#x sick baby reader
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Emily Prentiss x Baby Daughter Reader
Summary: 3 year old Y/N is sick so Mama Emily calls on two people to help her look after her sick child.
Third person pov...
Loud crying wakes up Emily Prentiss, the black haired woman, jumps up form her bed gun in hand, the crying was coming from the room her kid was is, yawning the Mother tucks her gun into her waist band.
She then makes her way out of her room and to the room next to hers, she turns on the night light by the door before walking up to the crib in the middle of the room, the woman does a quick look around before bending down nad picking up the crying child.
"Shh Shh your okay, your okay N/N it's me it's mama" she whispers to the child. Y/N had snot running down her face, so Emily grabbed a tissue and whiped her face, but the snot keep coming which made the child cry even more.
Emily holds the child to her hip and rubs a hand up and down her back trying to calm the three year old down, soon Y/N was only sniffling slightly.
Thw three year old was sucking her thumb with her had leaning against Emily's bare shoudler, she now realised she was only wearing a tank top and short knowonder she felt cold.
"Whats wrong N/N can you tell Mama?" Emily asks the baby in her arms, Y/N shakes her head and cuddles closer into her Mama still sniffling. "head hurt" came the mumbled croaky voice of Y/N.
Emily frowns, "oh no poor baby" she coos as Y/N cuddles more into her, Y/N is only this cuddly when she isn't feeling well, Emily touches her hand to Y/N forehead, it felt a littler warm, Emily looked closer and saw a red ting to Y/Ns cheeks.
"No need for the hospital yet" mumbles Emily, she then lifts YN head up and listens to her breathing. "Sounds a little chesty" Emily was at a loss at what she should do.
The woman stands rocking Y/N for a minute before remembering who else has kids. "Of course Hotch and JJ" she exclaims grabbing her phone from her room and bringing up her contacts.
She paused, who should she call JJ or Hotch, both have kids ans both should know how to help. She then looks at the baby in her arms.
"Who should I call Y/N?" She asks thr three year old, the E/C eyed baby looks up at her Mama and coughs loudly before she starts bawling again.
Emily comforts her "Ohhh ohh shhh shhh it's okay N/N, your okay" she whispers kissing her daughters head lovingly, she then clicks on JJs contact, she then put the phone on speaker and waited for JJ to pick up.
As she waited Emily looked at the clock on her desk, it read 3.30am "sorry JJ" she mumbles realising JJ would be a sleep still, then finally said Blonde woman answered the phone. "Emily is everything okay?" came JJs worried voice through the phone.
Emily then grabbed it and held it up to her face. "Hey Jen, sorry for calling so late, its Y/N i think shes ill but im not sure what to do" explained the black haired woman, silence is hear before JJ starts laughting.
"baby troubles, thats what you called me for" laughed the blonde making Emily blush. "well it was either you or Hotch because you both have kids" pouted the Black haired woman as JJs laughter died down.
"okay, so Y/Ns ill, have you checked her forehead for a fever?"
"yep done that she did feel a little warm, also she has quite chesty coughs as well and she complained of a headache. im not sure what to do JJ" whines Emily, she was clueless and hopfully JJ might be able to help her.
"okay okay i get it, Have you given her any medicine?" askes JJ
Emily face palms internal, the one thing she didnt think to give her 3 year old. "no i havent done that it didnt even cross my mind" confessed Emily, she was greeted with JJ laughing at her misery.
"of course, its natural you're a first time parent, it takes time to learn to be calm during these kinds of situations" JJ says, Emily begins walking to the bathroom to get some nedicine for Y/N.
"yeah thanks for the help JJ"
"of course Em, good night"
"night Jen"
Emily then ends the call and puts her phone in her pocket and uses one hand to riffle through the medicine cabinet. she soon finds some paracetamol, she then grabs the right amount for a three year old, the then went to the kitchen and filled a cup of water for Y/N.
Emily then pried her arms away from her neck so she could sit on the counter and have the medicine, Emily crushed the tablets into half and gave them to Y/N, the baby whines but swallows them.
once she was done Emily whiped Y/Ns nose again and picked her up. "hopefully that will help your head ache N/N" she mutters before walking back upstairs and into her room knowing Y/N will want to sleep with her.
once they were both under the covers Emily made sure Y/N was breathing before falling asleep, herself. It was only an hour later she was once again woken up to crying, the mother bouced awake and turned around to see Y/N bawling her eyes out once again.
Emily then sits up with Y/N in her arms, Emilys tired to comfort her but nothing will work. "what should i do, i cant call JJ again" mumbled Emily before groaning the only other person she could call would be her Boss.
She looked down at her still crying child and gave in for Y/Ns sake, she turned on her phone and clicked on Hothes number, Emily rubs Y/Ns back comfortingly as the girl cries and coughs, it breaks Emilys heart.
A few rings later and Hotch answers. "Prentiss? is everything okay" he asks as Emily shhhes Y/N. "Hey Hotch sorry for calling so late i jsut really need some advice" she yelled over the crying.
she could practically see Hotch raising an eyebrow. "of course that that would be?" he askes
"Children advice, pacifically when they are ill" she say, Hotch goes silent before he speaks. "it Y/N okay?" he asks worried about the baby.
"thats the thing Hotch, i don't know whats wrong with her, she has a small fever, she complained of a headache, shes coughing alot, runny nose, possible sore thraot" says Emily listening of Y/Ns sy,toms.
"sounds like she has a cold to me Prentiss" says Hotch
"of course the most simplest thing and it went completely over my head, sorry to bother you with this Hotch" Says Emily now she felt bad waking him up for a cold.
she hears Hotch laugh slightly over the phone "its all okay Prentiss i understand, first time parent is hard especially when your child is sick, you could make a honey and lemon water for her to sooth the sore throat" said the man.
Emily thought about it. "sounds like a good idea, thanks Hotch sorry again" says Emily before ending the call, she looks down at the child who finally stopped crying and fell asleep in her arms.
"finally" she whispers before deciding to stay in her positions she didnt want to wakw up Y/N again.
the end!
i hope you liked this ineshot! and as usual so sorry for the grammar and spelling mistakes.
requests are open!
word count: 1235
#criminal minds#fanfic#behavioural analysis unit#x child reader#x daughter!reader#fluff and comfort#sick reader#emily prentiss#emily prentiss x daughter reader#emily prentiss x child reader#mother daughter fluff#aaron hotchner#jennifer jareau#x sick baby reader#xbaby reader
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No thoughts in my head but staying in with Levi during the weekends.
It's drizzling outside since the morning. After having a simple, hearty lunch, you decided to stay in bed. Your belly is swollen with a baby. You're seven months pregnant with a healthy baby boy. You're pretty sure the baby is a carbon copy of Levi, because he's being very active and it's wearing you out.
You're leaning on a big pillow perched against the headrest, slowly dozing off to the soft music from the stereo. It's said to calm the baby, but it calms you instead. Levi rests his head on your lap. He's touching and massaging your belly lovingly. His warm palms going in circles on your swollen belly, reducing the discomfort you feel. You sign in relief.
Just then, the baby kicks, stretching your belly and it catches both of you off guard. The baby movements might make your heart warm but it does take a toll on your body. Levi immediately sooth the area, cooing gently to the baby, "let's not kick mommy too hard, ok? You're feeding of mommy, and mommy's carrying you around, so be gently with mommy."
You feel Levi's lips on your skin. He kisses your stretched out skin tenderly. He then leans his cheek on your belly, signs as he listens to the baby inside.
You stroke his head while he rubs your belly. You realise, you have fallen more in love with him.
#yup im spreading my baby fever#lets get sick together#dadvi#dad levi#levi ackerman#levi fluff#levi x reader#levi ackerman x reader#levi heichou#levi imagine#levi drabble
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Going through comments on a BES video:
Someone: “The only pattern in Mizu’s outfit is her obi (her belt) and it’s made from her baby blanket 🙁.”
Me with my hands on my knees, about to have a mental breakdown:
“It’s
what!?”
#my baby had a baby blanket#she not only wears the same haori all her life but also her baby blanket#oh my god I’m gonna be sick#mizu#mizu blue eye samurai#mizu x reader#blueeyesamurai#blue eye samurai x reader
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fleeting sappy thoughts
in every universe hobie brown is a guy who doesn't do commitment. he doesn't do titles, labels, rings, cuffing as a concept. he never has a family, so he never thought about having his own. plus, the dangers of the job, can't really tell when he'd get to be there for someone. the last thing he'd do is be deadbeat. so he says he doesn't believe in starting a family. but he knows you do and he knows you sacrifice that part of you to be with him.
from time to time he does see what you see. wedding bells, suits, champagne, guests, you in a white dress followed by the obvious pregnancy tests, happy tears, your body swollen up because of him and well... a child. he smiles at the thought occasionally but he knows better than to pursue it. until one day he gives it a serious thought.
he doesn't directly mention it, of course (it's hobie.) its always innocuous.
one day he's putting on his clothes. the usual spiky belts and bracelets.
" if 'e eve' have a kid am i gon' have to put a rubba guard on my belt?" he chuckles. you laugh with him but soon realize. waittttt he never does this... never brings up kids of his own. of your own. must be mayday's impact, you believe.
it escalates though, and you let him have his moment.
when he buys you things, he often asks "ya get a baby version o' dis?" or "bet this'd look so cute on a' lil' kid righ'?"
until it culminates in him admitting it to you after a long night together. your head is on his chest. you like it that way.
"babe"
you can feel his heartbeat accelerate. it's beating so fast its reverberating through your body due to your proximity to him.
"i love you"
"hmm i love you too" you say, but you know he's stalling.
"i look good inna suit innit?" he smirks down at you. you smile at him, he always looks good. "and you'd look bomb in 'ose long white gowns yeah?"
"somebody you know getting married, hobes? you dont be bringing up wedding attire outta no where..."
"i jus' been... ya know... considering it... n shi'. it's all cuz a' you. i been thinkin', you in white, band on tha' hand type... then eventually make you all swollen up cuza' me... i's hot as shit"
"sicko" you taunt.
"can' really help it, can i love?"
#aniya writes ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა#hobie ♡#boys#im sick im twisted i have baby fever#im just a girl#a silly one#atsv hobie#hobie brown#hobie spiderverse#hobie x reader#atsv headcanons#across the spiderverse#hobart brown#hobie smut
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just made it to impel down/marineford :(((( bout to go write fiftyleven fluffy ace stories to cope. I’ll see y’all in a few days.
#they don’t show my baby for 200+ eps and THIS is how they bring him back??#crying and hurt?!?#when I catch you oda#ik im late to the party but that’s besides the point#anyways imma need the cutest ace hcs y’all can offer me#imma be sick to my stomach when this arc is over#might quit watching idk#one piece spoilers#one piece ace#portgas d ace#ace x black reader#cherry chats 🍒
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Aki baby fever agenda is very strong these days
a coworker brings their baby to work, and that sets off the gears in Aki’s head to have some of your own. Aki doesn't really know what's come over him. he barely remembers getting home, finding you in the kitchen, and pressing you up against the counter. he barely remembers tugging off yours and his own clothes right there and then. and right now he's barely present as he fucks load after load into you
somewhere, in the back of aki's mind, he's aware of the consequences of his actions. there's a part of him that knows he shouldn't act like this, that knows this is terribly irresponsible. but right now, when he has you pinned beneath him, your pretty hands in his and his dick buried deep inside you, all he can think about is how badly he wants to give you his children.
how many times have the two of you fucked since aki came home from work? it's only been a few hours, but you've gone at it two or three times, or was it four? since he first pushed you over the kitchen counter, and then left dinner behind to carry you to his bedroom, aki's begun to lose track.
all he's been doing is daydreaming, making love to you while imagining what it's gonna be like to marry you. he'll propose, he'll announce to his coworkers that he's getting married. aki stares at your hand in his while he bucks his hips into you, and imagines a bright shiny ring on your finger. you'll have a nice wedding, you'll take aki's last name, you'll move in with him. aki imagines getting you pregnant right here, in his own bed. he wonders if your kids will look more like him, or more like you. he hopes the answer is both.
aki doesn't stop until you're completely exhausted, and until he's completely emptied. he cums in you as deep as he possibly can, he doesn't move an inch until he's sure he's filled your womb with all of it.
"that's it, that's it... take it all for me, g-god..." aki praises, his palm pressed gently to your stomach. he rubs in circles, right where his and your baby is going to form. his chest heaves, his breath is quickened, and he slowly comes down from his fifth orgasm of the night, giving you the last of what he has.
"I love you so much... I love you. you stopped taking your birth control a few days ago, didn't you? you can throw it out. if we're gonna start a family together, I've gotta get you pregnant... we'll try some more times tomorrow, okay?"
#breeding kink aki has possessed me today#I am sick in the head#ahahahahaa.... ahahaa.. ahaha.... a. as#YES AKI BABY FEVER AGENDA#GIVE IT TO ME NOWWWWWWWW#ANONNNNNN I'M SIIIIICKKK HELP MEEEEEEE!!!!#ahahahaha cccc!!!! the insanity!!!!#ask mags#aki <3#aki hayakawa x reader#aki x reader#< do these tags even work anymore
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Watch It Bring You To Your Knees (Baby Firefly x Reader)
Summary: You should've never told your boyfriend to pick up the hitchhiker on the side of the road...right?
Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. Happy Femslash February y’all! Anyway, don’t interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.
Word count: 1.2k
Warnings: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Kidnapping. Sexually explicit content that involves extremely dubious consent, elements of petplay, sadism, degradation, spanking, oral sex (f. receiving), boot riding. Do not interact if you’re under 18.
Baby Firefly was the most obnoxious, irritating, nasty bitch you’d ever had the displeasure of running into in your life. To make the situation you found yourself in worse, you were the one who told your boyfriend to pick up the hitchhiking woman, even though he wanted to keep driving. You supposed you were better off with her than with Otis, though. Your boyfriend’s anguished screams from down the hall put every horror movie you ever watched to shame. Baby wasn’t shy about using a knife, you had plenty of cuts of varying depth to show for it, but your last stupid burst of courage had yet to rear its ugly head as she gleefully snapped a dog collar around your neck.
“Okay, now sit!” she ordered.
You were silent, sending the meanest glare you could muster to her. As if it’d make a difference.
“C’mon, be a good puppy and sit!”
“Fuck you.” You spat in her face.
Your cheek stung with the force she used to backhand you, taking advantage of your moment of disorientation to press her knife against your throat.
“I should cut your fucking tongue out for that,” she hissed, her nose touching yours. “But you did tell your dumbass boyfriend to pick me up.” She regarded you silently for a moment. “You still gotta pay.”
She hauled you up by your collar, choking you in the process. You fruitlessly clawed at her hand, but she didn’t release you until you were bent over her lap in front of her vanity, chest burning as she grabbed your ass cheeks.
“I think ten is good to start, don’t you?”
“Ten?” you breathed hoarsely.
“Nah, you’re right, twenty-five’s more like it.”
Your eyes widened.
She grinned, slapping her hand against your ass. She did so again, harder, causing you to gasp in pain. “Hey dummy, it don’t count if you don’t count,” she taunted, spanking you again. “So count.”
“One.”
“There ya go!”
At ten, she claimed her hand was sore, and you thought you were getting off easy. Except she grabbed a hairbrush from her vanity, each spank with that stinging even worse than her hand. You could barely choke out the number when it snapped in half against your welted asscheek at twenty-one.
You knew better by then to expect her to give you a break. She simply shrugged, throwing the broken hair brush aside and going back to spanking you with her hand. By the time you reached twenty-five, hot tears rolled down your face, both in pain and embarrassment at how wet you’d gotten. Each time you squirmed in her lap, you could feel your wetness slicking up your inner thighs.
She scratched her nails against your raw skin, giggling when you whimpered in pain. Her hand drifted between your thighs, her fingers prodding at your wet pussy. “I guess that wasn’t much of a punishment, was it? Feels like you liked it a lot.” She slipped two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out at a frustratingly slow pace. You moaned, rutting against her hand to try to get more friction. She hummed, curling her fingers inside you. Your pussy clenched around her fingers. Fuck, you were close, you were so fucking–“I think you still need to show me how sorry you are for bein’ so rude.”
A whine caught in your throat when she pulled her hand away, instead grabbing you by the collar and pushing you onto your knees in front of her. She shimmed out of her panties, throwing them aside and opening her legs. You looked from her pussy to her face, eyes wide in disbelief. She couldn’t really expect you to–
“Don’t go all prude on me. If you’re gonna run your mouth, you’re gonna put it to good use,” she said, before cruelly adding, “Just pretend you’re kissin’ your little boyfriend.”
With a shaky breath, you leaned in, too slowly for Baby’s liking, because she gripped the back of your head and pushed your face against her pussy. Your nose brushed her clit as you tentatively licked between her folds. You didn’t want to make her feel good, she didn’t deserve it, even if she was hot, but she’d do a hell of a lot worse than spank your ass raw if you didn’t do what you were told this time
You tried thinking about what you liked when your boyfriend actually went down on you, what you wanted him to do when he did. You dragged your tongue up her pussy until you reached her clit, giving it a few flicks before closing your lips around it, the lewd sound of you sucking her wet cut mixed with her moans, sending a rush of pleasure down your spine.
You reached between your legs, rubbing your clit, sloppily moaning against Baby’s pussy. She was practically riding your face at that point, though she got wise to her suddenly doing most of the heavy lifting. “Uh-uh, this is the only way you’re gonna cum,” she sneered, shoving her dirty cowboy boot between your legs. “C’mon, hump it like a good little bitch.”
With a shaky breath, you rubbed yourself against it, finding your rhythm more quickly than you cared to admit. Your calves ached the harder you grinded against Baby’s boot, but pleasure curled its tendrils through your abdomen, beckoning you closer to release.
“Tell me my boot feels better than any dick you’ve let in your cunt.” When you moved away from her pussy to speak, she grabbed you by the hair. “Use your fingers, stupid, don’t leave me hangin’.” You nodded, fingering her in the absence of your mouth. She moaned, “Now say it.”
“Your boot–” She flexed her foot, pushing it against your pussy, the pressure hitting your clit at just the right spot to make your hips jerk. “Fuck–your boot feels better than any dick I’ve let in my cunt.”
“Now say, ‘Thank you for letting me your slut, Baby.’”
You didn’t even hesitate. “Thank you for letting me be your slut, Baby.”
She moaned, rolling her hips against your hand. Her fingers dug into the back of your head, pushing your face against her pussy again. You didn’t need to be told that time, your tongue lapping her up while rubbing circles against her clit. Static filled your brain as you tried to focus on Baby’s pleasure and your own, the two seeming to converge as she came on your tongue with a high-pitched whine, soaking your face. At the same time, her boot rubbed harder against your aching cunt, sending you over the edge as you clung to her leg, your wet face pressed against her thigh as you hopelessly rode out your orgasm on her boot.
You couldn’t find it in you to be embarrassed, not when you were seeing stars and she was probably the last person you were ever gonna see anyway. Fuck, if she was gonna kill you, at least you got the best orgasm of your life first.
“Will you two keep it the fuck down?” Otis shouted through the door, shattering the salacious haze you’d gotten lost in.
“Mind your fucking business!” Baby yelled back, grabbing the nearest object from her vanity and throwing it at the wall. “Perv!” Though she shouted that with a smile.
When she pulled her boot out from under you, she snickered as she kicked her foot around, watching how your juices glistened against the leather. “You liked that a lot, huh?” A grin spread across her face. “I’m gonna have to keep you around a while.”
#baby firefly x reader#house of 1000 corpses#the devil's rejects#baby firefly#slasher x reader#slasher fandom#slasher community#slasher fanfic#it's kind of sick how quickly i wrote this but i support women's rights and women's wrongs so
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Rauru x Sickness
If You're sick:
Frantic. Absolutely frantic
"This is it. This is how I lose her. I failed the love of my life."
"Darling, I just have a cold from getting caught in the rain."
The king is frantic to have all the constructs both help and protect you.
Is shaking while trying to spoon feed you soup, despite that you literally are fine.
Will baby you.
If HE is sick:
It's the end of the world
Pathetic Zonai man
"My light, if I pass, I need you to know I love you."
"You don't even have a fever, Rauru. Stop being a child."
"BUT I LOVE YOU."
He is absolutely the worst patient for as simple as he refuses to admit defeat and is going about the kingdom trying to continue his duties despite needing bedrest.
Is absolutely passed out on the throne so you ask the constructs for help taking him back to the bedroom while another gets extra blankets.
Only stays in bed cuz he realized he could hold you while he sleeps.
Feels awful when you catch it.
. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .
Tabby: Give me pathetic whiny men any day.
#rauru totk fic#rauru x fem!reader#rauru totk#totk rauru#humor#sick fic#whiny baby man#love him#whump fic
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doctor daddy
[image ID: a behind the scenes photo of Sebastian Stan as Lee Bodecker from The Devil All The Time. He is standing with his hands in his pockets and looking off into the distance. /.end ID]
masterlist
18+
wc: ~980 words
warnings: Lee wants to beat someone up(no one in particular, he’s just frustrated), reader is in physical pain, mentions of painkillers, written on my phone, sappy and needy reader as usual. Lee carries reader.
a/n: this picture makes me giggle, I wonder what he’s thinking about.
pairing: lee bodecker x gn!little!reader
summary: Lee’s baby is hurting
⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆
Pain and suffering: that’s all you knew. The sun never seemed so dull and the nights never seemed so cold. You wondered if you’d survive the ne-
“Baby?”
Oh! Daddy’s home!
Lee quickly toed off his shoes and met you at the couch, setting down his paper grocery bag along the way. You looked adorable swaddled up in a blanket with your stuffed bunny, but Lee’s heart couldn’t help but ache for you.
You’d been stuck on the couch all day. Standing or even sitting up required too much energy, not to mention that shifting positions could mean upsetting your body further.
Earlier today Lee wanted to call in sick and tend to you, but you assured him that you would be okay as he went on with his shift at the station. He lovingly carried you to the couch where he’d set up everything you could’ve possibly needed while he was gone. Blankets, painkillers, snacks, water, books, and the TV remote were all within reach. Your daddy left you with a kiss on the forehead and strict instructions to rest up, drink water, eat a snack, and call him if you needed help.
You obliged with a yes, daddy and made it through the next seven hours still in pain, bored, and missing your daddy. You were so happy when he came home, but your state meant you had to wait for him to come to you instead of running to meet him at the door as usual. Luckily, Lee wasted no time getting to your side. He’d missed you just as much as you’d missed him.
He held your smaller hand in his and gave you three gentle kisses on your forehead, the tip of your nose, and your puffed out lip. Lee normally loved your pouty face but knowing that this one was caused by your state of pain rather than an adorable neediness made it less enjoyable. He almost wished there was a single person responsible for your pain so he could take it out on them, but he knew all he could do now was be here for you.
“How ya feelin’ sweetie?”
“Hurts, Daddy.”
Lee muttered a curse under his breath and gently massaged the hand he was holding. “My poor baby. ‘ wish there was somethin’ I could do to help. I could beat up someone right now, makes me so mad seein’ my baby hurt like this.”
You shook your head and pulled his hand closer. “Just need Daddy.”
Lee smiled for the first time that day. “And you’ll get him, sweetheart. Just let me help ya out a little first, yeah? I stopped by the store and got somethin’.”
You raised your eyebrows in curiosity. Lee normally just bought the essentials, and you technically had everything you could need to recover at home already. He tucked your arm back under the blanket and began pulling stuff out of the bag.
“I gotcha a different kinda pain medicine, this one’s a cream. There’s a new thermometer, in case the old one wasn’ workin’ right and my baby really is sick. This here’s a new pair of socks to keep yer feet warm and protected. And this is a lollipop for being my good ‘n brave little baby.”
You admired your new socks and treat with a soft thank you daddy and let Lee fuss over you with his new supplies. He cleaned the new thermometer and let out a sigh of relief when it confirmed that you were at a safe temperature. He swapped out your old, worn-out socks with the new, softer ones. And then he carefully peeled back the blanket and your clothing to rub in the pain-relief cream.
After Lee washed his hands, he climbed in behind you on the couch, replacing the numerous pillows and blankets with his solid body. His round belly fit perfectly into the curve of your back, and his strong arms acted like a weighted blanket. He knew just how to support you to keep you comfortable and ease your pain.
In this position, he could also speak to you in a hushed tone and feel butterflies in his chest whenever you whispered back or snuggled closer to him.
You asked him about his day. He kept it brief, mostly talking about how much he missed you. He only shared the details of his work with you when you were at your big age; Lee was very diligent about preserving the safety of your little mind.
He turned the question on you, listening to you describe the episodes of Bugs Bunny you watched and what antics your stuffies got into today. He loved hearing about your inner world. Lee never got to explore his imagination too much. His responsibilities kept him tied to the real world, so he admired that you were able to keep that part of you alive while still dealing with your own issues.
The two of you fell into a comfortable silence before you were overcome with the need to tell your daddy how much you appreciate him.
“Thank you for takin’ care of me, Daddy.”
Lee kissed the back of your head. “It’s no problem, sweetheart. That’s what daddies are for. You feelin’ any better? That pain medicine doin’ its job yet?”
“Mhm.” You nodded and then turned your head to muffle your next sentence, shy about the sappy words about to leave your mouth. “Daddy’s the best medicine though.”
Lee chuckled and pulled you closer if that was possible. “Oh yeah? What makes ya say that?”
You squeezed his arms wrapped around you and wiggled against his belly, proving your point. “Daddy’s soft and cozy and strong. And Daddy gives the best cuddles.”
Lee shook his head, not believing how lucky he was to have you in his life. “Daddy loves you, baby. And I’ll never stop cuddling you.”
#i got the owies today and wrote this while in bed#i could not stand but at least daddy lee was there for me🫶#i was going to write specifically about menstruation pain bc that’s what I’ve got rn but there’s a good bit of those fics out there already#maybe I’ll do that another day but I wanted this to be less specific so it could apply to more readers#to any of you babies are in this with me: I hope your pain eases soon#lee bodecker x little!reader#daddy!lee bodecker x little!reader#lee bodecker x gn!little!reader#gn!little!reader#sick!reader#hurt!reader#comfort#cuddles#soft!daddy!lee bodecker#oneshot#fluff#cg!lee bodecker#sfw regression#toosh writes#doctor daddy#doctor-daddy#little being carried
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sick
summary: being sick is never much fun, but it’s even worse when your boyfriends are nowhere to be seen.
word count: 1.8k
warnings: throwing up, basically just fluff otherwise
You were sick. You were the energy draining, skull splitting type of sick. You hadn’t slept more than about an hour at one time, and you had basically lived in the bathroom for the past two days. Wonderful.
What made matters worse is that no one had come to check up on you. Not Steven, who fluttered around you, not Marc, who hovered as if he couldn’t last a second without you, not Jake, who knew what was happening even before you did. You knew they had reasons to not be floating around you, but you couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt when they didn’t react to you being gone from your normal spot in the living room.
Right about now, you would be getting off of work, shooting whoever was fronting— today it was normally Marc— a text telling them you’d be home soon. He’d meet you at the front door if he had a minute, but even if he didn’t or forgot, you would still greet each other after you made your way into the bedroom. You’d kick off your shoes and throw down your bag, flopping onto the bed next to Marc. You would sometimes peer over his shoulder at whatever was flashing on his computer screen.
You were thrown harshly back into the present as you felt another wave of nausea coming on, turning and hurling more into the toilet bowl. “Why, universe,” you groaned. “Why.”
Soon– and that’s putting it lightly– you were finally able to bring yourself up into shaky legs, crashing into the blankets with a sigh. You stared down at the recently emptied bucket beside you as you gloated, reasoning with yourself for the past forty-eight hours as to why the boys hadn’t come up. Yeah, you were still on that. It was usually ‘they know and they don’t want to get sick’, but you had run through ‘they hate you and don’t care’ more times than you’d like to admit.
You slapped your hand across the wood of your bedside table until you found your phone. As you turned on the screen, you saw countless texts from none other than the very men that had been occupying your thoughts. As you scrolled through the texts, they mostly consisted of ‘Y/N!’, ‘hey what’s going on’, and a special appearance of ‘I’m sorry but I have a trip for the old bird. be back in a few days’.
Groaning, you flopped your head back down onto your pillow, willing whatever stomach bug you had currently would just go away. You picked up your hand as you dialed their number, Marc picked up after the second ring. “Y/n! Y/n!” He screeched into the phone. “What happened?!? I called you like twenty times and I’ve sent like a thousand texts!” You cringed at the volume of his voice as it spiked a headache. “Marc, not so loud.”
“Are you okay?” Concern lined his voice.
“I’ve definitely been better.”
“Y/n, what’s going on?”
“I got some stupid stomach bug. I haven’t stopped throwing up in two days and I feel like shit. That’s why I haven’t called you back.”
“I’m sorry, baby.”
“Will you be home soon?” You asked, hopeful.
He paused. “I don’t know?”
“You don’t know? Marc..”
“I know, I know, I’m sorry. This is just really important.”
You scoffed, annoyed. “I get it. Good luck with it.”
“Y/n, don’t hang up! I’ll call you often, I promise.”
You nodded resentfully, still slightly pissed in your sick-addled mind. “Fine.”
“I love you.” He murmured.
“Love you too, you idiot.”
As you both hung up, you shot out of bed and back to your new home near the toilet. “Time for round one thousand.” You grumbled.
━━ ✦ ━━
When Marc cruised into your shared flat a day later, he was met with an unreal sight. Normally, the room was in top shape, as you hated any sort of mess. But, the curtains were hastily drawn, quite a few of your outfits were thrown across the floor, the bed was unmade and disturbing sounds came from the bathroom.
You were currently throwing up. Again. No surprise there. Marc was lucky in that he walked as soon as you were done. You threw up your hand haphazardly in greeting, unable to speak at the moment. Marc was still in his suit pants— which is confusing, now that you think about it—, but he bent down nonetheless to carefully pull back your hair into a ponytail.
“I’m so sorry, sweets.” He cooed, leaning in to place a kiss on your head when you jerked away from him. “Don’t kiss me, you’ll get sick too.” You chided with a hoarse voice.
“Not doing better, huh?” He asked as he helped you up from the floor.
“Eh. I woke up and could barely walk-“ you stumbled over your feet. “-as you can see.”
With a smirk more characteristic to Jake, your boyfriend hooked his arms under your knees and carried you to the bed, bridal style. You squealed, choking out a laugh.
“Have you taken any medicine?” He asked. You nodded. “Only the first day I was sick. I couldn’t muster enough energy to get to the kitchen after that.”
“I’m sorry that this is happening, hon. Tell you what. I’ll go grab a few things. Be back in ten.” He shot out of the room at a speed you previously thought was impossible. “I don’t know why I’m surprised at this point…” you mumbled as you sank further into the fluffy layers of comforting cotton.
━━ ✦ ━━
True to his word, Marc arrived exactly ten minutes later. You had counted. Nothing more interesting when you’re laying in bed. “I’m back!” Marc’s voice rang through the floor as he slid in. “Thank god.” You practically groaned as he made his way to you, plopping down on the bed and laying out all the items he’d acquired.
“Marc, go grab a mask.” You commanded, the sudden outburst surging spurring from the last ten minutes you’d spent hoping you wouldn’t get him sick. He furrowed his eyebrows. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to get sick.”
“Y/n-“
“Now.”
“I don’t wanna-”
“Spector,” you growled. “I may be sick, but it will hurt no less when I attack you.” The said man deliberately got up and put on the mask as you smirked in victory.
“There! Are you happy now?”
“Yes. See, that wasn’t that hard.”
“Mhm, keep telling yourself that.” He muttered under his breath.
“What?”
“Here,” Marc blatantly ignored your question and handed you aspirin and a glass of water. “Drink this.” You obliged, downing the drink.
Marc placed a bowl of salad with your favorite toppings in front of you. “Lettuce helps clear out your system.” He clarified at your raised eyebrow.
You shrugged and quickly went to eat the food.
“When was the last time you ate?” Marc questioned your ferocity.
“Substantially? Two days ago.” You jutted out between bites.
“Y/n.”
“Yeah?” You looked up at him briefly while you chewed.
“You need to eat!!”
“I was just gonna throw it up!”
“You still need to eat something! Or drink something! Did you drink anything?”
“Of course. I had water.”
Marc let out a sigh, running a hand down his face in frustration. “That’s good, at a minimum.”
You mumbled a sorry and went back to munching. You watched from the bed as Marc fluttered around the room, cleaning. Cleaning. This was definitely not new, but your brain wasn’t processing things properly at the moment. “Marc,” he picked up his head and locked eyes with you. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Just eat.” He ordered, waving you off.
━━ ✦ ━━
“And then I-“ you stopped mid sentence when you felt the all too familiar feeling brewing in your stomach. Marc took one look at your face and picked you up, making a beeline for the toilet. He pulled the strands that had fallen out of his loose ponytail as you hurled into the toilet. Tying your hair again, he rubbed your back comfortingly. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’ll be over soon.”
You felt the last things exit your stomach and you collapsed onto the toilet seat, exhausted. “Y/n?” Marc asked at your posture. “Mhm?” You couldn’t pull yourself up.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just tuckered out.”
“From?”
You glared at Marc. “Throwing up. Constantly. For the past two days. It takes a toll when you haven’t slept very much in that time.”
“Or eaten anything!”
You sighed. “Or eaten anything.”
Marc shot you a half smile, even though you couldn’t see it through the fabric of his mask. You frowned quizzically as you took in the details of his mask, snickering nonetheless. “Of course you have a Khonsu mask.”
Marc chuckled, cheeks slightly flushed. “Yep.”
“Why, though? People barely wear those.”
“Doctor people do!”
“Doctor people?” You raised your eyebrows.
“Oh, fuck off.”
You huffed. “You are so lucky I have no energy to tease you right now.”
He grinned. “That I am.”
━━ ✦ ━━
Before you knew it, you found yourself curled under Marc’s arm, all snuggled up and warm against him. “This is nice.” You hummed into his chest. He cracked a smile. “Yeah?”
“Mhm. We should cuddle more often.”
“Maybe.”
“Marc,” you looked up at him. “Please.”
“I’ll try, y/n.”
You huffed in defeat. “Damn Khonsu.”
“Hey! Be nice when you talk about him!”
You chuckled. “Whatever.”
He swatted you lightly. “Watch it, l/n. I can leave this bed anytime I want.”
“No you can’t, Spector. I’m hella strong when it comes to this.”
“Wanna test it out?”
You smirked. “I guess.”
All of a sudden, Marc jerked away from you as if he had been burned. But, much to his dismay, you hung on like a leech and dangled from his body in the exact position you were laying down in. He gaped. “How..?”
You grinned. “I need warmth when I’m sick and my boyfriend has been gone for two days. It’s pure desperation.”
He pulled himself back into the bed with you attached. “I love you.”
You yawned. “Love you too.”
When you woke the next morning, you felt a ton better. Rolling over in bed, you checked the time. 9:45, it read. “Yes!” You cheered. “Nine hours of sleep!” Then it hit you. Where was Marc? “Marc?” You called out. When you were met with no answer, you tried again. “Steven?”
Still no answer.
“Jake?”
Nothing. Radio silence.
Sliding out of bed, you pondered where they could be. Another mission? Seemed plausible. You were about to accept that with a sigh when you heard noises from the bathroom, ones that didn’t sound all that happy.
Your eyes widened as you flung open the door to the bathroom, and you were met with a sight that etched a frown into your features. “Marc,” you crouched down next to him, rubbing his back as he’d done to you the night before. “I’m so sorry.”
a/n: as you can probably tell, but i wrote this MONTHS ago while i was sick, so i apologize in advance for any typos or issues i missed! also look at his smile in the gif omfg
#i love sick fics#and i love my baby marc im happy to write for him#moon knight#jake lockley#marc spector#steven grant#steven grant x reader#jake lockley x reader#marc spector x reader#steven grant x you#marc spector x you#jake lockley x you#marc spector imagine#steven grant imagine#marc spector fluff#marc spector x y/n#oscar issac#oscar issac hernandez estrada#oscar issac x reader#oscar issac imagine
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a whisper in the autumn wind
Heist!Mark x reader | Words: 1647 | Read on AO3
A chill racks your body as you and Mark make your way through the cool night. You mentally curse, wishing you were wearing more layers, though you know anything more wouldn't have fit under the tactical vest that sits snugly around your torso.
Your heist partner doesn't seem to notice you shiver, busy making sure the coast is clear before proceeding and gesturing for you to follow.
You do your best to keep pace with your friend's manoeuvres as he darts an odd pattern through the museum, triggering a bout of slight nausea that causes you to stop in your tracks.
‘Hey, keep up!’ Mark whisper-yells, turning around just in time to miss you steadying yourself after a wave of dizziness.
Somehow you make it the rest of the way without collapsing or being seen, but you're now all too aware of the fatigue in your muscles and the soreness in your throat. Meanwhile, your partner in crime carefully but swiftly wraps the stolen artefacts and slips them into his bag.
Your prize this time? A series of ancient tablets that you plan to sell to an illegal collector. You can't imagine what practical use someone would have for these, but at the end of the day, a job's a job and money is money.
It is only on your way out, that you feel the tell-tale itch in your nose that you have been dreading all evening.
As you scrunch up your face, Mark looks at you in confusion.
‘Buddy, you've been acting off all night, what's up with you? You good?’
You nod, desperately wanting to move on and for this to be over with.
The first couple of sneezes you manage to quell without too much fuss, but you can already feel a larger one threatening your nostrils.
While crouched behind a display, hiding from some guards, comes the point at which you can no longer hide that you're suppressing sneezes.
‘Alright, we are so close to being scot-free— hey what are you —? You're not sick are you? Really? Now?!’
Mark shakes his head back and forth with a string of frantically whispered "no"s as you fight your reflexes, but it's futile.
The sneeze that finally escapes you is resounding, and there is a beat of stunned silence and lack of movement from every party involved before you and Mark react first, bolting out the exit with the guards in pursuit.
It's a mad dash with a lot of ducking and diving, adrenaline probably the only thing keeping your body going, but by some miracle the two of you manage to lose them, eventually making it to where your getaway vehicle is parked some ways away so as to not be suspicious.
Piling into the passenger seat, exhaustion hits you all at once and you're thankful that Mark is the one driving. You pull off your gloves and hat and he does the same.
With no one following you, your partner drives cautiously in order to not draw any unwanted attention, careful to abide by traffic laws and always on the lookout for cops.
‘There's tissues and water in the glove box,’ he says after a few minutes, expression hard-lined and inscrutable, eyes focused on the road.
There's a thick tension in the car, uncharacteristically quiet save for the limited traffic outside and the rumble of the engine. You blow your nose, and it feels awkward in the silence, only broken on occasion by your sniffing. You take a sip of water, grateful for the coolness against your chapped lips and dry throat.
Eventually, you decide you don't want to endure the tension any longer, and you're too tired to let your little mishap turn into an argument; it was your fault, after all.
‘I'm sorry.’
Mark sighs. He glances at you, then back to the road.
‘It's okay. It's not your fault you're sick, it's just… Why didn't you tell me?’
‘Didn't want to ruin the heist.’ You laugh, but it's strained and weak, void of any real mirth or humour. ‘But I guess I kinda messed up on that anyway, huh?’
He lets out a small huff of laughter. ‘Yeah, no shit.’
You look down at your hands, folded in your lap.
‘Hey, it's not a big deal,’ he consoles. ‘We got what we came for and we didn't get caught. That's about as much as we can say for most of our heists.’
Your gaze stays downcast; he does make a good point, but it doesn't stop you from feeling a little guilty.
Mark must notice, because he reaches across to place a hand on your shoulder reassuringly, other hand still keeping the wheel steady.
You put your own hand over his, grateful for the comfort. You close your eyes and will away the growing dizziness and brain fog, the warmth from his now ungloved palm reassuring.
‘Look buddy, I need you to know I'm not mad or anything, just a bit upset that you didn't tell me in the first place… and annoyed at myself for not catching onto the fact sooner. I just thought… I thought you felt like you could be honest with me about this stuff.’
There's an undeniable hurt in his tone that makes you look up at him. He is still intently focused on the road ahead, despite there being rather few other people and cars out at this time of night, and you know it's out of choice — he takes his eyes off the streets in favour of looking your way for much longer than necessary when he wants to. Usually you'd chide him for doing so, but right now you can't help but wish he'd properly meet your eyes, just for a moment.
‘No – I can. I can tell you nearly everything, I – I'm sorry.’ You take a steadying breath, organising your thoughts. ‘You were just – really looking forward to this one, and there was no better day for it, everything lined up perfectly for us to go tonight. This stupid cold had to turn up and it started out as just a sore throat, no big deal, and well… I thought I could stick it out a little longer despite feeling like crap, but…’ You trail off, turning to look out the window as he approaches your shared base, returning his hand to the wheel.
He pulls up, setting the car to park, and finally turns his head to fully face you, placing a hand on your knee to get your attention.
He says your name, and it sounds like a term of endearment. For someone so bold and often brash, he can be surprisingly tender, a side of him that rarely anyone but you gets to see. ‘I rely on you, and you can rely on me… but part of that means we have to tell each other these things.’
‘Yeah, OK…’
‘Pinky promise?’
‘What are you, five?’
‘I'm serious,’ he says firmly, holding out his finger to emphasise the point.
Smiling, you hook your pinky around his own and shake on it, but not without rolling your eyes first.
‘Good,’ he says, pleased. ‘Now that that's settled, let's get inside, hm?’
While Mark retrieves the loot and stows it for the time being, you let yourself in, settling on the small couch in the living room. You take off your shoes and unzip your vest, easing it off your aching limbs.
The nausea and dizziness seems to have passed but you feel hot, yet a little shivery, and you're on the verge of nodding off when Mark appears in front of you, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. If it's even possible, you feel incrementally hotter with his touch as you return his concerned gaze through sleepy, half-lidded eyes.
‘I think you've got a fever, bud. C'mon, time for bed.’
You groan in protest, too drained to move, instead letting your head fall forward to plop against his chest, the soft texture of his plain black sweater a comforting feel against your fevered skin.
‘Oh boy, what am I gonna do with you…?’ he murmurs, bringing a hand up to pat your hair. He speaks softly, and with such affection that your heart would probably be doing somersaults if you weren't so tired and ill.
‘Alright, upsy-daisy.’ In one quick motion, he picks you up, carrying you bridal style to your room, and for once you don't object.
‘Hey, you better not make me sick too,’ he warns without an ounce of actual distaste, as you practically nuzzle your face into him.
He gently lays you in bed, tucking covers around you.
‘I'll be right back.’
You instantly miss his presence, tugging the blanket up a little around yourself.
He returns before long with a box of tissues, the bottle of water you'd been drinking and some painkillers, leaving them by your bedside. He places a wet face cloth beside you as well.
‘I know you're probably feeling cold but I don't want your temperature to get too high, so use this, and keep drinking water.’
You nod, about ready to drift to sleep.
‘Call me if you need anything, OK? I won't be far.’
‘Don't you want to sleep?’
‘I will in a little while, but you can still call me.’
‘Ok,’ you reply appreciatively. ‘Thanks for… looking after me.’
‘Someone's got to.’ He smiles at you gently, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.
After a pause, he gets up to leave, pulling the door closed but leaving a gap the width of his face.
‘Rest up, buddy.’
He makes a quick kissing sound in your direction before shutting the door fully, his footsteps receding down the hallway.
Your face feels very warm.
Must be the fever, you think, placing the towel on your forehead with a yawn, before swiftly falling asleep.
#title from Violet by Wild Party#once again lolol I just really like that song#dude this so self-indulgent >-<😳#I miss being babied and taken care of when sick and it SHOWS😖#amee writes#ahwm#partners in crime#heist mark x reader#heist mark x y/n#heist!mark x y/n#heist!mark#heist mark#mark iplier#x reader#a heist with markiplier#markiplier egos#markiplier cu
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˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Jean & Armin Being Hozier Coded ˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
A mood-board, heavily inspired by this post I made and also this hozier playlist I made (below). You could definitely read this as a jearmin ship and you also wouldn’t be wrong.
This title makes me laugh but also I’m right.
Also, Jean reminds me of ‘Talk’ and Armin reminds me of ‘movement.’ Hehe. Lastly, happy anniversary to Wasteland, Baby! (The album not my Jean Kirstein fic LOL).
#queued up🎞️!#Jean Kirstein moodboard#Armin Alert moodboard#they are so hozier coded#I will finally shut up about them#feeling sick to my goddamn stomach rn#thinking about them…#I love them so much#jean kirstein x reader#armin alert x reader#attack on titan x reader#aot x reader#attack on titan#hozier#wasteland baby#nfwmb#hehe#Spotify#potentially jearmin 🫣#jearmin
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🕷Was it Love or Nicotine?🕷
Eddie Munson x Reader, one shot.
12k words
Summary: Eddie brings you comfort when you’re sick-
You’re two seconds from bolting out to grab the baseball bat your mom kept in the upstairs closet.
But a familiar voice slithers on in. You catch onto snippets.
“Shit. Motherfucking,sonofa- betch.” Comes unsmothered curses from the underside of your window. There’s another hiss, shaking of a shrub, and a knock. A growl. A stab of a foot hooking onto wood.
That would be Eddie.
Or;
The one where you’re sick, and who should show up at your window, with a can of Campbell’s stuffed in his pocket? That’s right. Eddie Munson.
In case you wanted an Eddie MASTERLIST to peruse-
It starts out along the lines of this; Eddie does keep an eye out for you at school. Of course he does.
His cool chick with the choppy-flicky hair. Self proclaimed music snob with one hell of a sense of humour. His pencils. The one with the magic lips. With that taste of sugar-strawberry lip smacker skated on them.
He couldn’t get over it.
Mind flicked back to thoughts of you over and over. Faded film reel in his head bleached to sepia ghost tones the amount it played out. The way your hands tugged in his lapels for more. That flash white of your smile in the half dark that turned his knees to quivering water.
That gorgeous way you’d pressed an Alice Cooper tape in his hands and told him sternly what tracks to listen too. How hungrily you’d kissed him back like he was your new kind of air-
Remembering the soft press of your fruit sweet lips has all the blood in him racing south. Fuck.
And he can’t help it and he’s more than aware that it might be overstepping the mark. Him looking out.
Fuckin’ Christ. He feels like the Norman Bates character from that movie. Like some perverted creep combing crowds, just hoping to see you dotted among them.
He thinks about you, laying, chainsmoking in his bed with a cigarette wonky to his lips. He stubs it out and lights another. There’s no removing you. You’re like another rush of nicotine in him right now.
You are running bond deep and he can’t reach in and pull out your influence. He lets it stay cause it’s fucking magic. Better than weed and he doesn’t say that lightly-
He thinks about you on the drive to school. He stops to pick up Gareth and Jeff. They chat on the way about the new issue of Daredevil.
Eddie, hard as he tries, has one ear tuned to them, and the other to the stereo in his van. Teeth grit, bumping it with a clenched fist to get it to behave. Metal rings clacking on the dash.
Alice sneers his venomous vocals to a shredding guitar, it just tugs a smile out of him that threads back to you, entirely. Jeff comments on the new tape that wasn’t the same thrashing Metallica or thundering Motörhead.
Nice music man. This new?
His resulting grin is silky smooth.
Yeah. Just picked it up.
They arrive at school and collectively brace themselves, for classes and the picky snide words of their peers. Another day of not fitting in, shouldering the hassle of being an underdog, in Hellfire clad armour.
Instead of a chip on his shoulder, Eddie may aswell have a grating two tonne boulder on there, at this point.
They pile out of the van and split ways for their classes. They say goodbye and he only just finds his tongue to answer.
Simply because he’s half invested. He’s scanning the school parking lot a little more studiously than usual.
He knew you drove a capri. He knows it’s kinda a muddy-mustard colour with a few rust marks eating away at the passenger door.
He recalls that he saw you arrive yesterday with thunder faced Malibu Barbie in the next seat.
She checked her nails whilst you unloaded an armful of sketchbooks and heavy textbooks from the back seat. He wanted to hot foot it over to help you, but the crowds of people milling around made his courage shrink down.
He actually started to step to you- that’s how much he wanted to eat up that distance. But then his brain just hammered into his skull like a fist on a car roof, that he should stop.
Not yet. Not here. Too early. Too keen, you lunatic.
He vaguely recalls hearing Linda bitching at you about the fact you played Billy Idol all the way there on the drive. Makes his smile crawl across until teeth show. Sounds about right. Atta girl.
He couldn’t hang around. He couldn’t. But he wanted too. It’s a saw tooth edge all mean and scraping into his belly how much he wants too. But he can’t bring himself to act.
He wants to possess the bravery to scamper over there, push Linda out the way on her teetering heels, grab your goddamn face with ring clad hands and kiss you, hard.
Push you up against the side of your car to do it. Like he is the is the picture perfect, shiny haired golden boy in some sappy John Hughes movie.
Feel you squeak against the cup of his mouth in surprise. Kiss you with his tongue flicking at your teeth. Cupping the back of your head. Get the smell of your hair in his nose again. The juicy fruit taste of your lips.
Make out with you, devour you, right here with the whole damn school able to see, and every filthy as sin intention of letting his hands wander over all of you.
Wrap leather arms around you like vines and never, ever let go. Pull you into his chest like he wants you under his skin. He wants to pull a Judd Nelson and punch the fucking sky.
But he’d caught your eye. Just a flash. The sunny gold skate of your resulting smile when you saw it was him makes his insides warmer. Feels better than any pill.
You lock eyes, and it’s like someone has struck cupids red fucking arrow through the meat of his heart. Thud-thud-thudding like it’s climbed up the back of his mouth and clung to his tonsils.
He waves. You wave back. It’s that easy.
For now, just that smile and wave of acknowledgement was enough.
A gorgeous burst of you for just a second across the lot. That was yesterday.
He looks around today, as he jiggles his van keys in his hands. Keychains scraping together all jagged in his palm. Scanning for anything that resembled you or the Capri. Or, heaven forfend, the poofy cloud of blonde curls that belonged to your greek harpy of a friend.
He can’t see either.
He chews the inside of his lower lip. Eyes flick to the lot entrance. Nothing there still spilling in resembled you, either.
A grainy brown station wagon lumbers into park not far from him. Lurching clumsily onto a space. He watches a beefy letterman jock climb out and scrape his ridiculous golden Rob Lowe mullet back on his head.
The other side, the passenger door opens and a poodle bouffant of spilling blonde starts bouncing out.
He watches your friend get out. Join hands with her ape of a boyfriend, and flounce on into school. All legs and those maraschino-red heels, in another one of her short denim skirts. Hot pink jewellery hanging off her ears and wrists.
And you’re nowhere to be seen. That doesn’t square well on him. It sticks like something lumpy in his throat.
He hot foots it to class cause the last thing he needs is another tardy mark against his already pretty dashed reputation. But you cycle on loop through his head way more than any of his schoolwork probably should.
He’s never really been any good at staying still, or paying attention to much in his life. He is too erratic. Too lost to fantasy at times. Busy elsewhere.
He bounced his knees. He fiddled with his rings, doodled DND character concepts, or horned skulls on the margins of his schoolbooks, rather than actually turning his eyes to the board at any point. Some things really have to hook his flighty interest to warrant earning it full time.
He’s always had half his head stuck somewhere else. Even worse now you’d snatched up the rest of his already limited attention span.
It might be that you’ve hitched a ride to school. Car troubles? Maybe you overslept? Some shit like that. Some circumstance that had delayed you.
He drifts through his day. Decided to shake up his usual route after the bell rings for lunch. He doesn’t drift straight to the canteen, probably in time to hear a braindead slur aimed his way from Jason and his goons. Or he’d have to listen for the tenth time as Jeff argued with Sinclair about armour classes.
He swings by the clay scented halls of the school art department. A place - it had to be said - he never really had a lot of cause to go. It’s definitely new territory to embark on.
The walls are pinned with cork boards full of charcoal drawings and art history posters. Seurat, Poussin and Van Gogh’s twisting almond branches on midnight blue. Sad pot plants droop on a low table by a sun drenched window. The scent here is all stale paint and dried claggy clay.
He idles past a couple classrooms. Armies of easels in one where students are happily settled. Drawing a bowl of plump fruit on a goddamn podium. The room at the end is dusty and he’s guessing that’s where the potters wheels and reeking scent of clay is coming from.
He dodged a wall of students armed with wide flat sketchbooks and charcoal stained fingers. They frown at him in bewilderment like he doesn’t belong. A cat amongst the pigeons.
They’re not wrong-
He shoulders past them and ignores the way they turn to gawp at him. Wondering why he was in the Art Department, rather than his habitual canteen table soap box, or his weed stoop in the woods where people rarely dare to tread.
More rooms crammed with easels and painters and you’re not one of them. He weaves past even more classrooms. Collects more stares. He feels them land on his back as he walks past. Burning into his DIO patch like bleach.
He’s used to stares. Always been cool with not caring what other people’s problems are with him. And it always falls into the category of instant dislike. He’s sure they have a list at this point.
His hair is too crazy curls and straggly. He’s a super senior who lives in a trailer park. Out of fashion the way he dresses, in his Judas Priest pins and his beloved band tees and his ripped denim knees. He doesn’t listen to Abba, or give a shit about Madonna. So what?
He quickly came to realise during his misspent youth and at the height of his not so brilliant rollercoaster through puberty, that it was their issue. Not his.
He cut himself plenty of slack long ago. He won’t be crammed into stifling neat little moulds, expected to fit, like so many others just fall into. His denim and leather shield against the small small world of Hawkins remained spiky.
Because he doesn’t come from that well classed upbringing of stuffy family dinners, posed holiday photos, minivans, and mom and pop curfew.
He isn’t destined to go on and smile, and be a good shiny haired little athlete boy, off to make good grades, at an Ivy-smothered, brownstone college.
It’s dangerous for the kids to conform, you know? Toxic man.
Besides he’s on a more urgent mission here, than the craggy in’s-and-out’s of squalid pissy disapproval.
Every classroom in this building comes up empty. He sighs and proverbially kicks himself in the shin for being nosy and creepy.
Let’s that feeling eat away a while at his belly as he heads to join his usual crowd. Where he belonged. On a sticky plastic table as they squabbled about shit and kept to their geek corner.
He tucked tail. Chided himself all the way back to the canteen. Smacked his hand on the doorframe coming out the department. A harsh rap to his knuckles that flared with pain.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid, Munson.
Sat down with a sour face at the head of his table, picked idly at his food. A bag of half eaten chips and a probably out of date Twinkie. Not even the tater tots on Dustin’s plate break him out his funk like they usually do. He’d normally snatch a few. Not today.
Dustin seems to be eyeing him like he would try and snaffle them up. He’s watching for the sudden dart and silver-flash of his ring clad hand. It doesn’t come.
Jeff chucks him a juice box. Like he’s a fucking stray pigeon in the park they’ve all grown used to feeding.
Eddie stares at it too much, as he punches the straw in and repeats the motion. Twiddling with the chilli red plastic as he kept to himself. Fiddling. Fidgeting.
Also something he rarely did. Keep to his own crazy scarecrow head.
Stab and lift. Stab and lift.
Lost his appetite anyhow. Somewhere along the line.
He was being a moron. Presumptuous. Wouldn’t be the first time and on all his metal gods, it certainly won’t be the last.
He feels fully pathetic. One morsel scrap of attention and off he goes like some lonely pervert. Trailing after you like a rabid dog. Frothing at the mouth for the crumb of affection he thought could turn into something more.
Something hopeful that started to unfurl, blooming open in his chest. A delicate rare flower he’d never have the brains to know the full name of.
He’s just dumped a load of choking weed killer over that frail bloom. Because when should a freak’s dreams ever come true
Maybe you didn’t want to be found. Not by him. Maybe you’d come to your senses-
Maybe you realised what he truly was; not some stud athlete on path to play football for a fraternity in the big leagues and make his parents proud.
He is a scrawny loser. A jagged little freak. And as this school reminds him on a daily basis; he’s a nonconforming creep who won’t amount to so much as a piss stain in his life. And now you know that.
That snake bite of a realisation stings way, way, more than he thought it would.
~
Day two. Hour 48. Eddie still finds himself looking.
Maybe he’s a sadomasochist after all. The harder the hit, the sweeter the pain. And it burns so good he can’t tear away from it.
He waits by his trusty van. Others drift off for class. Frowning at the time when they realise how ridiculously fucking early he’d picked them up this morning.
Also something else Eddie doesn’t gel with; punctuality.
Gareth shook his watch hand and lifted it to his ear to check it was still ticking. Henderson seemed to be looking at him the whole ride here, waiting for some rational sort of explanation to announce itself out the metalhead’s mouth, with his usual dramatic fanfare.
It definitely wasn’t anything to do with schoolwork. No final, or test paper could intimidate or worry him. Maybe it was a deal he was anxious to speed too.
Eddie, was your bed on fire this morning or what?
Huh?
You owe someone money or something-
Are you tripping out on me, Henderson? Seriously man. Making zero sense here, y’know.
Eddie didn’t miss the way Dustin slumped back into his seat, tugged at his science baseball cap and muttered something like “Well, that makes two of us.”
Shut the hell up, and let me so graciously drive you to school, you little shrimp.
He says it with thinning patience. But the thing is, Eddie doesn’t really get ever mad or mean with his insults. Never nasty. He doesn’t have a nasty bone in him.
The only thing that works him into being revved up, is the thought of postponing Hellfire. Heaven forfend.
When he parks up, he’s still keeping his mysterious reasons clutched close to his denim chest. He tells them to scram. Beat it.
Get lost, you losers, as he ruffles Dustin’s hair.
His bemused flock wanders away from the parking lot, and wonder how they’re gonna kill some extra time.
He leans against the side of his van, and lights up a cigarette. And there he stays. His skin itches with paranoia. Pushing needles under his veins. Bouncing back from if this is a good idea, or still just him being a creep. Back and forth.
Really he talks himself in and out of it. He jumps out of negative thoughts. Banishes them. And then dives right back in not five minutes later.
He sees Barbie arrive at school in her clunky dream car. (Not pink, shocker) On her own this time. No meathead to speak off. But she is wearing his letterman jacket. It hangs off her.
Today’s heels are sapphire blue. Lilac eyeshadow packed heavy on her lids. She stops and chit-chats to a couple of cheerleaders, all three with standard issue bouncy scrunchie ponytails, that he’s sure is a requirement to get in the squad. Linda lugs a very thin looking binder into class with her.
He hates that he’s taking notice of her footwear. Of all fucking things in this place to notice. But she’s garbed in so much neon brightness, in the full sunshine, she’s a hard one to miss.
He skims his eyes across crowds and pulls on his cigarette. One hand in his pocket. His sneaker toes tap on the loose gravel.
She sashays off to class with the cheerleaders. He’s taking note of an awfully you shaped absence at her side. The negative space unfilled where you should be. Garbed in your paint flecked jeans, with that look of cynical boredom on your face when Linda says something bitchy.
It’s preying on him all the more. The bell goes and he must tear himself away, yet again. Drudging through more classes til lunch comes rolling around, way too slowly.
It’s a nice day - buttery sunshine spliced with a cold stab of spring. Hellfire club convenes outside. They run through character sheets in readiness for Friday night’s campaign. Eddie in his usual spot as king of the heap. Sat table top. As per.
Hands folded from his elbows resting on his knees. Eyes speared across the crowds. Little frown kinking his dark brows in the middle. He looks more intense than usual.
Going this long without glimpsing even one sight of you? Something’s gotta to be up.
He really doesn’t want to look, and he’s not really. It’s quite a repulsive sight happening across the way.
Blondie and her golden haired ape are stood making out, leaning against the brick wall opposite. All wandering hands and tonguing each other’s tonsils. Swapping spit and lusty grins. Not giving a shit.
He’s waiting for his moment. For the opportunity to strike out, like a ready coiled viper.
His knee jiggles and it bounces the bench seat. He barely notices. Too preoccupied. His bracelet jingles on his wrist. Blondie breaks away and the ape goes off in another direction. She walks into the shade of the hallway.
His moment sails right on into his hands. He snatches it.
He bolts up and bounded off the table like it had gone up in flames. Eyes dead ahead. Feet stomping the table top and then down to the bench with precise heavy steps.
The guys around him were fairly used to his outbursting displays of movement. It seemed all Eddie ever did was burst out of control and be unpredictable. Scamper around with that odd sort of scurrying way he moves. Other people walked: Eddie frolicked.
“Hey, where you goin?” Wheeler asks.
“To do battle with a fire breathing dragon.” He calls over his shoulder with a wry little grin.
That typical Munson wild-boy look he gives that’s all big bourbon eyes the size of dinner plates; grin dipped in craziness. Usually the expression that proceeded a whole shit tonne of poor decisions.
As he scurried off the lot after tweedle-dumb, he did feel like he should have armed himself. A sword maybe. A heavy duty shield. Something to bat the curling tongues of flames away when they rise- and oh, they will rise.
He scampers away. Leaves his friends stunned as to what the hell he means. They all share crumpled and vacant looks behind his back as he leaves them crashing about in his rushed wake.
W-was that weird guys?
When is he ever not weird?
Fair.
Eddie rounds the corner and catches her alone. In a partially empty hallway. Lockers sit gleaming either side. Fierce metal red in the lowlight as sun slanted its angry gold across the dull lino. The grey breeze block walls that he really really hates, lining the dour hallways of this freedom crushing institute, of conformity and misery.
He catches up with Linda as she’s slamming stuff in her locker without care, and pouting, to touch up her waxy pink lipstick in a little mirror on her door. Wiping ape drool off her chin and checking her permed hair still bounced and shone. Scrunching the back of it with those pink talons she calls nails.
Claws. Eddie noted. They were definitely claws.
She pushes her locker door closed. Actually recoils back when she sees him walking towards her.
She grimaces like some flea ridden stray has bounded up to her. Covered in mange, and with matted fur. Eddie grits his teeth. Steels his resolve.
“You gotta sec, Blondie?” He asks all casual. Actually tried to keep his voice in neutral territory.
“I have a boyfriend.” She sneers out.
“Yeah. Well. He’s really not my type. You’re safe.”
“Too much product in his hair for my liking.” He adds with a sickly grin that he hopes turns her stomach.
Off the bat with his fists raised for this. Poised. Ready to block side swipes and hurl back a few of his own.
He stands there with his hands on his pockets a safe distance away. He doesn’t risk getting too close.
She’s likely to spray pepper in his face. Or screech and shout that the school freak was harassing her. Eddie keeps distance because he knows full well what people like her, think and say about him.
And if it goes sideways he’s the first one knee deep in the shit.
No matter who throws the first punch, it always sticks to Eddie. That’s where the trouble lands. Cause why fucking not- easy target. He may aswell pin a bullseye on his back. He can’t decry innocence. No one would believe him.
Her frown shifts into something fully venomous. Those baby blues of hers turn Nordic-chilly with icy rage. Gaze packed with frost. Hatred and annoyance blasted his way. What’s new.
“Why are you even talking to me, freak?” She asks. Voice unimpressed, and very much revealing her lack of patience. Scrunched her nose up she was stood near a foul smell. Like he hasn’t showered this morning, or put on deodorant.
That little word he detests stabs into him. Pin pricks on a wiry bed of exposed nerves. He clenched his teeth so as not to open his jaw and retaliate.
Oh, but its right there on the tip of his tongue. It was tempting. He swallows it down.
“Pure desperate dumbassery on my part. But I did wanna ask you something...” Eddie explains.
“Nice.” She spits out at his dig. Making a face that encouraged him to get the hell on with it.
She stands and kinks out a hip. Raps her nails in a slow rap-tap-tap on her locker door. Bag slung off her other shoulder. She looked bored of him already. Had her laser eyes set to bitch-
“I uh, noticed that your friend isn’t around. Something up with her, or what?” He asks in as casual a way as he can allow.
She frowns. “What the hell is it to you?”
Here’s where thinking on his ever shuffling fearful feet comes in handy.
“Was supposed to drop her some stuff yesterday in the woods. She never showed.” He shrugged like it was easy. Kept his voice a tad quieter for obvious reasons, as he explained.
Somehow his cowardly little heart can’t tell her it’s because he has this huge boiling, raging crush on you.
He has a feeling she’d make a huge show of that. For both your sakes, he pads out the truth for now with a little harmless lie. Packs it around the truth like bubble wrap.
Linda looks like she buys it. Her brow quirks. He was the best route to good stuff around here. Whether she liked to admit it or not.
There were several far creepier guys out of school in town who could hook kids up with weed - for a price if girls were pretty or rip them off for way too much money and inferior stuff. Eddie was almost preferable in the vein of supply compared to those letchers.
Yeah, Munson is a total psycho. But his shits good. Strong. And he doesn’t ask you to flash your tits, or give him a handjob, like the others.
“She didn’t tell me she was buying shit from you.” She narrowed her eyes like it was his fault. Flicking her long lashes and blue doll eyes up and down him in blatant distaste.
“Honey, I sell reefer. I don’t to ask too many questions about how or why it’s used.” He charms.
“All I know is, she wanted some of my product.” He comes completely clean and hope he’s selling this lie. Big brown puppy eyes giving off what he hopes comes across as honesty.
It works.
“She usually scores Mexican stuff off the guy she works with.” She added. “Sal.”
“Who?” Eddie asks. Confused like he hadn’t just met the guy just two days ago.
“Why would she start buying off you?” She frowns. She says it like his name is worse than mud.
He feels like he’s having to sneak past Cerberus into the gates of hell. And those three heads with slobering teeth, and talons just keep coming back round to bite him in the ass.
“My stuff is primo. And plus I don’t know if you heard, but I’m easy on the eyes, and give discounts to pretty chicks.” He shoots her a playful wink. Clicks his tongue at her.
She scoffs. “Whatever, Munson.” She picks at her nails. Done with him.
“Look. I don’t have enough time to stand here through all the centuries of the Spanish Inquisition, Blondie. I just wanted to know why I lost out on making fifteen bucks yesterday. S’all. Kay? Thought you might know. You look tight. I see you guys hanging around with each other.” He offers.
Hands in his jacket pockets jerking up as he spoke. Playing the disinterested weed dealer. Like he’s nothing more to you. When really he wants to be so much more it’s an aching cavernous pit in his stomach, suspended in hope.
He twirls like he’s gonna step away. Mission failed.
“Forget it.” Shaking his head. Making his curly hair fly. Turning his DIO patch back to this and wondering what the hell he’s going to do now.
He smiles like it’s nothing, but something deep down inside is all twisted and mangled sad. Hitting rock bottom. Scraping razors down the blunt edge of his hope.
“She called in sick.”
Eddie turned back and looked over his shoulder.
Sick? What?
That little warm golden beam of hope starts to fizz in his stomach again. You weren’t avoiding him? Holy shit.
The sunny sense of giddiness comes slamming into his gut so hard he has to remember to try and breathe normally. His lungs feel too small.
It was spliced with curiosity now. He was happy as fuck, but now he knew the truth, he couldn’t put aside that you might’ve been on your own. Being sick.
With this skinny slutty drill sergeant as your lone pillar of emotional support with your mom away, now he worried about you suffering on your own, without any sort of kindness, or help.
“Said she had stomach flu, or cramps. I don’t know. I had to borrow my dad’s car to come to school.” She said like it was the biggest travesty of the 21st century for her with, you being out of action. Rolled those eyes over.
“Sick. Right.” Eddie nods. “Well, that explains it.” He grins.
And back out comes the school jester slash freak-
“Bless you for your time, your majesty. I am most obliged. I will let you go back to your embroidery, and having the peasants flogged.” He mock bows and rolls his hand as he does. Hair flipping over his neck. Chain hitting his leg as he moved.
“Creep.”
“Only the finest, sweet cheeks.” Shooting a blasting finger gun at her. Cocking his thumb as the trigger.
She gave him a look that was half venom, and all hatred.
“I have mace in my purse, Munson.” She warns. Popping a stick of juicy fruit in her mouth. Not that it would make her sour words any more bubble-gum sweeter.
“Man if I had a nickel-“ He quipped.
“Tell your friend to get well soon, alright? I gotta look after my prettiest newest customer.” He smirks like anything.
“Babe?” Comes a way too gruff voice. Mr. Blonde Ape lumbers up behind Linda and scrunches his big neanderthal forehead up at Eddie. Placing his huge mitt on her hip. Knuckles dragging along the ground.
He had a sad little George Michael earring dangling off one ear. Behind that, the ridiculous lion gold mullet, shiny with whatever celebrity endorsed product spray he caked on his perm.
The jokes floating into Eddie’s head right now are just too rich. He’s gonna burst-
“Uh oh. The cavalry?” Eddie asks. Smirking as he walks backwards, backing off. He knows its a jab. It’s a goading comment that’s meant to invite retaliation.
He’s never been very good at keeping his mouth out of wandering him recklessly into trouble.
“He bothering you?” Her boyfriend grunts. Looking like he wants to crack his beefy knuckles and slam Eddie’s curly head into the nearest wall of lockers, till his brains spilled out his ears.
“What do you want freak? Quit harassing her.”
“Wow. Sharp as a brick.” Eddie smiles in mocking as his eyes flick back to Linda. Ribbing her for being so stuck up to him, when she was going out with a guy who looked dumber than an actual box of rocks. Dry sponge for a brain.
Ironically, Eddie would trust a box of rocks more than any brain dead amoeba wearing a letterman. Bring on the box.
He points at the ape with his hand still in his pockets. “Really? IQ of 2, and it takes three for him to grunt right?” He goads.
“Fuck off.” Linda barks at him. There’s that mouth again.
Eddie remembered how you’d both cracked jokes about it. Her big mouth. Lifted his spirits a little. Facing down the dragon when entwined with memories of you? Suddenly not so scary.
“Gladly, Mi’lady.” He spins on his heel and bolts away.
He makes it back outside and it isn’t lost on the guys how freaking wide his smile is. Renewed whirling sort of energy to him again. Less antsy. More Eddie.
He stomps his feet heavily back up onto the bench and then the table top. Back to his rightful place.
On the way up he pinches the moon pie right out of Dustin’s grasp. Doesn’t even break his stride.
At least he says ‘thank you’ when he tears the food out of his young friends hand.
Henderson protests all squeaky, but then he had another one stashed in his backpack. Well learned by now. Eddie was like a scrounging feral coyote with stealing his food.
A feral coyote always chewing on a cigarette. That may well have been Eddie’s spirit animal.
They had all learnt that Eddie existed on seemingly nothing. Gas station burritos, cigarettes, and a few cold ones.
He doesn’t know where he draws the energy from to be so hyper for Hellfire. For thrashing and head-banging his crazy hair to deafening rock in his van. Rings clacking hard on his worn steering wheel as he drove and drummed along a beat. Spouted hardcore rock lyrics and made a face with that curling tongue hanging out his mouth.
Eddie chews noisily and splits his maniacal grin at Henderson as he eats. Waving off Dustin’s protests. That grumpy little frown coming forth from under his curls and hat brim.
Now Eddie needed to break even more bad news-
“By the way, you little shits are gonna have to make your own way home tonight.” Eddie says through chewing as he peers down at his Casio.
The table descends into pissy uproar. Eddie rolls those brown eyes over. Gareth throws a balled up piece of paper at his back. Eddie tosses it back, harder, with a leer. It bounces off his head.
“What are we being ditched for this time?” Wheeler asks.
A damsel in distress caught in her tower. Is what Eddie wants to say.
Eddie the brave has dared face the fire breathing dragon, and the meathead ogre. All that remains is seeing to the fair maiden in her hour of need.
“House call.” He tells them.
“Find your own wheels, folks.” Patting his pockets and calculating how much he had left over from his last couple of deals. It was a fair chunk. He liked to kid himself he was saving it for a rainy day.
He puts a cigarette between his lips. Maybe it’s to hide his grin.
He has a definite feeling he’ll be literally skipping out his last class.
~
You felt like hell.
Mind, hell was supposed to be considerably warm. Licking brimstone and red hot flames and all that. You were flipping between corpse cold clammy, and blazing hot. All the blankets pulled tight over your shoulder, and then the next minute, kicking them free.
You’d woken up two days ago with awful pains all squirming nausea in your belly, and a pounding head.
The glories of stomach flu. You spent the entire rest of the day hugging the toilet and hurling your guts out til there was nothing left to give. Retching til you were empty and your stomach cramping.
You then laid in bed shivering with fever for a whole day. Having to drag yourself down the kitchen wrapped in a blanket and fetch yourself a glass of water and something with a little sugar in.
Out of date orange sour juice was your lot. There wasn’t much else in. A few scraps of leftovers, 4 old eggs and a wilting bag of salad.
You weren’t in any kind of mood to stand and cook. You’d nibbled on a few graham crackers. Something dry. You’d kill for a ginger ale to kill the lingering nausea right now.
You rang your sister at the Diner and told her you weren’t so great. She promised to check in after her night shift with supplies. She’d be back around 6am. Mom was supposed to be back in three days’ time too. You’d be back to normalcy by then. With any luck-
You struggled with all your energy to get your miserable carcass in the shower and freshen up. Raking product through your ratty lank hair. You’d been sweating so much with it. The cool water sluicing over your skin felt so reviving.
You got out and pulled on snoopy sleep shorts and a faded Billy Idol tour tee. You’d plucked it out from the dollar store rack for three bucks. It was huge but your favourite shirt to sleep in. You vividly recall Linda going gaga over buying a pink faux leather skirt at the same time. You couldn’t be more opposites if you tried.
You twisted your hair in a towel and managed to scrape together the energy to drag your sheets and pillowcases into the basement to wash them.
By the time you schlepped your way back up the stairs with gargantuan effort, your bones rang with ache for the energy you’d expended.
You flopped back into your remade bed and shoved the small TV in your room on for some soothing noise. The tape you rented from Family Video was still in there from the other day. John Carpenters The Fog. One of your all time favourites. You could happily tune in and out you’d seen it so many times.
You watch the Poe quote about dreams, and the old sailor dangling the pocket watch to some kids around a campfire, before he claps it in his hands and says with that gravelly voice of storytelling doom, “11:55.”
You let it play in the background as you lazed there and in your freshly remade bed. Dragging a thin blanket over your legs. Settling in and feeling drowsy as a milky blue began to wash over the room.
Your small bedside lamp was on, staining your room gold. Window open and your white and pink striped curtains pulled back. They sway gentle on the meagre breeze. Spilling in scents of your garden at a dewy periwinkle sunset. The little white flowers climbing up the trellis smelled so sweet. All rolled in the flavour of cooling night air.
You finally let yourself sag down and drift in and out of sleep. Blanket tangled between your legs. When you blearily stumble out of sleeps cosy swallow again, the film is halfway through. Nick and Elizabeth trying to haul ass and get Andy to safety.
You woke hearing a slamming car door down the street. One of your neighbours coming and going. The sound drifting through your open windows and batting at your curtains. The Anderson’s’ chunky pit bull started barking it’s head off at the noise too.
You yawned and shoved the pillow under your tilted head to watch the film through hooded lids. You were damn hungry, but not hungry enough to move to rectify it. You’d survive til morning on water. Despite the way your belly gripes and growls for something more substantial than crackers.
You turn the film up and get lost in it. Laying back, until you hear a scuffle outside. Knocking up against the wall of your house.
You sit right up to listen better. Ears tuned for more. There’s definitely the telltale rustle and shake of the shrubs below your window. The scrape of something hitting the trellis.
You pause the video with a hurried click.
Some idiot was climbing up the side of your house.
You’re two seconds from bolting out to grab the baseball bat your mom kept in the upstairs closet.
But a familiar voice slithers on in. You catch onto snippets.
“Shit. Motherfucking,sonofa- betch.” Comes unsmothered curses from the underside of your window. There’s another hiss, shaking of a shrub, and a knock. A growl. A stab of a foot hooking onto wood.
That would be Eddie.
Who just fell ass first into a long neglected rose bush. Hissing and cursing at the scrape on his back.
Risking thorns, undeterred, he’s back up. Trying again on the trellis, with more success. Graze burning mean at his back where his t-shirt had ridden up.
You twist around in bed to see leathered elbows knock ungracefully into your room. Bracelet rattling around a skinny wrist. Faded sharpie phone number scrawled on his hand.
Waterfall of hair cupping that face and framing those bourbon-black eyes, and the wicked bright grin. A brown paper bag dangling from between his teeth.
When he sees you on your bed his brows raise in greeting. Muffled smile and sounds coming out his mouth. Spit soaking dark into the brown paper.
He thinks nothing of unfolding his lanky limbs into your bedroom. Shoving the window open wider and clumsily throwing himself inside. Tumbling in so his long legs kicked out. Stomach crawling onto the cushioned window seat. Zips and chains clinking from his jacket and jeans.
He dumped the bag onto the floor to free his mouth. Shiny teeth smiling blinding white right at you. This boy shines brighter than a blazing Indiana summer.
“Heard you were sick, Pencils.”
You blink and laugh cause it’s just so absurd.
You could just kiss that grin off him- sickness bug aside. You had to hold back your itching palms from reaching out for him. He was here. Come to see you.
You stand at the edge of your bed and struggle to know what to say to this sudden and bewildering sight.
Eddie Munson crashing into your room in an explosion of curse words and his on brand maniacal grin. Scaling the side of your house with his bare hands like a spider monkey. Grocery store bag clamped between his teeth.
“What the hell?” You ask him laughing. Shaking your head. Your chest bounces with it.
He stops dead in his tracks. Face falling. “Shit. This a bad time?”
The boy was really hanging there, dangling his legs out your window, asking permission to climb aboard.
You help him by pushing your curtains out his way. “God. No. No bad time. I just- wasn’t expecting a house caller at this hour.”
He finishes hauling himself fully inside.
He slipped into a deep southern Belle voice. Grinning. “Ah do declare ma-self a gentleman caller.”
“How did you know I was sick?”
“Little mean birdie with a blonde perm.” He rasps as he army crawls rest of the way inside.
“You talked to Linda?” You asked him, impressed. Your belly all buttery and mushy. Flipping over like it was trying to qualify for gymnastics Olympic gold.
“Jesus. How in the world did that go?” You asked.
“Goddamnit. That girl scary as hell.” He tells you as he hauls himself upright and snatches the paper bag off your floor. Groaning as he stood tall.
“John Houston in slutty red heels.” He describes her. Makes you chuckle. Appt description.
As he talks, he jerks an arm across his forehead to disturb the dewy sweat and the leaves caught in his shaggy mane he can feel itching at his forehead. Panting to get his breath back.
“Thank god you don’t have a three story house. Don’t think I would’a made it.” He says, winded. Smokers lungs you imagine.
You smile more just seeing the bits of leaf and broken twig he brought in. Like a stray cat. Coming in with parts of garden trailing after him.
You stand close and reach across to pluck them out. Teasing the little white petals out his fluffy strands of hair.
“Hang on now. I just have to check something…” He reaches for your hand and his warm, over-accessorised fingers seek your pulse. He darts his eyes off to the side and listens a moment.
“Yep. I definitely diagnose you, as not dead.” He laughs. You do too.
Then you wince.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t get in touch. You had my number but I didn’t know how to reach you. Couldn’t see a Munson in the phone book.” You said.
He scuffs his toes against your carpet. Holding the grocery bag against his thigh looking sheepish.
“I uh, I did call your number. Couple times. Rung out. Thought maybe you were avoiding me.” He goes all twirly, and fidgets.
Eyes not meeting yours all vulnerable for a second. He instead takes in the state of his scuffed thorn scraped shoes. The moment overwhelming him.
Your heart sputters pathetically at the thought he’d been hurt and left doubting you. That’s perhaps the last thing on this earth you wanted.
You’d heard the house phone go yesterday. But you couldn’t risk taking your head out the toilet bowl to run and answer.
You put your hand on his elbow where he stands. Step closer. His eyes raise to meet yours. Peeking unsure out under that choppy fringe.
“I’d never ignore you.” You say so honestly it makes a grin burst onto his face. He couldn’t help it.
He believed you.
“Fucking stomach flu. If I knew who it was calling I would have run to it if I could. Sans vomiting down the phone to you.” You joke.
“Sexy.” He quips. Then he looks you over. Cute PJ’s. Your hair is all smushed. “How you doing now?”
You melt as he reaches across and runs his thumb slowly across your chin and your jaw. So tentative. So sweet.
“Better. Just tired I guess.” You fiddle with the hem of your Billy shirt. His eyes don’t dare drift from yours. You really don’t want him to stop touching you.
“That’s good. Good to know I won’t have to suddenly side step to avoid you puking on my feet. I’m not ready for a 360 exorcist move here.”
You laugh bitterly cause that’s not the most flattering image you wanted him to have of you.
“No projectiles. I promise.” You cross the space over your heart with a fingertip.
His hand is still stroking your jaw softly. Hair still a little damp and soaked in the fresh fake coconut scent of your shampoo. You stand there near each other and Eddie’s heart is just growing wings of its own.
He’s smitten.
You look as cute as ever. A little drained maybe. Eyes a touch glassy, bags under them dark, splotchy neck like you’d been asleep.
“I wouldn’t get too close. I might still be contagious or something.” You warn him.
“And I look like shit right now.” You add. Putting your hand flat on the front of his jacket.
He doesn’t think you do. He unsticks a curl of hair off your cheek. You don’t even breathe too loud in fear it might spook him away.
“I’m willing to risk it. But we may wanna shelve the intensely hot making out tonight. Much as it pains me to say it. Wouldn’t want you to keel over on me, now.” He flirts.
God, that tone of his sets something in your knees quivering.
“Keel over?” You raise a brow.
“Uh-huh. I’m just that good babe.” He winks. But he gets his desired goal. Which is to see you smile and laugh at him.
He switches up the subject before you notice how much your proximity could make him blush.
“Now. Snoopy shorts. Get back into bed pronto. You’re not well.”
He snaps his fingers and points at your bed with a stern smirk. The bag rustles in his other hand.
“Bossy.” You remark as you turn and climb back into your sheets. A little wary and feeling girlish that suddenly, you’re noticing that he’s in your room.
Your room. He’s going to see your Bauhaus, Billy idol, and Bowie posters. He’s gonna see the pile of dirty washing shoved in your hamper and your messy artists desk, stuffed with pencils and paint smeared onto your sketchbooks.
Your walls that are still skated in pretty lilac paint from your childhood. Your pinned up life drawings and your lumpy arm chair with your blue bra and dirty jeans strewn on the arm of it. And you’d not shaved your legs or anything. Oh Jesus Christ. You should’ve tided up a bit.
He’s stood near your bed. He’s gonna be able to see the ratty old dog toy guarding the shelf over your desk. He’s already remarked on your snoopy shorts for heaven’s sake. You try not to let your mind go there with that last one-
He lets you settle in. Flips the blanket over your legs and smooths it over your knees. “There you go.” As he tucks you in like you are actually a patient.
Then he drops down onto his knees, on your carpet, crouching at the side of your bed.
“Now. Call me Florence fucking Nightingale, but I bought you a few things…“ He explains. Hands shuffling for his pockets. Which you suddenly notice are hugely bulkier than normal.
He fishes through his jacket pockets and all the compartments in his leathers. And those ring clad hands are bringing out goods for you.
A can of Sprite on one denim pocket. “Good for healing anything so I hear. Particularly hangovers.” He tells you with a grin.
“I won’t ask how you know that.” You simper.
“I’m such a paragon of virtue.” He insists all salacious and sugary.
A Canada Dry ginger ale is withdrawn from his other pocket. He puts them both on your nightstand. Pats the tops of both of them after he sets them down. Then he’s back to fishing in his pockets.
He brings out two twinkies, a three musketeers, and a single Reece’s cup.
“We can fight over that one later pencils.” He says with a grin.
“Patients’ bill of rights. Shouldn’t I get dibs you know- I am sick.” You stick out your bottom lip and bat your lashes at him.
“That’s playing dirty and you know it.” He shakes his head at you as he dives into more zipped pockets. His tongue tipped out between his teeth as he looks.
He produced a cereal box toy, one of those sticky gummy Alien things. Two DND dice “Huh, been looking for those.”
Along with a handful of some peanut butter crackers, and a mini bag of chips ahoy, and a DND figurine of a Hydra. Followed by a can of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup.
“Should have a tin of Campbell’s when you’re sick, you know, It’s the law. Cure for the soul.” He insists.
You smile wider.
This crazy metal head who half your school hated and swore was dangerous, here he was climbing through your window with a can of soup stuffed in his pocket, just for you.
He’s not some satanic devil freak. You’ve decided he’s actually a ray of pure fucking sunshine. A human ball of kinetic energy.
“I think that’s about it…” He says as a red sharpie, an eraser, a couple pennies, and a seven eleven receipt end up crumpled on the bed next to you. He did manage to find a fruit roll up too. He adds it to the ever growing pile.
“What’s in the bag?” You ask. Nodding to where he dumped it by your bedside table.
“Aha!” He turns and snatched it up with a huge grin and a flourish. “Flaming hot Cheetos and Funyuns.”
He brings them out and lays them on the bed, along with a marlboro packet.
“And a pack of reds, buuut, truth be told those are for me.” He smiles and stuffs them in his jacket pocket.
You wouldn’t fight him for those anyway.
You’d stolen a Newport gold out moms purse once, and smoked it in the girls bathroom at school with Linda, and that was enough. Never again.
Horrible taste of tobacco burning richly as you gagged for breath. Acrid taste on your tongue all day. You’d rubbed it away drinking way too much Pepsi.
“This is a lovely display of domesticity. Munson. Thank you.” You beam at him. Picking through the packets of candy and the crackers. And you meant it too. He noticed you do this curled little half smile when you’re being sincere.
“Gotta look after one of my top ten favourite people.” He winks.
Now he’s done unloading, he shrugs off his jacket by shimmying his shoulders, and toes off his sneakers. Your garden was dry as a bone. But he didn’t wanna be tracking too much dusty mud into your house.
He leaves his jacket and vest behind him on the bench seat. White socked feet squishing into your thick green carpet. Hellfire shirt on his skinny torso. What else?
He comes back to kneeling by your bed. Looking ridiculously cute as he hooks his hands over the edge of your mattress.
It’s pathetic how much it woos you.
“Top ten? I am touched.” You wisecrack, as he pats your knee over the covers. Before he reaches off for the can of soup. Clutched it in his hand. Twirled it up into the air.
“After Lemmy from Motörhead, but you’re definitely before Slash.” He says. After catching the tin in his other hand like he was juggling with it. His dimples come up where he smiles.
“Good. I like to know where I stand.” You nod along.
“Now. You stay there. I’ll go and heat this.” He scrambled up not at all elegantly and whirled away, loping to your bedroom door.
Oh christ. You sit up straighter. “Please try not to set fire to my kitchen.” You call after him.
“No guarantees.” Gets called cheekily up your stairs as he clatters down them. Leaping down the last few.
You can picture him bouncing around down there. Human pinball. Opening drawers, faffing with the cupboard doors trying to find your pots and pans.
No smell of smoke you can detect so that was a positive. He returns promptly and without fanfare, carrying a steaming mug in one hand, a spoon in the other.
“Couldn’t find your bowls. I improvised.” He speaks before he’s even in the room.
Treading carefully on white socked feet into your room. He crouches and hands you the piping hot mug and the spoon. You sit up and balance it on your knees. Thanking him again.
Your cheeks warm. You don’t think it’s from the soup though.
“What we watchin pencils?” He asks as he snaffles the packet of Cheetos onto his hands as he slumps down onto your carpet, and crosses his legs to sit there quite happily.
“You seen the Fog?” You ask as you start to slurp a mouthful of hot soup. Blowing on it first cause it was lava-hot.
He crunches Cheetos so loudly. speaks with his mouth full.
“Lock your doors. Bolt your windows.” He leers in a gravelly voice. Throws another Cheeto into his mouth. “Absolutely. A damn classic.”
“Wanna watch from the beginning?”
“Go for it. I got all night man.” He beams up at you. Wiggles his toes like he’s an excited little kid. You rewind it. Watch the screen slice to monochrome ribbons over the jerky picture as it does.
He seems content to stay there. On the floor. Knees up and hands clasping his kneecaps, as he plucks at the Cheetos and opens one of the peanut butter cracker packets.
You swirl your spoon into the soup. “You can come up here y’know. I mean. If, if you wanted. It’s much comfier than the floor.” You tell him.
“You missing me already?” He smiles all wide. Flashing his straight teeth. Tipping on his ass to lean right up against the bed. Beaming at you. Dimples on that mouth and wrinkles around those eyes.
“You hand delivered me soup. Doesn’t seem right you should sit on the floor.” You scoot over without jostling your dinner, and pat the space next to you.
Your bed was a spacious double. Plenty of room to be had on your blue and pink faded rosebud sheets. Couple of flowery throw pillows against the headboard. You could gladly make space for a little black leather and a splash of Hellfire on those prim sheets of yours.
“Alright, Pencils. But you gotta keep your hands to yourself. Alright?” He leers. “I know you’re at deaths door, and I’m irresistible and all…” He spreads those long guitar strumming fingers across his chest.
His rings gleam in the low gold light from your cheap yellow lamp. Limning him in gilded gold. Creeps across his cheekbones, his jaw, his neck. The curls that wave down his shoulders.
Does something particularly stunning to those deep dark eyes. Like a gold shooting star is bursting across them glittering, as he looks at you.
He’s utterly gorgeous. And it turns you inside out all over again how much you like him.
He pauses as he’s got his knees on the bed. Leaning over to ever-so-slightly invade your personal space. Because when around Eddie, not even your own personal space remained fully yours. Truth be told, you kinda liked that about him. He somehow made it the least obnoxious thing. Invading your space.
His hair hangs over his shoulders. As he stays on his knees at your feet. Grinning like a joker.
“Never fear. My hands shall remain on this mug at all times.” You promise. Cupping the warm sides of it.
He crawls past with a nod to prop himself up against the pillows next to you. Shuffling around to get comfy.
Your stomach goes all wooed and sentimental, cause that amalgamation of drugstore apple shampoo, powdery laundry detergent, cigarettes, and old leather is drifting over your bed as he clambered past on his hands and knees. His guitar pick on that ball chain necklace sways into his chest.
The scent of him and the closeness is chucking you back to memories. Living back through the yesterdays
That sensation of being wrapped around him the record store closet. Your cheeks heat again and you take another sip of your soup to have something to blame it on.
It’s not two seconds of silence and he piped up again. Unable to leave gaps so it seems. “I like your room, by the way.”
You look at him and he’s got this smile on as he’s scanning around at your posters, and your books. Your messy clothes, your shelf unit stuffed with cassette tapes. The assorted minutia of your life crammed all around.
It’s real. It’s cool, it’s somehow intimate. Seeing this inner space all splashed in influence of you. It’s like pulling out wires and cogs from something cause you just want to see how it functions. How all the stacked things that build you, take shape.
Your little habits. Quirks, pinned and hand painted on the walls. History and childhood, all thumbtacked and hanging off picture pins. Your adolescence tucked into drawers, shelves stacked with it.
Wooden paintbrushes stuffed into an old enamel jug that the cream paint is flaking off. Your crinkly cornered art posters above the desk, ticket stubs faded on the far wall, pinned to a busy cork board. Pencil shavings scattered across your open sketchbook that he definitely peeked at when crossed the room. A deep sea blue stroke of an Indie State pennant flag.
“Thanks, it’s uh, not much but-“ You shrug. Modest.
“It looks like you.” He says softly.
“Disorganised?” You laugh.
“Cosy. Artful.” He decides. And he makes a mental note to check out your collection of cassette tapes before he leaves. You had quality taste and he wanted to unwrap more about it. Spool it out and study it.
“I see you’ve ultimately customised the bed space.” He swivels around and catches the scowling slashing red and black of a Billy Idol poster above your headboard. Shirtless and moody, Rebel Yell.
You smile as you dig your spoon into the broth. Swirling it around. You definitely felt your cheeks glow with that one.
“What can I say. I’m a fan.” You tell him openly. Twisting to meet his eyes.
Nods at your poster. “I can see that. He sure is one lucky dude.”
You frown. Confused. Lucky?
He gestures to your band tee.
“Listen I’m getting jealous. He gets to be close to your tits, and above your bed.” He winks.
You laugh. A loud laugh and you try not to snort.
“Maybe so. But you’re the one currently in my bed, Munson.“ Your tone dipping into lovely silky flirt.
You side eye a look at him and he tilts his head all quirky. Dimples in his cheeks rise again. “I guess so.”
He turns and makes a big show of twisting over and flipping the bird at the poster. I win you loser.
“I actually think he’s kinda cute-“
“He is a pretty hot dude. I’ll give you that.”
“You’re cuter though.” You tell him.
His brain stutters through the fact you paid him a compliment.
“You’re only trying to butter me up so you can steal the Reece’s cup. I see right through that facade, sweetheart.” He nudged your knee with his socked foot. Sprawled out on the bed with his hair fanned out crazy over one of your pillows.
You lock eyes. It feels like an electricity pulse. Stinging and sweet. He’d lean in and seal a kiss on your lips if he could.
“Yeah. You got me.” You play. And you’re not even playing at all.
You smile and eat more soup as the movie clicks back to the beginning. You point the remote and hit play.
When you finish your very satisfying mug dinner, you set the mug aside and curl down in your bed. Sliding under the blanket.
This move brings you closer to where Eddie is laid out. Brown eyes fixed on your small glowing tv screen. But his attention is screaming and shrieking and so tugged to you and the way you’re moving next to him.
You fold both hands up under your face and rest down on a pillow near his shoulder.
He swallows when your head sinks close to him. Flicks his eyes down and across to you. He sits with one arm folded behind his head. Legs kicked out every which way. His knee brushed into yours. You don’t shrink away. You stay put.
In fact, where you relax down, your cheek brushed against his shoulder and still you stay. Eddies smile curls a little at that.
There’s a rustle and when you look he’s shaking the Cheeto packet at you. You smile and reach in for some.
The silence is comfy somehow. The film blares on. He opens things and offers them to you. Crackers. The chips. He slurps the sprite. You hog the ginger ale. It’s nice.
You feel in on his chest when he speaks when he laughs it rolls through him in the shake of his steady bowed ribs. The way you smile makes the walls of his heart go all warm, gooey and slippy.
Eddie Munson is the type of guy to celebrate with his fists punched in the air like a roaring frat champion, when you throw a cookie that he catches in his mouth. Crunches crumbs all down his shirt front as he grins.
Your sides hurt with laughing, you nearly snort and send fiery ginger ale out your nose. How is he more amusing than the film you’re both pretending to watch? He just is.
He gossips to you about school. Of all mad things. He tells you about what happened in the canteen when Tammy. H on the cheer squad found out that Debbie C kissed her boyfriend after the basketball game. Tammy apparently dumped a carton of milk over her head. A slapping fight ensued. It was a mess.
You chuckle at the fact he doesn’t give a shit about any of the popular assholes. Except when something funny happens in the lunchroom in front of everyone. Then, it’s worth a chuckle over. They were both catty girls anyway, fighting over some boring ass jock. There was no love lost there from you guys.
He tells you he got a D on his Spanish paper which no one could understand how.
Dustin told him to stop eating his body weight in plastic wrapped jerky from the gas station. Chucked a syrupy yellow fruit cup at him and told him about a balanced diet so he wouldn’t end up getting scurvy.
“Honey, honestly I swear that kid is like the voice of my conscience. If that voice was like, an annoying little gnat yammering on, buzzing in my ear.”
“It’s sweet. He cares about you so much.” You defend.
“So sweet.” He mocks. “Little shrimp.”
But he can’t hide the clasp of affection that settles in his voice. Even in his mocking. The kid worships him. Looks up to him. You just know that puffs up some part of Eddie’s chest. This genuinely sweet and weirdo kid had found his hero in the freak. Always grinning up at the metal head with great gleaming stars in his eyes.
Eddie who was always unapologetically himself and hurled away anyone else’s distaste in him, with the contempt it deserved. Eddie who always told Dustin to be himself and like what he likes without shame.
You hit Eddie upside the head with some hardcore truth. See if it doesn’t sink in that crazy scarecrow head of his. That hard skull and his impenetrable skin, that both grew over double thick to keep out unwanted opinions. Wrapped his vulnerabilities up in razor wire and didn’t let anybody trespass on it.
He’d let you trespass though. Just a little.
“I think Henderson seriously looks up to you Eddie. You’re who he wants to be when he grows up. You’re a literal rockstar to him.”
He blows a raspberry.
“Nah man. He’s got Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington for that. He’s who kids look up too. And more importantly, he’s who their parents want them to be. Straight laced. Shiny hair. Chicks dig him. Prom King. Going to college like a good little boy and will have your daughter home by 9.” He rolls his eyes.
He doesn’t say it to get mean at you. But he’s twisted all the jagged edges around and pointed them in at himself.
You know this is coming from the well of his insecurities. And it plunged down so deep it didn’t see the light of day anymore. You peel off a few of those self deprecating cynical layers, and you hurl some honesty at him.
People aren’t usually… honest, with Eddie. Not really. They don’t get close enough. They don’t care enough. When it seems all be gets is bad press and horrible hard spitting truths. You wipe that away and decide to dare put something else there instead.
“I’ll bet you that Reece’s cup your scrawny ass is so wrong on that. Munson.”
His hair flicks out when he turns to look at you. Sat there and those inscrutable brown eyes looking all melty and puppyish.
“You think it’s scrawny?”
You bite a cracker and grin. Shoulder to shoulder with him.
You’re slumped on each other as the film progresses. Drifting on. Eddie lifts his arm up to stretch out his shoulder, purely by chance, this leaves you curled up. Practically pasted onto his ribs. Hearing the full whump-whump of his heart push through his warm Hellfire clad side.
Underneath all that stiff denim and cold leather, he’s all softness. Mush. You’d never have suspected that. You end up resting your palm flat to his stomach.
He has to blink and revel in the way that touch of yours makes his stomach fizz with squirmy awareness. He begs begs begs his dick not to react cause that would just really shallow and cheapen this moment. He doesn’t want that.
He’s eating the gummy fruit roll up. He bites down on it, maybe too hard. Because he just tested, resting his palm down across your shoulder and stroking the dry ends of your hair. The raised bone of your shoulder blade through the washed black of your shirt. You smell like coconut and so do your pillows and he wants to bury his head in that sweet tropical smell. Wants to take a chunky bite out of it.
You nuzzle into him and make this soft noise at the back of your throat that has his body transcending on through this bed.
Flipping around in giddy idiot joy. It makes him bite his lip. He has to pull himself back to the ground from bumping the ceiling with every touch that you lean for- you fucking lean in for touch of him.
You fill his belly with warm fluffy pride. Euphoria. You stud his angry rocker heart full and silly with red cupids arrows.
And you sat there tonight with rose pink cheeks and didn’t pussyfoot about. No games. Straight laced honesty. Pure and unfiltered. Something hard and punchy like a vodka shot or a stick of dynamite.
Look at him with those eyes that just beckon him to taste your lips again, so he can chase the flavour of his name coming out your mouth.
And best of all, the pièce de résistance, you certainly don’t mince your words about what you think of him-
You admire him. Laughed and joked with him. Chucked Cheetos, cookies and crackers for him to catch with his mouth and laughed so crazy, like it’s insanity and it’s catching.
You tell him his friends love him, and somehow you heal over that ragged wound in his heart, that tells him he isn’t lovable. That little rift in his body that had been there since the day mommy abandoned him, and daddy got thrown in jail again.
It stitched up that little gaping hole. He felt it soothe and heal over. Closed a bit and it felt good.
When his head tips forwards, his eyes burn when he blinks them. Cause apparently you’d both fallen asleep. Lulled by the movie and the snuggly warmth from each other’s bodies all rolled up in the blankets.
The films credits are rolling on and on. His mouth is dry with peanut cracker dust and the sourness of sleep.
He didn’t know how long he’d been out. He rubs a dry knuckle onto his eyes until his world slants and bursts into popping static. He blinks and registers where his limbs are splayed.
Would you believe they’re curled around the shape of you. He doesn’t find that hard to discover.
His arm slung over your belly. Your hips are nestled back into the cradle of his pelvis cause you’d twisted and he didn’t even feel it.
His shoulder tingles, pins scrape to the bone, your hands are curled around his arm that’s over your pillow and down by your side.
His chest was crushed to your back and he’d wondered why his dreams smelt so good- He’d been nuzzling in to chase that sweet coconut smell entwined into your hair. Some added warmth of your skin and the feel of your body making him all dozy.
“Pencils?” He whispers. His voice is shrouded and raspy. He flicks out his free arm and reads his watch. The blinking square numbers tell him it’s 2:04 in the morning.
It feels wrong and mean, peeling the blanket off the corner of his thigh that he doesn’t remember pulling over himself. The new air that rushes over him is cold.
He slips his arms out carefully so as not to disturb your sleep. You looked serene, the way you breathed deep and even, had him leaning in and tucking a hair away from your warm cheek.
He carefully scoops the used packets of food as noiselessly as he can, into the waste paper basket under your desk that’s filled with scattered pencil shavings and crumpled up paper. He leaves the pile of food he gathered stacked neatly on your bedside. Nestled around the pool of gold still being cast around by your lamp.
He shoves his shoes on. Pulls on his jacket. Tiptoes across your squishy carpet and scribbled a note on an empty page of your sketchbook with his red sharpie. The soft skate of pen on paper as he wrote.
He did sneak a glimpse at your sketches. Some of the pen and ink ones you’d do that were better than some comic books he’s read (talented, brilliantly amazing and so nuanced)
Took one very quick spurring survey of your cassettes too. Colour him curious. (Really pencils? Kool and the gang?) Reminds himself to tease the shit out of you for that later.
He pulled your blanket up to your chin. switched your light off. Threw the room into darkness save for the steady sleepy burn of orange that flowed in via the street. Slanted across your carpet. He closes the curtains for the window across from your bed. Let you get your sleep.
He can’t resist brushing a thumb across your cheek before he leaves. Nestled a tentative kiss on top of your head. Takes a lungful of you. You are better than nicotine.
“Goodnight Pencils.”
Before he climbs out your window, and probably falls face first in that fucking prickly bush again, he leaves a note slotted on your bedside table. Your nickname unmissable in scrawled red slashing letters. A squiggly funky little doodle of him in a nurses costume. And another one of him, Eddie the Brave, battling with a sword against a permed and very cross dragon in high heels and lipstick.
He signs it with his phone number. And love, and a whole row of wobbly kisses. from, Florence fucking Nightingale.
He grows all warm with the thought of you waking up tomorrow and smiling at his dumbass note. That was the best feeling. He wishes he could bottle that and get drunk on it. Sip it like a pocket flask of whiskey or gin and he’s got DT’s like an alcoholic. High on the nearness of you.
It was worth the scrape and dig of rose thorns. That damn bush below your window that he falls into - again. It’s so worth it.
~
🕷Don’t wanna brag or nothin, but the next part is just sat here🕷
#eddie munson#eddie my boy#EDDIE DESERVED BETTER#EDDIE MY BELOVED#stranger things#stranger things season 4#eddie munson x reader#eddie baby#eddie munson imagine#stranger things season 4 x reader#eddie munson headcanons#send me anything#send me anything eddie pls#comfort#comfort character#eddie looks after sick reader#angst#angsty vibes
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Corinthian having sick intentions the entire show, he being nice to jedd bc he wants to kill his sister me: omg, I love him he’s so nice”
#the sandman#the sandman 1x9#the sandman Netflix#the sandman imagine#Corinthian x reader#I am sick but the love I have for the meow meow baby is just
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★ COMFORT HEADCANONS (part 1)! ★ [with the fight club characters!]
: ̗̀➛ how they would treat you when you're sick
☁︎ TYLER DURDEN
Tyler would be there for you literally 24/7. You want something to eat? He'll get it for you. Tired? He'll make the bed nice and comfy for you to lay on. He's literally the definition of "acts of service."
He's not a germaphobe. There's no way. He digs into liposuction dumpsters, so a little sickness isn't going to freak him out. He'll be glued by your side and even let you sleep on him.
If you refuse his kisses because you don't want to get him sick, he'll just kiss your cheek or your forehead all the time.
He's the type to hold your hair or rub your back if you start throwing up. He won't look at you, tease you, or make jokes. Even though it's in his nature to be a bit of a jackass, he's super kind in those moments.
While he believes rest is important, he'll make you get out of bed and get some sunshine. It doesn't have to be for long, but you have to at least go outside for fresh air.
He most definitely told the Fight Club members/Space Monkeys to leave him the fuck alone while he was gone taking care of you.
☁︎ JACK (THE NARRATOR)
This poor baby doesn't really know what to do at first since he's never really taken care of someone before. He tries his best though! However, he'll panic if you start coughing a lot because he thinks you're dying.
Once he's got the hang of it, he's a really good caretaker! He'll offer you tissues, blankets, and any other essentials you need. He will also offer to sit with you and put on your favorite show or read to you.
Unlike Tyler, this guy is a bit of a germaphobe, but that's because his immune system is so weak since he doesn't get enough sleep. He won't really kiss you or hug you for long periods of time, but he won't ignore you either. Maybe you'll get a quick forehead or knuckle kiss.
He'll take time off from his job and Fight Club to be at home with you. You're more important to him than anything else.
He will cry if you throw up. And he'll probably gag and throw up too. Just saying.
If you find yourself unable to sleep comfortably, he'll eventually snuggle with you. A week later, you'll be the one taking care of him because he got sick.
☁︎ MARLA SINGER
Marla doesn't realize that you're sick until a few days later. You know her, she's a bit sporadic at times. When she eventually gets home and sees you pale and coughing, her mothering nature kicks in.
She makes sure you're fed, hydrated, and well rested. She won't leave you alone- not even for 10 minutes. If she has to run out to get something though, she makes you promise that you'll stay in bed.
Marla only cares about you getting better, so she ignores everyone else. She'll have like 15 missed calls, but she doesn't mind. They could wait.
Under her care and supervision, you get better within a week! Marla knows how to take care of people, so it's only natural that she knew how to take care of you.
She does ask for a pack of cigarettes as a "thanks." That's all she wants- oh, and Twizzlers.
She tells you to wear your sweater wherever you go so you don't catch a cold again.
☁︎ ROBERT "BOB" PAULSON
He always has cough drops in his pockets, so he'll offer some to you. There's a variety of flavors to choose from. (His personal favorite is vanilla honey.)
Bob is the type of person to carry you to and from bed, place cold/hot washcloths on your forehead, and attend to your every need.
He'll let you cry in his shirt if you feel extremely sick. He might cry too, but that's just Bob being Bob.
He makes the BEST chicken noodle soup, there's no doubt about it. You'll be having a bowl of it at least twice a day.
He might bring you to the support groups while you're sick so that you get to experience the meditation part of it.
Probably spoon feeds you too.
☁︎ ANGEL FACE
He writes you a "get well soon" card and leaves it on your nightstand.
An extreme germaphobe. He won't go anywhere near you.
Okay so maybe he goes to check on you ONCE...or twice...okay maybe he's really worried about you so now he won't stop checking on you.
Holds your hand and pouts because you're not well enough to give him attention.
Gives you strawberry-flavored cough medicine.
Gets "sick" after you recover because he wants to be taken care of.
#fight club#tyler durden#narrator fight club#fanfiction#jack fight club#fight club x reader#marla singer#angel face#robert paulson#big bob#fight club headcanons#comfort headcanons#when you're sick#angel face is such a baby#in tyler we trust
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what did i do? eddie munson x fem!reader
Summary: Eddie doesn't know what he's done to make you upset, but he's on a mission to find out and gain back your favor.
Word Count: 1.3k
Warnings: Angst?? Some emotional scenes towards the end, but all the usual fluff!!
Requested here! Unedited, will go back at some point to do so but I really need to go to sleep right now. Update: now edited! let me know if i missed any errors :)
Eddie didn’t know what he had done wrong. You were being so distant, barely talking to him, barely talking to anyone, in fact. It seemed as though you were avoiding him in particular, though. Whenever he was about to approach you at your locker, you closed its door and rushed off to your next class. You never sat with him at lunch anymore. Poor Eddie had no idea what was going on, he just wanted to know what he had done and if you were okay.
---
After school one day, he came home to find Wayne already home from work, just what he was hoping for.
“Hey, uh… Wayne?” he asked his uncle tentatively.
“Hm?” Wayne responded with a grunt.
“I uh… I need to ask you for some advice." Wayne looked up, surprised. Eddie wasn’t exactly one to ask for help.
“Sure thing, son. Whatcha need?”
“Uh… I think y/n is mad at me, and I want to do something for her to make up for it, but the problem is I have no idea what I did, so that creates a whole other issue, and-” Eddie stopped himself, realizing he was rambling. “Yeah.”
“Well, you could always bring her some flowers.”
“Flowers?”
“Yeah, flowers. You know, those pretty things that grow from the ground in all those different colors-”
“Yeah, Wayne, I know what a flower is, it's just… what kind?” Wayne contemplated this for a moment before answering, Eddie eagerly raising his eyebrows.
“Red roses,” he said after a moment. “A classic.”
“Alright, thanks Wayne,” Eddie said, wanting to get out of the embarrassing situation as fast as possible.
“Be careful, son, it looks like rain!” Wayne called out before Eddie slammed the door in his haste.
Eddie drove his van to the flower shop, where a stout little woman seemed absolutely flabbergasted that someone like… well, like him would be entering her flower shop.
“Hello, how may I help you today?” she asked, stepping out from behind the counter.
“Hi…” he looked at her name tag. “Suzanne. I uh- I’d like a dozen… shit, how many is a dozen?”
“Twelve?” Suzanne prompted.
“Right. Sorry. The brain isn’t working today. Uh- twelve of your finest red roses, please.” The woman gave a small hum of recognition, turning to the flowers behind her with a smile.
“So… who’s the lucky girl?” she asked.
“Oh, uh…” Eddie wasn’t accustomed to small town small talk with strangers. Well, hell, he thought, what’re the chances I’ll ever see her again? “They’re actually for my girlfriend. She’s the most amazing person I’ve ever met in like, my whole life. She’s perfect, she’s my everything. I don’t think I could live without her, if I’m being completely honest. I think I would go insane. The problem is, she’s really mad at me and I don’t know why, so I’m going to go apologize to her for whatever I did.”
“Well,” Suzanne said, bringing the roses back from wherever she got them from and putting them on the counter. “The best place to start would be to say all those wonderful things you said about her to her. Here, dear, why don’t you write them down so you don’t forget?” She paused on wrapping the bouquet delicately with tissue paper and a satin ribbon and handed Eddie a piece of paper and a pen.
“Not likely…” Eddie mumbled, and chuckled. He would never forget how much he loved you. Suzanne helped him refine the points of what he wanted to say and fixed some of his grammar mistakes, but it was all fully and wholly Eddie. It was his words. He read it over one last time, admiring his handiwork. Quite the poet, he thought to himself. Suzanne ended up letting him have the flowers for free, and Eddie couldn’t thank her enough.
“You’ll have to come back and tell me how it goes, dear!” Normally, Eddie wouldn’t have dreamed of doing such a thing, but he liked Suzanne, and was grateful for her help. He resolved to come back and tell her about it. “And be careful, it looks like rain!”
And rain it did. But it didn’t just rain, it stormed. Fat raindrops peppered the windshield of Eddie’s van as he maneuvered around streets, trying to find the familiar street sign that marked the block you lived on. He was terrified, but with the flowers on the passenger seat next to him, buckled in, he told himself it would all work out.
---
You were working on your homework and some extra credit work you had picked up during the week when the doorbell rang. Your dog, Teddy, started barking furiously, and you had to shush him a number of times before he actually kept quiet. Your parents were out of town, so you were the only one available to answer the ring. Trodding downstairs, you wondered, who would be visiting at this hour? And in this weather?
You opened the door to find… Eddie. He was standing on your doorstep, in the rain, a bouquet of red roses in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. His clothes and entire body were soaked through with rain, his hair a wet mop. Once he saw you he cleared his throat and began to read, glancing down at the paper every few words.
“Y/n,” he paused, looking up at you with those beautiful brown eyes you loved so much. Sometimes you just wanted to jump into them, see what he saw. “Y/n,” he said again, as if to remind himself it was you, and you were right there in front of him. “These…” he handed you the roses, leaving you with a confused look on your face. “... are for you. I don’t know what I did wrong or if you’ll be able to forgive me for whatever I did, but I just wanted to let you know that I love you more than anything else in this whole world. You’re my everything, and I don’t know what I’d do without you. Shit, y/n, what did I do?”
“Eds,” you said, setting the flowers down on the bench beside the door to cup his face in your hands. “You didn’t do anything, baby. I’ve been applying to colleges and writing my essays, I promise I haven’t been neglecting you on purpose. I’m sorry if I’ve been distant or uncommunicative, but it’s completely my fault, and certainly not because of anything you did. No need to get your panties in a twist.” You chuckled.
“Shit, y/n.” Eddie dropped the paper in his hands and collapsed into a crouch on the ground, covering his face with his hands. You sat beside him, leaning your back on the doorframe. You reached out, stroking his arm, and before you knew it he was hugging you tightly, as if afraid you might evaporate at any moment. As if you might become a lone raindrop lost in the ocean, never able to find you again.
“Hey, hey…” you said, stroking his back, his hair, his face. Lightly scratching his scalp the way you knew he liked it. You were shocked at the speech he had given, thinking back on it. It was so out of character for him to express such emotion. “Did you…” you paused. “Did you really mean everything you said?”
“Every word,” Eddie replied. Now you were crying.
“I didn’t think anyone could ever love me like that,” you said through racked sobs.
“Oh, sweetheart, now you’ve got me crying again.”
You hugged each other tightly, tears falling down your cheeks every now and again, stroking each other’s hair, contemplating the love you felt for each other. Eddie was the first to break away.
“Let’s get those flowers in some water, yeah? Don’t want them to die because we couldn’t keep our shit together.”
i hope you guys enjoyed!! thank you to my bestie izzy for requesting, i had a lot of fun writing this one.
<3
as always, asks are open! currently writing for eddie but if you have another specific request i might consider, so shoot your shot. :)
#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson imagine#fem!reader#fluff#x reader#eddie munson#stranger things s4#stranger things season four#eddie my beloved#eddie my love <3#eddie my baby#eddie my boy#sick!reader#pure fluff#fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fluff#stranger things fic#stranger things imagines
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