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inkstainedfingers-n-bellyrolls · 2 years

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diego comes over when you’re sick

Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x GN!plus size!Reader

Summary: pretty much exactly what the title says lol

Word count: idk, less than 1k I think

A/N: heyyoo it’s been almost a full year since I posted anything and now here I am ✌️😛 so gonna be honest, I’m not completely happy with how this turned out. But I wanted to post something after so long, and I realized that I just needed to go ahead and post the fucking thing or else I was never gonna post it or delete it full-stop. So *gestures vaguely* here ya go lmao.

>>——💛——>

You hear the sound of a key sliding into the lock and your head snaps up, suddenly wide-eyed and alert. You watch in horror as the front lock turns, the doorknob twists, and the door begins to open. You throw yourself off the couch, sprinting for the door.

“Hola, mi vida,” comes Diego’s voice, “I was just — unf!” You both grunt loudly as you collide with the front door, slamming it shut in your boyfriend’s face. The impact reverberates in your joint, and you groan from the ache. Still you turn the lock, secure the chain across the door, and latch the deadbolt just to be safe.

“You can’t come in here!” you yell hoarsely through the door.

There’s silence on the other side, and you can feel Diego’s bewilderment. “Yeah, I missed you, too, baby,” you barely hear him mutter dryly to himself.

Your phone rings on the couch where you left it. You turn to snatch it off the couch, and see your boyfriend’s contact picture along with his name on your screen. It’s a rare moment of Diego when he’s finally relaxed, his muscles no longer tensed like a wire stretched too tight. In the pic, he’s got his hands on your soft waist, face buried in your neck. You can just barely see the hints of a smile curling the corners of his lips. As for you, you’re beaming brightly into the camera, your full cheeks and genuine joy an infectious sight even months after the picture was taken, and your chest feels warm as you swipe your thumb across the screen to accept his call.

“Hi,” you answer sheepishly.

“Hi,” he replies, drops of amusement coloring his voice. “What are you doin’, baby? You gonna let me in?”

You sigh heavily, letting your head fall back. “You can’t,” you say, your voice verging on a whine. “I’m sick.”

Diego’s demeanor shifts, and you can hear it in his words. “What? What do you mean? W-What kind of sick are we talkin’ about here?”

Your heart twinges with the concern evident in his voice. He’s always so loyal and protective over the few people he cares about, even over the simplest matters like the common cold. “I’m okay, honey,” you reassure him. Your efforts, however, are somewhat undercut when at that moment you’re sent into a coughing fit that has you bent over and your lungs feeling like they’re on fucking fire. “Just a bad cold,” you finish pathetically, swallowing down the dislodged phlegm in your throat.

“Mm-hmm.” Diego’s clearly not convinced, and the doorknob rattles again. “C’mon, baby,” he urges in a low, rumbling voice that would normally turn your legs into jello. “Let me in, I’ll take care of you.”

You let out a whimper before you can stop yourself. God, you’re so fucking weak for this man. With so few words, he has you almost giving in, almost unlocking the door and letting him come inside, sickness be damned. “I can’t. You’ll get sick.”

Diego scoffs. “Yeah, so what?” he replies lightly.

Now it’s your turn to scoff. “Really, D? Remember the last time you got sick? You were curled up in bed for days and you wouldn’t stop complaining.”

“For the record, I wanna point out that I was completely fine, and I was only complaining ‘cause I wanted you all to myself.”

You know that’s not the truth, that he’s telling you a little white lie to preserve his tough, macho-man facade. But you can’t help it, your heart softens as you remember the image of your partner, wrapped up in a heavy blanket like a burrito, his voice rising in a nasally whine as he begged you to come back to bed, baby, pleeease. “You big fuckin’ softie.”

“I’m your fucking softie,” he replies, his voice a velvety caress that has your skin breaking out in goosebumps. The doorknob rattles for a third time, this time more solidly. “Now let me in so I can take care of my baby.”

God, you really fucking want to…. “No, baby,” you tell him. “Don’t want you to get sick.”

Diego sighs theatrically over the phone. “Fine,” he concedes. “Guess it’s time to pull out the big guns.” Then he hangs up on you.

You pull the phone away from your ear, baffled. Did he really…?

A second later, Diego’s contact pops up again, this time signaling that he wants to start a FaceTime call. You accept the call.

The call opens, and you see Diego’s gorgeous, scarred face. The same one you haven’t seen for almost a week, the same one you miss terribly for every second he’s not with you. His dark brown eyes dart back and forth down either end of the hallway before settling on you. He’s still somewhat guarded with his affections with you in any public space, alert for any eyes and ears that may witness his moments of tenderness with you. When those eyes — deep, wondrous, warm — come back to your image, his face relaxes, allowing a smile to play with the corners.

You take in a breath, let it out shakily. “Hi, D.”

“Hey baby. No offense, but you look like shit.”

You bark out a laugh. It scrapes already-raw tissue, making you bring up a hand to massage your throat. “Yeah, and that’s why I’m not letting you in.”

“Which is why I’m calling you. You see what I’m doing?” The background shifts behind Diego as he spins around until his back is facing your apartment door. You can see your unit number over his shoulder. “You see this?” he repeats.

Your brows scrunches in confusion. “Yeah….?”

He takes a step back, then another, and another until his back makes contact with the wood of your door. You watch as he slides down the surface of the wood. You can hear the sounds both through the connection and on your side of the door.

Diego lets out a little grunt as his ass hits the floor. He fidgets for a second, popping his neck and cracking the knuckles of his free hand. Then he settles down, looks back at his phone. And waits.

You sigh in exasperation. “D, what the hell are you doing?”

He shrugs casually. “Waiting.”

“Waiting on what?”

“For you to let me in.”

“I’m not letting you in, Diego.”

“Then I guess I’m staying here.”

“What, are you gonna stay there all night? You gonna sleep there?” You scoff again. It’s a ridiculous, rhetorical question, but one he ends up answering anyway.

He shrugs again. “If I have to.”

“That’s ridiculous, there’s no way you’d actually be comfortable out there.”

His eyes scan the floor around him. “Ehh, I’ll make do,” comes his careless response.

Your shoulders droop. You can see the look in his eyes, one you’re all too familiar with. Diego isn’t exactly the type of guy who throws words around without any meaning to them. Though your partner is hotheaded and tends to get into trouble for running his mouth, he generally means what he says and says what he means. So if he says he’ll wait outside all night….

Diego’s lips curl into a smirk, sensing your weakening resistance. “You’re stubborn, sweetheart, but you ain’t as stubborn as me.” His eyes soften further. “Let me in. I haven’t seen you in a week, I wanna be with you.”

You can’t help it. A little smile creeps across your face in response to his. “Okay, I’ll let you in. But only on one condition.”

“Hmmm, and what’s that, baby?”

“When you get sick, you cannot complain to me about how miserable you are.”

Diego rolls his eyes, and you can’t help but snicker a little at him. “Okay, fine, I promise I won��t complain. Now will you please let me come in so I can kiss you?”

It’s another little white lie, and both you and he know it, but you let it slide. You hang up on him, unlock your door. When you open it, he darts inside as soon as the gap is big enough for him to slip through. He cups your face in his warm, calloused hands and presses eager lips to yours.

You whine against his mouth when his tongue runs along your bottom lip. “Mmm, you’re so getting sick later.”

“I—” kiss “—don’t—” kiss “—care.”

“Remind me you said that when you’re hacking up your lungs in a couple days.”

“Guess it’s a good thing I’ll be here with you then.”

>>——💛——>

#original writing #plus size reader #the umbrella academy #diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves x plus size reader #diego hargreeves imagine #gn!reader #afatbabes-fiction

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inkstainedfingers-n-bellyrolls · 3 years

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Let Me Help You

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Pairing: Scott McCall x GN!plus-size!reader with chronic pain

A/N: Did I come up with this fic during a chronic pain flare-up and take the opportunity to project all my desires for a soft boyfriend and a hurt/comfort fic trope come to life in the Notes app on my phone? Maybe, that’s nobody’s business.

Scott and Reader are in college, so any plotline from the show is kinda irrelevant for the purposes of this fic. As you can see, the reader in this is meant to be plus size specifically, but I’ve tried not to describe their appearance beyond that. I’ve also tried to keep the reader as gender neutral as possible.

Content: Reader not being great at taking care of themselves. Descriptions of reader being in pain because of it. Scott being a sweet boyfriend. Somewhat angsty throughout, but also fluffy with a hopeful ending.

Word Count: 1.3k

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Today had been absolutely godawful, but in retrospect, it wasn’t all that surprising that you were in so much pain now. You had been snappy and on edge for days, your body practically trembling with all your pent-up stress and anxiety because of your classes and upcoming exams. You were wearing yourself down until you were running on fumes. You knew you were. Scott knew it, too – and he knew you were sometimes too stubborn to give yourself a proper break. He knew you well; he knew he could be patient, be sweet, be gentle, but be persistent as much as your fraying nerves and pain-riddled brain would allow.

He would remind you to take your medicines, to take small breaks here and there, to keep yourself hydrated. He would stop by the corner of your living room that was your designated study area (aimed to keep your discomfort level at a minimum). He would drop a protein bar on the table by your side, close to the stacks of textbooks and pages upon pages upon pages of notes that stood like mountains between you two. Here, baby, eat this, he would say. Drop a kiss on your forehead, murmur soft words of love against your skin. Then he would leave you be.

But you had been neglecting yourself recently, more so than usual. And god, you were really paying the price.

To be clear: your chronic pain was never fun. But there were some days where you could conjure up an image of your pain as a toddler throwing an epic temper tantrum inside your body: blood-curdling shrieks rattling in your bones, stomping their little feet inside your skull, wreaking havoc in your stomach and joints.

Today was one of those days.

You were curled up in a ball in the middle of your bed, your pillow over your head to block out all the light in your already darkened room. It had been almost an hour already and you were still waiting for the over-the-counter painkillers to kick in.

Your head pounded in time with your pulse. You groaned to yourself as you wriggled around, changing your position again.

You were so preoccupied trying to get comfortable that you almost didn’t hear your bedroom door open. Scott’s soft call of your name reached you from underneath the pillow.

You lifted it just enough to spot your boyfriend standing with one foot in your room, one foot still out in the hallway.

You only managed a one-word greeting before you buried yourself back under your cotton fortress. Your eyes prickled, both in shame and in pain.

Several beats of almost-silence passed as Scott closed the door, set his belongings down on the floor, and padded over to the edge of your bed. The soft mattress dipped under his weight beside you. Another beat passed before you felt Scott prying the pillow out of your fingers. It lifted away from your face. He watched your face carefully as your brows pinched together and you grimaced.

“It’s really bad today, isn’t it?” he whispered. His dark brown eyes were full of warmth and tenderness.

You nodded, your own eyes brimming with tears.

“Did you take some medicine?” he asked, somewhat uselessly. It wasn’t that he meant it in a condescending way. You weren’t a child; you had already figured out what to do when you had a flare-up. But Scott was aware that some days you would try to fight through it on your own with just your pride, or some days you would genuinely forget. He worried about you when you got like this.

You nodded again, a barely audible whimper in the back of your throat.

His hand came up to cup your face. “Why didn’t you tell me, babe?” he pleaded. You knew that Scott hated when you did this, when you tried to hide how in pain you were in order not to be a burden on him.

You keened softly, leaning into his touch. “I hurt every day,” you mumbled, shrugging weakly. “Just didn’t want to bother you.”

His brows furrowed. His fingers gently chucked you under your chin. “You don’t bother me,” he protested. Trying to get you to understand. He spoke again, more firmly this time, “And from now on, I want you to tell me every time your pain gets really bad.”

“Are you telling me as my boyfriend or as my alpha?” you tried to joke.

He stared you down, not taking the bait. “I’m telling you as your boyfriend who also happens to be your alpha.”

You grumbled under your breath, shifting around in discomfort.

Scott shed his clothes until he was down to his boxer briefs and wheedled his way under your blankets. When you two finally settled down, you had your head on his warm chest, your arms wrapped around him. His fingers feathered across the expanse of your back.

You flinched abruptly as a bolt of pain cleaved your forehead in half. You whimpered into his skin, trying to muffle the sound.

“Lemme help you,” he murmured above you.

You hesitated – just for a couple seconds – but you quickly gave him your permission. If you were being honest with yourself, you just didn’t have it in you to keep up the pretense any longer. Pain had a way of doing that, of taking away everything from you until your world was nothing but pain. You were exhausted.

Scott’s hand came down on top of yours. Black veins crawled up the warm brown skin of his arm, and with them went your pain. You exhaled sharply, sinking into him in relief. Euphoric relief, completely pain-free for the first time in hours.

“Thank you,” you said. Your words and the way you said them were genuine. You just couldn’t seem to meet his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me when you knew it was getting bad?” he asked again. Gently pleading, yet still resolute in his desire to get an answer from her.

You paused. “Honest answer?” You felt more than saw him nod his head with certainty. You took a deep steadying breath. “I guess…,” you started hesitantly, “I just want to make sure that I’m… not some big b-burden on you. Or whatever,” you added, attempting nonchalance to save face.

Scott’s breath caught in his throat. In the silence, you felt him struggle with what he wanted to say. When he finally did speak, his voice was thick with emotion. “I wanna tell you that you’re never a burden to me… but I know you won’t believe me if I do. God, baby—” you heard him swallow hard and his arms tightened around you, “—I wish I knew what to tell you to make you believe me. I wish I could just make you see—I would do anything for you.” His hand cupped your chin and lifted your gaze. Your heart clenched when you saw his eyes, those wonderful brown eyes that you loved so much, now streaked with red and unshed tears. You felt something wet on your cheeks and you suddenly realized you were crying, too. “What can I do?” he asked, desperation coloring his words. “What do you need me to do so you will believe me?”

You sniffled. “Be patient with me.” Your fingers lightly traced patterns on his skin, played with the thin layer of hair smattered across the plains of his chest. “Love me,” you begged, “even when I drive you fucking crazy.”

His lips smashed against yours. You whimpered into the kiss, and his thumbs caressed your skin soothingly. When your lips finally parted, his forehead rested against yours, his breath wafting over your face. “I can do that,” he said assuredly.

#teen wolf #teen wolf one shot #teen wolf imagine #scott mccall #scott mccall x reader #scott mccall x plus size reader #plus size reader #original writing #scott mccall imagine #scott mccall x you #scott mccall x y/n #reader with chronic pain #tw: chronic pain #original content #afatbabes-fiction

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