward to feel his forehead, and sure enough he’s much warmer than he should be.

“I don’t feel good,” Aaron whines, making the same pouty face Jack made all last week. “Everything aches.”

“I know sweetheart,” you let the term of endearment slip without thinking, too focused on trying to comfort Aaron. “You have a fever, you need to drink lots of water and get out from under those blankets.”

“No,” he huffs, clutching onto his blankets like he needs them to live. “I don’t have a fever, it’s just cold in here.”

“Aaron it's seventy two degrees in here, it’s not cold. You need to take the blankets off, it’ll only make it worse,” he shakes his head sinking further into the couch. “Fine, if I go grab the thermometer and it says you have a fever, I’m taking both of your blankets into the kitchen with me while I help Jack with his homework.”

You don’t give him time to respond before you head to the upstairs bathroom where you had checked Jack for a fever this morning before school. When you get back to him, Aaron has sunk further down into the couch and cocoon of blankets trying to hide from the thermometer in your hand. You eventually get it in his mouth and sure enough he has a one hundred one degree fever.

“Hand over those blankets,” you reach your hand out for them, and he reluctantly gives them to you. “Now drink some water and watch the news. And no more blankets!”

You help Jack with two math worksheets before he remembers your deal, and demands you make a card. He decorates the printer paper in every color marker and tops it off with those marker stamps you got him for his birthday. Jack even makes you sign your name on the card.

“Is this for me?” Aaron coughs and sits up when Jack thrusts the card in his face. “Aww thanks buddy, I love it!” Jack sits on the couch with his dad for a few minutes, but after seeing the news is on he gets up and leaves.

“You feeling up for dinner?” you ask Aaron, when Jack heads back to finish some more homework. “It’s too late for me to make something, is there any take out you want?”

“Happy Meal!” Jack yells from the kitchen

“You heard the little man, we’re having McDonalds tonight,” Aaron smiles at you as you grab your keys and call Jack to come ride with you.

The rest of the night is stress free, Jack actually listens to you when you tell him it’s time to shower and get ready for bed, all because his dad is sick and doesn’t want to make it worse. Well it’s stress free where Jack is concerned, you still have to deal with the full grown baby you call your boss.

“Time for bed Aaron,” you tell him after you’ve dried Jack’s hair and read him to sleep. “I know you don’t want to but you need to get your rest.”

“I’m not tired,” he says, even though he grabs your hand when you hold it out to him, you pull him out of his chair and lead him up the stairs and to his room

“Now take two more Tylenol and go to sleep,” he reluctantly takes the pills out of your hand and throws them back dry.

“There, are you happy?”

“I’m ecstatic,” you deadpan, moving to fluff his pillows for him.

“Thank you,” Aaron catches your gaze when he speaks, making sure to hold it.

“It's my job,” you dismiss his praise, not wanting to let yourself think about it too much and read too deep into it.

“No it's not, you always go above and beyond for us, for me,” Aaron gently catches the wrist he squeezed earlier making a mental image of the faint bruise marring your skin, and vowing to never let the world hurt you.

“Aaron,” your breath catches at the delicate ghosting of his fingertips on the inside of your wrist.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, leaning forward and now it’s his lips ghosting over your wrist. You swear your heart stops when he pushes down harder, leaving a trail of kisses around your wrist.

“What are you doing?” you ask breathlessly, the last thing you want is for him to stop, but you also need to make sure he’s in his right mind when doing this.

“Kissing you,” the words fall out of his mouth effortlessly, like they’re said all of the time. His mouth travels up your arm and he’s kissing the sensitive crook of your elbow.

Aaron pulls you down next to him in bed, quickly scooping you up and cradling you in his arms. You're at a loss for words, your dream is coming true. Aaron Hotchner actually wants you as much as you want him, and it isn’t a dream. When you’re lost in thought his lips descend on yours, and soon you get lost in him instead. There’s no rush to your kiss, just a slow languid strokes of his tongue twining with yours. It’s the perfect first kiss, there’s a heat to it, but no sense of urgency to get it over with.

“(Y/N), you have my heart,” Aaron admits breathlessly, arms wrapping around you tighter. “I know it’s wrong for many reasons, but you made my heart beat again. You love Jack and you’re wonderful with him. He loves you. I love you. You take care of me even though you don’t have to, you are the most amazing person. You’re perfect for Jack and me.”

“You have my heart too, I love you too,” you grip his chin and pull him in for another kiss. “You and Jack are everything to me, I finally feel like I belong somewhere, here with the two of you. I never want to lose this, lose you.”

“You won’t,” he kisses you one more time before pulling away completely. “But you should probably go to your own room now, wouldn’t want you to get sick from sleeping with me tonight.”

“I was home with Jack all last week, I’m fine. Plus it’s probably better I stay in here and keep an eye on you,” he smirks, kissing you one last time before resting his head on your chest.

The rest of the week is wonderful, Aaron still argues with you when you try to take care of him, but when Jack’s at school you two let the facade down. You cuddle with him and kiss him whenever you walk past him, making out on the couch like you’re two horny teenagers. Before you know it, it’s Sunday and Aaron is feeling better so he has to go into work in the morning. As the two of you say goodnight to Jack you start sneezing and the sniffling you’ve had all day rears its ugly head.

“I told you not to sleep with me,” Aaron teases you after you close Jack's door, pulling you with him and back into his room.

“I’m fine,” your arguing falls short as you start sneezing again.

“I think the team can do without me for another case,” Aaron smiles as you slip into bed with him. “I need to be here to take care of you now.” Who would have thought the flu would be what finally got you two together?

#fictober23 #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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bratzforchris · 2 months

Note

Hey! Can I ask for a request of Matt caring for you when you're sick? It can be fem or gender neutral reader, I don't mind :) I feel like he's just so soft and gentle and AHHHHH 😌 Thank you and I hope you're doing good!

Chicken Soup, M. Sturniolo

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ

Summary: In which Matt decides that the best way to help your cold is a big pot of homemade soup

Pairing: Matt x feminine reader

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 993

A/N: Thank you for request! Ya girl has COVID rn, so where is my Matt to care for me 🤨

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ

You rarely got sick. If you did, it was usually just a headache and the sniffles. Rarely were you ever sick enough to stay home from school or work, and hardly ever enough to be bed bound. Everyone was bound to get sick at some point, though, and that was how you found yourself at nine am on this particular Sunday morning.

You blinked open your eyes, noting the pain in your limbs as you stretched out from sleeping. It took less than ten seconds of you being awake to notice something was off. Your head was pounding, your throat hurt, you were shivering with body aches, and you let out a barking cough as you yawned. Too stubborn in your ‘I don’t get sick’ mindset to get up and get some medicine, you closed your eyes and snuggled closer to Matt, who was still asleep, brown hair feathered across his pillow.

The exhaustion from your illness kicked in, and it didn’t take you long to fall asleep again. You and your boyfriend stayed asleep for quite some time, until Matt woke up feeling too hot. As he shifted, he realized it wasn’t that he was hot, it was your cuddled frame making him feel that way. Being so in love with you, Matt was in sync with everything about you, and quickly noticed your congested sores.

“Phew,” Matt mumbled, pressing a kiss to your forehead to check your temperature. “You're burning up.” he whispered sadly.

Luckily, the movement didn’t wake you and Matt was able to slide out of bed, pulling the covers over you. He wandered into the kitchen, making himself a bagel and looking at the clock on the microwave. You rarely ever slept past eight-thirty, which only worried him more. As if his thoughts summoned you, you appeared in the kitchen beside him when he turned, wrapped in a thick blanket, shivering and coughing.

“Oh sweetheart,” he said sadly, pulling you into a hug. “You look miserable.”

“Well good morning to you too.” You mumbled, not losing your sass in your sickness.

“How long have you been feeling sick, babe? You’re burning.”

You didn’t protest when Matt picked you up bridal style and carried you to the couch, effortlessly laying you down against the soft cushions and then snuggling beside you. “I just woke up like this.” You whispered sadly.

That made Matt worry, but he tried not to let the anxiety crease his face. “What are your symptoms?”

“Fever, sore throat, body pains, headache, and cough.” You rattled off sadly.

Matt kissed your forehead with a soft ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘Be right back’. He quickly stood up off the couch and went into the kitchen, digging around for things that would make you feel better. You could hear him bustling around, followed by a large crash, but you were much too tired to care. You just closed your eyes and snuggled further into your blanket, resting your throbbing head against the couch cushions.

“I’m sorry,” Your boyfriend whispered, reentering the living room. “I dropped a glass.”

“I heard.” You croaked and coughed, opening your eyes to see Matt balancing a thermometer, medicine, your water bottle, and tea in his hands.

Matt carefully placed the items on the coffee table, trying to be gentle. He quickly took your temperature, frowning when the thermometer read 103.2 (39.5 C). “That’s high, baby. Let’s take some medicine, okay?”

You were too tired to do much else, so you just nodded, allowing Matt to dose you up on medicine and hand you the tea. You both continued to cuddle for the rest of the morning, despite your protests. Whenever you told your boyfriend he would get sick, Matt just responded with the cliché ‘I don’t care’. That led you to now, where you were cuddled up on Matt’s chest, coughing, while some trashy reality TV played. You had moved from the couch since this morning, and it was nearing one pm.

Matt didn’t feel very good about letting you sit here and burn up with fever, so he gently kissed your forehead, rubbing your back. “Hey hun? Why don’t you go take a shower and I’ll make you some food while you do that? It might help your aches and open your sinuses.” he explained gently, rubbing your back.

“Not hungry.” You mumbled.

“Not even for soup?”

That seemed to help make up your mind. You trudged to the shower after Matt planted a kiss to your cheek. Once he heard the water start and you step into the shower, Matt padded to the kitchen, pulling out everything he would need for soup. Though he didn’t look like it, your boyfriend was an excellent cook. He had been taught well, and continued to carry those skills into adulthood. As he poured the noodles, chicken, and vegetables into the pot, his heart broke as he listened to your congested coughs coming from the bathroom.

It wasn’t long before you had finished up in the shower and entered the kitchen, wrapping your arms around Matt from behind as he stirred the pot on the stove.

“Hey baby!” he smiled, kissing your head. “Feeling better?”

“A little,” You admitted, your cheeks blushing as you sniffled. “That looks good.” You peered into the soup pot.

“This is what my mom would do when we were kids and sick.” Matt admitted shyly, a blush dotting his nose.

“AWWWW,” You started, then coughed. “Baby Matt.”

Your boyfriend kissed you again, before patting your ass softly. “Go lay down, hun. I’ll bring it to you when it’s ready.”

And as you cuddled up on the couch, eager for Matt’s cuddles and famous, homemade soup, you couldn’t help but to think about how lucky you were that you had a lovely, caring boyfriend. The fact that he was an excellent cook who also served as a cuddly teddy bear was an added bonus if you had ever seen one.

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wannaeatramyeon · 1 year

Text

Lookism Boys (+ Taehoon + Wangguk) being ill + YOU looking after them hc

Gun Park, Goo Kim, Samuel Seo, Jake Kim, Vin Jin, Johan Seong, Seong Taehoon, Han Wangguk

Gun Park

He is self-sufficient to the core.

Does not need any looking after.

You offer to run out and buy medicine? No need, he is stocked better than a pharmacy.

Reminders to hydrate? He's had 2 litres already and it's not even midday.

You don't need to tell him to rest, his body is his temple and he takes the utmost care.

Some homemade food though? Oh. Well. You can't buy homemade.

Him lying all fever brained on your lap as you watch TV or whatever? That's not so bad neither.

You running a bath for him? Thanks. That's thoughtful.

Huh, he thinks maybe it's not so bad relying on someone other than himself.

Goo Kim

Clingy and fussy-

But you knew that already, being his partner.

Treats you as his hot water bottle one moment, the next will kick you away saying he's too warm.

He expects to be babied, and he expects your full attention. So please drop everything and tend to him now.

If you could also run your fingers through his hair and let him lie on you for the next few hours, that would also be great.

And if you can put his favourite show on that would also be appreciated.

You trying to watch something else once he's sleeping? No chance. He is wide awake and pouting at you.

At least he will give you the same treatment when you're ill.

Samuel Seo

Samuel is not ill.

How dare you imply he is in anything but peak physical condition

That's not a cough, that's not a sniffle, and he is not flushed.

There's something wrong with the thermometer, he is fine.

Nothing is wrong with his voice (as he slowly loses it through the day...)

Will take a lot of persuading and convincing to rest up

"Yes, there will be other people to pick up your work. And no, it's not a personal slight to say that you are sick."

You have to pry his laptop and tablet and phone from his fingers.

Of course, that's easy. His strength is waning in his current state.

"Shhh Sammy, go to bed." Tuck him in. lay next to him, pet his hair.

He'll soon be napping next to you, holding you tight.

Jake Kim

Also complete denial at first.

He is the head of Big Deal, he cannot be sick.

That SINU! sneeze is not a front. That is actually how he sneezes.

Phelgm and snot everywhere. It's pretty repulsive to be honest.

After one too many sneezes, and everyone flinching the hell away from him, Jerry carries him home to you.

Wants to be babied, wants to be fussed, wants your complete attention.

Goes about it in a slightly less obnoxious way, but he's so adorable, even trying to give you a wink in his current state so you can't say no.

Pads around the home following you, blanket wrapped around him, tissue shoved up his nose.

Might as well give up whatever you're doing and tend to your boyfriend.

But Jake would absolutely do the same for you.

Vin Jin

This fucking guy-

Demanding and a little shit.

If you let him, he would take absolute full advantage.

Would run you in circles doing things for him.

"Y/N I want some water, Y/N where's my medicine, Y/N I need some chocolate, Y/N I need a burger." "What?? Shouldn't you eat something.. healthier?" "No babe, the body wants what it wants."

Will flop all over you, lying on your lap, your chest. Partly because he finds you comforting, partly because he's a little asshole.

"Sing me a lullaby" "Uh... ok." You sing. "Actually, no shut up babe you sound like shit."

Once he falls asleep, his breath laboured and cheeks flushed, you can't help but think ok, he's pretty cute. Only when unconscious though.

Will still keep his sunglasses on the whole time. "Just in case someone ambushes me." "WHO?!"

Johan Seong

Way too ill and low in energy to put up any of his usual defenses. Will revert back to a little meow meow.

You are absolutely not allowed out of sight.

In fact, you are not allowed out of arm's reach.

Will cling to you like a koala, that is a fact.

Actually, you might as well all stay in bed, Eden and Miro included because you are guaranteed to not get anything done.

Even cooking is only a possibility. Hopefully you have all medicine stocked, and some decent, cheap, healthy take-outs nearby.

Because if Johan wakes up from his nap and you're not there, he will be sulking for a year straight.

The only excuse?

"Johan, I need to walk Eden and Miro." grumble grumble "Ok... but be back quick?"

Seong Taehoon

The grumpiest babygirl you have ever seen.

It's a goddamn good job you love him because my god, this guy!

Equal parts bad-tempered and clingy

A bit like how he usually is, to be honest, but turned up to the MAX.

Go away, you're crowding him one second, he's all up in your face wanting cuddles the next.

And the fact that he's not allowed to train?

Good lord, don't anger it further. It's not like he's in any fit state to train anyway but he will still be fuming about it.

No Taekwondo, no arcade. He might as well just DIE.

At least he's still got his other favourite thing - you. This placates him a little.

Han Wangguk

Wangguk does not get sick, Wangguk is the caretaker.

Other people get ill and he looks after them.

"No, seriously, Wangguk. You're burning up. Go back to bed!"

Needs a lot of goading to actually rest. Even then, he doesn't fully rest.

He keeps a watchful eye over you, just in case you need him.

After he gets used to it? Absolutely loves it.

You making some food for him, grabbing him medicine, gentle cuddles, forehead smooches, even taking care of Gyeoul?!

He really could get used to this.

Is a puddle, constantly leaning on you and wanting to be close.

After this, he always enjoys being ill. Only a tad. It's a way for him to be spoilt guilt-free by you.

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mggsv · 6 months

Text

HOW THEY COOK YOU BREAKFAST ♡

ft. Gojo, Toji x fem reader

warnings : smut, mentions of sex, food play, oral (f receiving), squirting

+ Dividers | not proof read!

GOJO loved cooking you breakfast. It wasn’t the joy on your face seeing that he beat you to it- no, it was the flustered expression of you fresh out of the bed in the morning, staring at him in the baby pink apron with the word Daddy written in a deep red. That’s not what got you, though, it’s what was underneath. Nothing, absolutely nothing.

“Rise and shine!” He had said excitedly. The smell of your favorite waking you up. You barely peeled your eyes away from the outline of his cock poking through the thick material over to the french toast that had your stomach growling. “I hope someone brushed their teeth this morning.” He turned away from you. It made you cough out a small giggle. You watch his perfect little ass move.

“Sato..what are you doing babe?” You giggle some more watching him wiggle his butt. “What are you laughing at~ Is it as tasty as it looks babydoll?” He coos. Gojo turns back to you, that shitty smirk on his lips as he watches you dip your finger in the syrup and suck it. “It’s delicious baby.” He hums and leans over the counter.

“I spent a good while making it~” He leans in to capture you in a kiss, the syrupy taste dancing around your mouths. You could tell he’s been tasting it, too. “S’perfect..” you mumble into the kiss. You lean up at the feel of his hand creeping up your neck. You didn’t hesitate to grab his bare ass, earning a chuckle from him. “Why you slutting around, huh?” You grumble.

“Wellll let me tell you a little story.” Gojo’s lips move down to your chin. “I woke up this morning to the most beautiful view. I couldn’t help myself! That beautiful little pussy of yours on full display with Daddy’s seed spilling out from last night~”

You moan, feeling his teeth graze against your neck. “I couldn’t help myself. And since you were sleeping, Daddy had to spill his seed elsewhere..” Gojo dips his finger in the syrup again. You open your mouth wide, tongue out. “Eat up babydoll~”

TOJI gives you breakfast in bed. It’s an off day for the both of you, and to make things better, it’s raining. You loved nothing more than a rainy morning in your apartment with your boyfriend. Especially when he made you breakfast, literally.

“S’fuckin good mama.” He groans into the heat of your folds. You whimper softly, hand in his hair while you chewed on the homemade waffle. You may back into the softness of your shared bed, large pillows supporting your back, cover wrapped up with your legs. And between them was Toji’s face lapping at your sensitive clit. “That’s my girl..” He growls, his face sinking deeper into your heat. “s’wet mama.”

Your eyes flutter shut, hips rolling as Toji’s hand came up to grip your hip. His shirt that you wore rolled up to your stomach. “M’gonna cum Toji...” You whine. Your hips rocked against his tongue. You drop the waffle on the floor as you moaned loudly, eyes squeezing and toes curling. Your body froze up as he continued to eat you through your orgasm.

“Ahh- ah fuck- I can’t..shit s..top.” your legs tremble, gasping at the wash over your body. You gush over Toji’s tongue, earning a satisfied hum from him. He lifts his head, smirking down at your body. Reaching for the tray on the bedside table, he grabs one of your waffles, biting into it.

“You gonna let these go to waste?”

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roachesbf · 11 months

Note

Heyy i hope your doing ok!

I wanted to request a Soap x male reader, its very similiar to your rabbit!Rudy x Jessica!male reader story but hear me out 👀

Male reader is hot af like dude be making people stare at him jaw dropped and shi, not only that but he smart as hell too, dude graduated from Harvard in the highest honour, wealthy af and he strong af too AND hes a total sweetheart to Soap but he abit cold to strangers.

So basically male reader was somehow able to convince Price to let him visit the base and everybody staring at him like "zamnn👀👀" but then male reader sees Soap and his cold and stoic expression completely melts and he just runs up to Soap and hugs tf out him and gives Soap some of the food he cooked for him and is just being cheesy af to Soap and then a strangers aprouches Male reader and tries to ask him something and Male reader goes "what😐" and then immediatly goes back to baby-ing Soap.

PLEASE I WOULD CRY TEARS OF JOY IF YOU DO THIS🙇🙇🙇

Soap Headcanons: Ft absolute whipped Male!S/O

Somehow someway you’ve managed to secretly sneak your way into Price's spot of number one favorite. Being able to easily convince him to visit base and get a chance to see everyone again*cough*SOAP*cough*. He obviously knows why you want to go, practically everyone does but he doesn’t have it in his old man heart to say no so you always get your way. You always use the excuse of helping out like doing paperwork, or maybe training new recruits but you never do any of that!! Everyone respects you because of all your achievements…that's why it feels so wrong to tell you off when you’re caught babying Soap, not because you should be getting to work, but because they wish it was them.

It’s always awkward when you first show up on base because who wouldn’t want to talk to such eye candy, but at most you’ll give them the cold shoulder, or just tell them what they need before turning away from the conversation. Even when you’re sitting anywhere, you’ll impatiently tap your foot, as if you’re waiting for something/someone…AND THAT’S BECAUSE YOU ARRE, the entire time you’ll wait for him but that doesn’t mean you’re gonna be happy about it. It’s an absolute 180 because now you’re being all bashful and presenting him with homemade food and treats, holding him against you as you complain about how lonely it is without his loud personality. Soap is probably a physical affection type of lover, so he’ll have you in a headlock while singing praises on how much he missed you as well.

When he's back and the two of you are together, he insist on training. Of course this gains the attention of others, and you feel the need to shoo them away, insisting that they must be here to oogle your man... "Laddie, Yer heid’s full o’ mince if you think they're checking me out??" and then you get offended because why WOULDN'T they want to check out your totally amazing boyfriend.

He’s completely oblivious to your favoritism as well, he acknowledges that you might like him more than most people because you’re together, but not to the extent that other people say. Even if he does witness this attitude change, he thinks it's the funniest thing in the world and will pretend to not notice when people complain about your favoritism. Price will complain about your attitude towards others, telling Soap to knock some sense into you and all he’ll say is “ I dinnae ken what you mean captain??”

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ellephlox · 2 years

Text

Obstinacy

Summary: You get sick and refuse to let Matt help you because you don’t want him to get sick, too — the question is, how long can you keep him away?

Pairing: Matt x fem!reader

Warnings: Some gross pneumonia descriptions, light swearing, nothing else!

A/N: So I’ve been away for awhile, and I’m really sorry about that. I’ve been trying to write my own book and I finished the second draft, so taking the time for fan fiction has been on the back burner lately. But of course with the RETURN OF OUR BELOVED KING on She-Hulk, I had to take the time to write something because IM STILL FREAKING OUT GUYS MATT IS BACK AND HES SO AMAZING AND HOT AND ALLSKJF LSDKFJLSKDJFLSDK

You felt the chest pain on your way home from work — the kind that arrived out of nowhere, as though it dropped from the sky into your lungs, and seriously made you wonder how colds were able to work that quickly.

Of course, maybe it wasn’t a cold. You kept your hopes up as you cooked dinner, testing your chest a few times with a few large intakes of breath, but each time was the same result: a small tickle in the back, like a little voice saying, Hey, I’m here, and you’re going to be miserable for the next couple of days!

Which really stunk, if you were being honest. It was getting towards mid-October and you were hoping to carve pumpkins with Matt or do some other corny autumn activity that every other normal couple did in the city. Not that you two weren’t normal. But other couples didn’t really have to contend with the whole I’ll-see-you-later-honey-after-I-beat-up-some-bad-guys-tonight, and you figured it must make movie nights a lot more frequent for most people than it did for you and Matt. That was another thing on your list, too — watching a horror movie to get into the Halloween spirit.

“I’m not into horror movies,” Matt had said when you’d pitched the idea to him. “Audio commentary kind of kills the whole scary aspect.”

“Then you’re watching the wrong movies. I don’t mean movies with gallons of blood and cheap jump scares. I mean psychological horrors, the kinds that make you stay awake at night because they’re that freaky. We’re doing it, Murdock, whether you want to or not.”

Whether you want to or not, however, didn’t include the extenuating circumstances of getting sick.

It took longer than usual to get up the stairs to your apartment. You felt so drained that you wouldn’t have minded showering and then crashing into bed, if you weren’t hungry. The wind rattled at your windows as you cooked a big pot of rice, enough to last the next few days. You’d bought fixings yesterday to make a homemade curry with it, but one look at your pantry and you scrapped those plans in exchange for half a jar of pesto with a dubious expiration date on it. Matt wasn’t supposed to be over until after seven in the evening, thanks to the unforgiving hours of lawyering, but you called him as you stirred the pesto in with the rice.

“I was wondering when you’d call,” he said. His voice was lighthearted.

“Hi,” you said, as casually as possible. “How was your day?”

“I officially reduced the pile of paperwork on my desk from ten inches high to eight inches high, so I’d call it a success. You at your place?”

“Yeah. Hey, I wanted to let you know that I think I’m coming down with something, so maybe you should stay at your own place tonight.” Before Matt could ask, you added, “I’m fine. Just one of the colds that’s going around. But I’d feel horrible if you got it.”

“What about the pumpkins?”

“Pumpkins can wait. I haven’t even bought them yet.”

“Oh.” He sounded disappointed, and your stomach flipped. What a way to boost my self-esteem that he actually likes me. “How about we just don’t share sodas, then?”

You frowned. “Last time this happened, I told you to stay away from me and then you just ended up kissing me. The next day, lo and behold, you started coughing. So, no. Not happening.”

“You kissed me, if I remember correctly.”

“Excuse me? What kind of a lawyer are you? That’s gaslighting, sir.”

He continued, ignoring you. “Maybe I’ll just hear some suspicious noises coming from your apartment tonight. And then I’ll have to investigate, because it’s my civic duty as the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. And when I see a beautiful girl, sitting on the couch and pathetically eating rice and pesto alone, I’ll just have to join her. Accidentally, of course.”

“What I’m interpreting from that is that you go cuddle up with any girl that you find eating alone in her apartment.”

“What I’m interpreting is that Matt says he’s doing all these dangerous things at night but really he’s just chilling out while enjoying the lavish praise of being a local superhero,” Foggy said, his voice distant in the background.

You snorted. “Am I on speakerphone?”

“No,” Foggy answered, sounding far too cheerful for someone working far beyond sunset. “Matt just keeps his phone volume weirdly high for someone who supposedly has super-hearing.”

“I do have super-hearing, Foggy.”

“Then how are you not shattering your eardrums? Between your phone volume and crashing at girls’ apartments to eat rice and pesto, I’m really doubting this whole Daredevil façade,” Foggy said.

“Anyway,” Matt cut in, “I’ll pop in tonight, just to bring over some food and meds. Do you want anything specific?”

“Matt, really. I don’t want you catching this. And it’s late, you should get home and actually get some sleep for once. I’m fine, it just feels like a cold.” You would have elaborated, but your chest decided to seize at that moment, and you had to trail off quickly before it became apparent in your voice.

He sort of listened to you that night. He had swung by (through the window? Or with the spare key you’d given him? There was no way to know) and dropped off food, but it was while you were asleep, and it looked as though he’d only gone into the kitchen then left.

You’d only found the food when you wandered in blearily at three in the morning, sweating and freezing at the same time. There was no point for the thermometer; a fever was obvious and you didn’t particularly care what the number was. The cough was worse, though. It made it hard to fall back asleep — every few seconds you’d feel as though your lungs were spasming, and the back of your throat felt as though it had been bitten by fire ants.

Sirens rang in the distance. You hoped it wasn’t for something Matt was involved in; not because you didn’t trust him to handle it, but because it was three in the morning and you’d kick his ass if he wasn’t sleeping at this point.

Then the headache hit you. Maybe you wouldn’t be kicking his ass anytime soon.

The pressure was enough to make you stumble into the counter as you rummaged for a glass of water. Everything about your arms felt off, as though your muscles had been crushed into powder, and you misjudged your grasp on the glass. It fell, crashing to the floor and skating outwards like a nebula of knives. Automatically you reached for the paper towels, and in your haze you stepped forward.

Barefooted.

Glass crunched under your foot and you swore, not at the pain but at your own stupidity. It took another half an hour to bandage up the bottom of your foot and at that point you were too exhausted to finish cleaning up the glass.

When you woke up next, sun was filtering through your curtains and your mouth was as dry as though you’d swallowed ten cotton swabs. Dazed, you picked up your phone, and squinted at the notifications; one missed call from Matt and a followup text. Quickly you sent him an I’m okay message and then fell back onto your pillow.

The fever felt worse. Goosebumps ran up and down your legs, but you were simultaneously sweaty under your sheets, so you threw them off to go shower. Only then did you remember the glass you’d stepped on because your foot protested angrily as soon as you placed it onto the carpet.

Hopping was the only option remaining, and that expended just about every ounce of energy you’d garnered while sleeping, so that you just about collapsed against the bathroom wall, wheezing, by the time you’d made it. And of course that was when your phone rang, so you hopped back to your room, and barely made it in time before it went to voicemail.

“Hello?” you croaked.

“That’s all I need to hear. I’m coming over.”

“I... what?”

“Yeah. You sound terrible, Y/N.” Matt’s voice was overly concerned, and you didn’t like it at all; you could practically feel the pity coming off of him. At least, it felt like pity. And that wasn’t what you wanted.

“Matt, not only will I personally make you rue the day that you step foot in here while I’m sick, but—” You broke off, coughing, and wincing at the same time because you could imagine Matt’s expression on the other end.

“I don’t like talking to you over the phone,” he said in a low voice. “I hate not hearing your heartbeat, hearing your lungs, feeling your temperature. You’re being overruled. I’m coming.”

“Don’t you have to be at the court today?”

“Not until ten.”

Defeated, you flung the phone on the other side of the room. That conversation sucked out everything you had, and you gave up on the idea of taking a shower. The bed looked much more comfortable. It didn’t help that your breaths were getting alarmingly short, and it was difficult to draw in anything more than a quick inhale. Your eyes were closed for about five seconds before they popped back open.

Matt was coming. Damn it, damn it, damn it. You went to the windows and locked them all, then crossed to the front door. He had a spare key, but you also had a bolt, and you slid it across, feeling somewhat proud of yourself for having made the trek to the entryway. The bar is very, very low at this point.

You’d run a marathon right now before letting Matt get anywhere near you. That resolve was the only thing penetrating the fog around your head, and you double-checked the windows again. It wasn’t as though he’d be leaping and climbing up to them, anyway; he was coming from the office, and would therefore be in his lawyer suit. With the number of people down on the streets and the broad daylight, Matt would be hard-pressed to make it up to your fire escape without the newspaper headline being BLIND ACROBAT BREAKING AND ENTERING IN HELL’S KITCHEN the next day.

Sure enough, ten minutes later Matt was outside your door, and his sharp rap on the door did nothing to make you move. You sat at the counter, sipping on some water, and shook your head. “Nope. Not happening.”

“Y/N, I can hear the crackling in your lungs,” he said, his patience more intact than you would have expected. He thinks he’s going to win.

“My lungs aren’t crackling. They’re just... not feeling so hot.” Now overly-conscious of your breathing, you tried to make your breaths smoother and less obviously sick.

There was a pause on the other side of the door. “You’ve got too fast of a heartbeat. Unlock the bolt or I’ll kick the door down.”

“Yeah, my heart’s racing, because there’s a man threatening to kick my door down,” you said, and feeling inspired, you clicked the on button of the remote next to you. The television flashed to life, showing the weather report, and you turned the volume up. Take that, Matt. “See? No more lung crackling or racing heartbeats.”

The only issue was that now you could hardly hear him. You barely made out his next sentence, it was so faint on the other side of the door. “I can still hear both, you know,” he said, muffled. “You know how many televisions there are in the average block of apartments that I have to filter out every single night?”

“Shit.” You shut the television off. “Listen away, then. It’s not going to change anything because I’m not letting you in.”

“I wasn’t kidding about kicking the door down.”

"And I’m not kidding about not letting you in. Plus, you’d have some tough questions to answer when my neighbors report you for kicking down my door, Devil Man.”

“Why won’t you accept help when you need it? You really need a doctor.”

“Hypocrite,” you said under your breath, relishing the fact that he could hear you.

“I can hear you.” Just as you’d expected. “And what I do is irrelevant to the fact that you’re currently sitting in your apartment with what’s probably pneumonia.”

“Oh, it’s not pneumonia,” you said dismissively, though you felt awful enough that he was probably right. At least, your lungs seemed to concur with that diagnosis, and as if to verbally agree with him you coughed, wheezing and choking for air.

“If I didn’t have to be at the court in half an hour, I’d go home and get into the suit just to have an excuse to come through your window right now.” Matt was pissed, that was for sure. There was a dangerous undertone to his voice, softened only by that ever-present concern in what he was saying.

“I know, Matt.” You rolled your eyes. “It’s a lost cause, alright? Tomorrow I’ll be feeling a lot better and then maybe — maybe — I’ll let you come in. And that’s if we keep all the windows open for fresh air and—”

“Why do I smell your blood?”

You glanced down at your foot. Traitor. It had stopped bleeding ages ago, but you should’ve changed the bandage again one more time before Matt showed up. “I’m... doing acupuncture. On myself.”

“Y/N.”

“Fine. I made a blood oath and pricked my thumb to assure myself that I will never, ever let you catch a sickness from me.”

“In ten seconds this door is coming down unless you tell me. And if you could hear my heartbeat, you’d know I’m not lying.”

“Fine! I just stepped on some glass, okay? But my foot is fine, it’s seen worse days. I mean, you should’ve seen that time that I got a pedicure and the lady told me my heels were the most cracked she’d seen in a long time.” You were rambling, and that wasn’t a good idea, because it made you lose your breath and then you were gasping for air.

After another five minutes of arguing that ended only when you swore to call the doctor if you got any worse, he left, grumbling that Foggy would kill both of you if he was late for court, and that was the only reason he was giving up — “temporarily”.

Only when it was too late did you realize that was a mistake, and that you should have let him help.

It was past two in the afternoon when you woke up from a nap, and every muscle in your body felt as though it were frozen. You were trembling slightly from the cold, but couldn’t muster the energy to even sit up and grab the blanket at the foot of your bed. It was difficult to swallow, and you clutched at your throat, certain that someone must be standing over you and clasping their hands around your neck, but there was no one there.

“Matt,” you whispered, expecting him to be there, or to hear you, but there was no one. Taking slow breaths, you tried to calm down on your own. One, two, three. One, two, three. All you could manage were short, raspy breaths that hardly got enough air, and your head pounded. Blindly you reached out for your glass of water, and nearly dropped it again, your hands were shaking so much. The feeling of your lips against the rim was like pressing a dried sponge to the edge of a bowl and the water tasted sour in your mouth.

And then you tried swallowing. It was as though someone had blocked up your throat, because you couldn’t swallow, and you gasped, heart racing as panic flooded through you; for a moment you couldn’t breathe and then you finally coughed up the water, chest heaving from the sharpness of each cough. You grabbed a tissue, hacking into it for at least another thirty seconds, and finally a glob of mucus came up and your airway cleared up just enough that you could breathe a bit more.

You almost tossed the tissue to the floor without looking at it, but a flash of red caught your eye.

Blood. In the mucus.

That was the tipping point for you. Didn’t people die shortly after coughing up blood in the movies? That was how it went. A character coughs, looks into their hand, and then resignedly tucks it away without the other characters seeing. It was like the knoll of death, ringing in your ears.

You hardly knew what you were doing as you dialed Matt’s number, not even thinking about what you were tapping into your phone but allowing muscle memory to guide you.

“Hello?” He picked up almost immediately.

“Matt—” You started to speak his name, but halted; it was too painful. Dropping your voice to a whisper, you started over. “Matt, I think I need you here.”

“What? What is it?”

“I’m—” You glanced down at the tissue. Literally dying here? That was a surefire way to make Matt have a heart attack. “I’m not doing so well. I might take you up on your offer to help.”

He didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be over in five minutes. Did you call the doctor already?”

“No.” The thought of calling the doctor was exhausting on its own.

Matt seemed to notice that. “I’ll call,” he assured you. “Can you breathe alright?”

“Not really.” Tears were spiking in your eyes and you brushed them away. “I just coughed and... there was some blood in it.” You wheezed for breath, the drawing in of air rattling everything inside of you and getting caught at the top of your throat.

“I’m taking you to a hospital.”

“But—”

“No, sweetheart. You need a real doctor. I’ll be over in a minute.”

Somehow you must have fallen asleep again, because Matt was lifting you from the bed and you wrapped your arms around him. “Can’t breathe,” you whispered, gasping for breath.

“I know. I can hear your lungs,” Matt said, voice strained. “I’ve got a cab waiting on the street. Can you walk or do you need me to carry you?”

“I... I can walk.” You slung an arm around him and made your way slowly out of the room, limping with every step on your bandaged foot. Matt, to his credit, allowed you to do what you could. His tie was loosened and his suit jacket was gone, but he still wore a button-down, tucked into his pants.

“Bet you won your case, then,” you whispered, hardly even aware of what was coming out of your mouth. “No one can... say no to this.”

“This?”

“Hm. This.” You meant to nod up and down at Matt, but it came across as more of a head shake. “You.”

And then your assertion that you could walk proved difficult to fulfill, so you redirected your efforts to not face-planting in your living room, despite the strong, steady hands Matt kept on you the entire time. Once you reached your stairs he took over for the most part; your feet were hardly touching the ground with the amount of support he was giving.

That was where your memory cut out. You must have passed out, because the next time you opened your eyes, it was in the hospital bed, and Matt was reading next to you, his long gaze fixed on the wall in front of him as his fingers danced over the text.

“Hi,” you whispered lamely. Everything about you was groggy and it was hard enough just to focus on him.

Him. Only he could look handsome in a hospital. At some point he’d exchanged the suit for a tee shirt and sweats, and his hair stuck out at every angle possible. You wondered vaguely if he’d come from Fogwell’s.

He set the book down, relief evident on his face. “Hey, sweetie. How are you doing?”

You ignored his question. “How do you always manage to look good?”

He nudged you. “I should be the one asking you that.”

“That’s... the biggest lie I’ve ever heard. Even if you weren’t blind, it’d be a lie.” You closed your eyes, then opened them again. The ceiling was too white. “What happened?”

"Aspiration pneumonia.”

“Hm?”

“You have aspiration pneumonia,” he said. “Which just happens to be a type of pneumonia that’s not contagious.”

You meditated on this. “So?”

“So you could’ve let me into your apartment, that whole time,” he said, looking distinctly indignant, and it was enough to make you laugh. The laugh was short-lived, because it quickly transformed into a wracking cough that made your entire chest throb, but Matt was on his feet in an instant, holding your hand.

Only when the coughing stopped did you remember the bolt on your door. “Matt?”

“Yeah?”

“How’d you get in?”

“Broke down the door, like I promised.”

“Are... are you serious? What about the neighbors?”

He laughed. “You know, breaking down a door isn’t incriminating evidence that I’m Daredevil. I told them you were having an emergency, and when they saw you, they believed me.”

“They saw me?” You didn’t remember an audience when Matt was helping you out of the apartment.

“Well, you were taking your sweet time on the stairs, and coughing loudly enough for anyone in a mile radius to hear you, so yeah, they wanted to see what was happening.”

You buried your face in your hands. “That’s just great. And now, what, is my apartment wide open for anyone to go in?”

“No, I called in a favor with Foggy, and he’s hanging out there until someone can come in and fix it.”

“Even better. Now I’m indebted to Foggy.”

Matt smiled coyly. “Oh, and I should mention—”

“Oh, no. What?”

“—that there’s something else you’ll love about all of this.”

“Stop smiling like that. Why are you smiling like that?”

“Aspiration pneumonia is commonly associated with the institutionalized elderly. In other words, it’s a nursing home problem.”

“A nursing home problem?”

“A nursing home problem,” he confirmed. “I was thinking that maybe for your next birthday I could get you fitted for dentures.”

“Hilarious. Really, so funny. You really should have been a comedian. I swear to you that the next time you get sick, I’m going to make fun of you and you’ll never hear the end of it. Got it?”

He grinned and squeezed your hand. “Murdocks don’t get sick.”

“That is the second biggest lie I’ve ever heard. I seem to recall that time you projectile-vomited off of the Ferris wheel.”

“Because I was motion-sick, not sick-sick.”

Your eyelids were already getting heavy just from the five-minute conversation. You beckoned him closer and leaned onto his shoulder, pressing yourself into his warmth. He smelled like fresh deodorant and coffee. “Pumpkin carving as soon as I can leave?”

“Definitely,” he said, placing your fingers onto the pulse that drummed under his wrist. “And this time, I’m not lying.”

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #Daredevil #daredevil x reader #marvel #MCU #hurt/comfort #reader #reader insert

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