So Soft - Fem Reader

so soft - fem reader

he clings like a koala. your oversized wardrobe pays off: there's enough room for him to wriggle under your soft sweaters and latch onto your skin. his hands paw at your soft sides, stroking and petting the velvety skin. his beard is ticklish against your tummy as he mouths gently over your tits.

Nathan can be so soft sometimes, as his eyes droop, syrupy with sleep and contentment. he'll suckle and nuzzle your chest, melting into your warmth. You'll pull a blanket over him and swaddle him tight, like a baby opossum. His quiet mewls of gratitude prompt your hand to gently scratch his prickly scalp.

There isn't a solid bone in his body; lovesick goop is all that's left. your boobs are soft as silk on his cheek, squishing pleasantly under his rough hands.

so soft, he coos, so pretty. so different from the cold, hard androids he surrounds himself with.

you kiss him softly and begin to rock gently, side to side.

Instead of "Said", consider

replied

stated

exclaimed

remarked

declared

mentioned

commented

responded

articulated

noted

announced

asserted

observed

suggested

opined

acknowledged

claimed

professed

explained

affirmed

Writing Tips: flowery words

yeah, vocab is important. but having big words isn't always better. The important thing to remember about writing is that it's a realistic description of a scenario. You need to use sentences and words that make sense for that character to use.

Like, "The sky was a divine shade of turquoise,' the man said exuberantly," and "Look how lovely the sky is, like robins' eggs!" she gushed," both mean the same thing. the first one uses more developed vocab, but it sounds fucking weird. Don't go overboard. It's okay to sound basic sometimes; not everything needs to be Shakespeare.

Balance is key!!! Synonyms don't always mean the exact same thing as the original word. they have their own affects, but overall their similar.

SIMILAR. NOT THE SAME. CLOSE.

It's realllllly important to understand that.

In my fluff advice post, I mentioned 'fluffy' words. Words have a feeling to them. "Chortle" and "chuckle" mean "laugh heartily", but you associate a different sound with each word, right?

Pick words that have the right feel. Read it out loud. If a word jumps out at you in a way that feels weird, try a different one. It may be the right definition, but it isn't the right tone. This takes practice. Pick up a book and read aloud for a bit. Get a feel for how the words flow with each other, try to mimic that.

xox love you, keep writing!

OH MY GOD ME TOOOOOOO

wattpad this, ao3 that, what about my girl quotev? 😔

T minus 8

Y'all can figure out the title situation by now, right?

content warning: basically the same as the last two chapters, less techy stuff dw, blood, some more anxiety, tension, angst

is it weird that the head doctor's name is Ben? I realized he might get confused with Ben Reilly (tho i don't plan on mentioning him) if it's funky lmk

also - taglist ppl, if you want to be on my general (all fic) tag list, pls specify, I just have you on this specific fic's taglist.

enjoy!

This was ridiculous. Fucking unacceptable. You were not going to let this manchild disrupt your workflow. You had gone through med school, the collapse of your entire universe, and countless crazy patients.

Miguel O'Hara was not going to be your downfall.

After escaping to your room after the brush with death - aka Miguel's fangs - you'd had a good cry before realizing the situation.

You can deal with it, or you can drown in it.

Though your education was in healthcare, a mandatory part of medical training was mental wellbeing and psychology. You had a few coursebooks lying around...

Despite the words bleeding together and the stained coffee mugs littering your floor, you pored over textbooks until early the next morning. Fuck Miguel and his needles. You were going to do your job with the least number of puncture wounds possible.

You strode into his sickroom with a fresh coat of concealer and a thick stack of papers. No syringe in sight.

He was immediately suspicious of your lifted chin and confident stride. You could feel his apprehension tingling, carmine gaze following you around his temporary abode. Let him judge. At the end of the day, you had the needle and he had a sore elbow. Not your fucking problem.

"This is how this is gonna go," you said flatly, rolling next to his bed with a sheet of paper and a pen.

"Twice a day, I am going to come in here and give you a shot. Then, I'm gonna force feed you and take your vitals. Then, I'm gonna do it again the next day and the next until this day," you circled the small calendar at the bottom of the sheet. "And you aren't gonna give me any shit about it, okay?"

The words tumbled out as precise as you'd practiced in front of the mirror twenty times that morning.

Miguel's eyebrow lifted at your direction but his mouth stayed curled in a sneer. You swallowed, willing him to say something. The strong facade you'd put on was slowly succumbing to sleep deprivation.

Too early to give in.

You were stuck in another staring match, so focused on his blistering glare that you didn't realize he was slowly leaning closer. Until his breath brushed your ear and you could see his teeth glimmering.

"No."

One word, and your spine was quaking with shivers. You blinked rapidly, veering away from him. His impassive stare returned and he leaned back into his pillows.

You sat stunned. Then pissed.

"That's not the correct answer," you said coolly. His eyebrows twitched again. Did he think you would cower and scamper off again? What a surprise he was in for.

"Easy way or hard way, Miguel," you taunted, pulling out one of the two doses. "If you let me do this, in five seconds it will be over and I'll be gone."

He didn't look at you, but subtly shifted away from the offensive syringe.

"Or you could drag it out until you're crying and you'll still get a poke."

Another bloodcurdling stare. Aw, the big baby doesn't like it when I call him a coward. Too bad.

You could hear the gentle uptick in his heartrate as you began to prep the area, wiping gently with an alcohol patch. His breaths were louder, whistling above your head. It didn't take this long to clean an injection site, but you wanted to give him time to realize what was going on.

"Wait," he muttered, snatching your wrist before you could grab the medicine. You let him and hoped he couldn't feel your own rapidly beating heartrate. Using your other wrist this time, you took up the syringe and tried to nudge the protective seal off.

"Not yet," Miguel protested, batting you away. You fixed him with a warning glance.

"Easy or hard, big guy, but it's gonna happen."

He tried to swat you again, but you barked out a "Stop."

Flinching, he retreated. Anger simmered in his eyes, but he bit his tongue. You tried to soften your tone. He's a patient, be nice. He's hurt, it's just the adrenaline.

"Don't swat me when I remove the seal, you might accidentally stick yourself," you explained kindly. Replacing the seal, you set the needle on the tiny table next to him. Miguel regarded you warily, unsure if he could trust your sudden surrender.

Talking. He liked the talking last time. Trying to medicate him in this state would be impossible, you had to de-escalate.

"Why...why is this hard for you? I mean, what's the scary bit?" You sat back, keeping your hands empty and in view of him.

He snorted and fidgeted with his hospital bracelet.

"I need to work," he said gruffly, looking at the clock, then wincing. You tilted your head.

"No, I meant about the nee-"

"I need to get back to work," he insisted, "I've been gone too long. The Society won't survive without me."

You leaned forward and peeled back the blankets. He knew better than to stop you, but you could sense his agitation.

"Until that-" you pointed to the sour-smelling bandages crusted with blood, "goes away, you won't be going back."

"That's impossible."

"Cry about it." You dismissed his annoyance as you peered at the dirty gauze. You'd replaced it only a few hours ago, how bad was the infection? It shouldn't have absorbed the ointment and worsened. A crease furrowed your brow. You reached out to feel around the wound. He groaned, twitching under your hands. The pale complexion returned, and sweat had dried around his chest.

How come he didn't ring for help?

"Okay, let's try something else," you said slowly. "I'm gonna replace these and clean you up, got it?" The expected silence rang out, and you took it as a green flag.

It took you a few moments to collect your scissors, gauze and other supplies, all the while Miguel was breathing heavily through his nose. You were calm as morning fog while you worked, barely wrinkling your nose at the foul smell.

What the....The wound was ragged and swollen. Had you been the only person paying attention? The torn was flesh had clearly been neglected, or else it wouldn't be nearly as rancid.

Don't freak out, you reminded yourself, feeling Miguel's scowl directed at your face. He doesn't need to know.

"That's not supposed to be like that," he guessed, reading your obvious distress. you startled and tried to smile, but it wavered.

"No! No, it's..." you trailed off, acutely aware that he saw right through your act.

Deciding to focus on the task at hand, you began carefully snipping away at his bandages. It was soothing, just another routine. he's not dying he's not dying it's just a routine check up, nothing terrible, it's okay

Is the poison contagious after contact?

You froze, realizing Dr Ben had never explained the dangers of exposure. You had your gloves, but they were flimsy, and a paper mask could only do so much. Fuck. You'd already gotten blood and gore on your hands, it wasn't really a good time to fix that.

Here goes nothing.

Miguel did a stellar job of not biting your head off, though his pained grunts and clenched fists didn't help your heart rate. You were efficient and cleaned him up quickly, though his appearance wasn't improving. It was only day two. Not good.

"Okay, scary part," you warned, reaching again for the syringe. He was still riled up from the agony of his new dressings. It wasn't the way you wanted it to go, but he was running out of time.

"I can't bargain with you on this," you said shakily, "because it isn't up to me. i'm just the messenger, and I don't know how else to tell you."

Deep breaths.

"Your tissue is decaying, and if I don't give this to you, you won't be able to work at all. Ever," you added for emphasis when he almost protested. "I know you hate needles, I know you hate being here, I know you hate me, but seriously, please just let me do my job."

your hands were shaking. He looked...impassive, as if he'd turned to stone during your plea. Stick him. Just do it, just poke him right in the arm, he's not moving-

Miguel inclined his chin and released his harsh grip. You were shocked and almost dropped the syringe. That was quick. Maybe it wasn't the needle?

"You gonna stab me or what," he snapped. Scurrying forward, you gently took his hand in yours and probed for a vein.

"Little poke," you whispered, before carefully injecting the vial of clear liquid into his bicep. He let out a strangled groan and grabbed your arm, clutching for dear life. You let him squeeze, though his grip was threatening to cut off your circulation. Breathe breathe breathe he's okay you're okay it's okay breathe

"Not so hard, yeah?" you kept your voice quiet, rubbing his shoulder carefully. Miguel was still in the throes of panic before he suddenly blinked awake. Like a robot, his arms were at his sides and he stared straight ahead.

Confused, you searched his gaze. A haze had gone over his irises, but nothing extreme. All good so far. As quietly as possible, you ran through his vitals and coaxed a cup of water into him.

After a few minutes of waiting by his side, you signed off on his form and backed out of the room.

3 down, too many to go.

And so it went. He never looked at you, never acknowledged your existence each time you peeked into his room. A week went by, for better or worse. His wound was making disappointing progress, but it wasn't getting worse.

However, his approach to the needle wasn't getting better either. He liked the talking, seemed to calm him slightly when you rambled about other patients or your daily routine.

But whenever your hand ducked into your coat pocket, his face would go hard and he'd hunch like a cat, hissing and scratching when you got too close.

"Miguel, please," you begged, eyes pricking with tears. It had been a long day. the longest. four spiders lost, three injured, and one in critical condition. You'd worked your ass off, then slogged to your last patient. you just didn't have the fight in you.

Did he like to torture you?

"I will do anything, please just fucking stay still."

he hesitated.

"Anything?"

"I don't fucking care, please give me your wrist-"

"Let me go back to work." His tone was defiant, but urgent.

You fixed him with a no-nonsense glare. "You know the answer to that."

"I have the multiverse to attend to," he gritted out, "this stupid arrangement is not more important than that."

You couldn't fucking deal with this. "I will rip your fucking teeth out, you animal, I don't care how important you are-"

"I control the fate of-"

"I am acutely aware of that, O'Hara," you shouted finally, throwing the capped needle at him. He swore and ducked.

"I am so fucking aware that everything you do affects my wellbeing. But if you don't sit still and stop acting like a fucking child then you'll die and so will the rest of us." You were crying and your head hurt and the syringe was probably shattered but you just wanted to go home.

"I want to go home," you blubbered, "and I want to go to bed. If you let me do my job, then you can do yours. Please." You whispered, begging.

Miguel's nostrils flared, barely holding back. Maybe if he bit you again, you could take a long nap and this would all be over.

"One condition."

Your head thumped against his mattress. "I don't wanna argue with you-"

"One dose, one favor."

You rolled your face to the side, sighing tiredly. "I'm not having sex with you."

He sputtered, fangs shifting in surprise. "Wh-ay dios-no that's not- I meant a-" Miguel scowled at you for as he understood your delirious laughter was at his gullibility.

"I take the dose, no fuss, you do me a favor," he tried again, "professionally."

Any win was a win in your book. "Fine."

He relented, sticking his arm out and bracing against the handrail. Afraid he would double back on his promise, you stuck him a little more aggressively than you needed to in your rush.

"Okay, big guy, what'll it be?"

"Give me my work laptop."

Bastard. "That's cheating-"

"You said-"

"Fine," you spat, tossing the empty syringe in the bin. "One hour."

"Three."

"One."

"That dose hurt," he protested, and you rolled your eyes.

"Fine. Two."

A moment later, his laptop was under your arm and you were checking off another day on the calendar.

It definitely got easier. A tentative agreement had settled between you: one dose, two hours of work. It did seem to help his mood. Miguel still flinched when you aimed the syringe for his arm. He stayed still when you changed his bandages and kept his fangs to himself.

You were fitting him for the pressure cuff when you noticed. Last week, even the biggest cuff size could barely fit around his massive arm. Today, you could easily wrap it with a few inches to spare.

Frowning, you made sure nothing had come undone in the packaging. Everything was intact. Had he been flexing before?

"Um...do you mind flexing your arm for a second?"

He looked puzzled at the request, but did as asked. You tried again, but even then the cuff was loose.

"Nevermind, that's...that's fine, thanks." You gave a tight smile and jotted something down in your notes.

After his shot, you tried to see if the rest of his body was changing. He was still enormous, but there did seem to be a lackluster quality about him. Miguel's energy was reduced, his anger less potent and he was definitely tamer.

"Miguel, are you feeling okay?" you asked tentatively, gauging his reaction. Usually you knew better than to interrupt his working time, his anger would snap.

But today, he merely grunted and shrugged. Definitely lethargic. Trying to rationalize, you figured it might be his body finally adjusting to the medication.

Making a quiet excuse, you ducked into the adjacent office and discreetly dialed Ben.

"I'm worried it's not working," you whispered, chewing on a hangnail. Dr Ben hummed on the other line.

"His stats are looking a little low. I'll have another doctor check him out. You've done well so far, kiddo, this is a tough case. Take today off, yeah?"

You blinked at the quick change in subject. At least the problem was getting looked at...but Miguel still had his evening dose. I'll just come back for that, you amended. It had been so long since you'd had a day off.

In the few hours between your brief pop-in and Ben's call, you'd gotten groceries, done your hair and even had time to watch a movie.

Feeling refreshed, you threw on your gloves and pulled up Miguel's file.

Nothing had changed, really, except a small yellow notification underneath his recent immunizations. Single (1) dose of R4GE-57 administered at 2100.

What?

The meds Ben prescribed hadn't been titled, and you weren't even in the building at 2100.

Frowning, you pushed into Miguel's room.

"Hey, Mig-"

You stopped. He was sitting on his bed, hands folded limply on his lap. His eyes were open but unfocused. You tiptoed closer.

"Miguel?"

His head twitched, but his eyes had difficulty following your movements.

"You're not s'posed to be here," he slurred gravelly. His tone made you pull up short. You two weren't friends, but you'd definitely passed the growling stage.

"Ookay," you said slowly, "but I need to give you your last dose for today."

"No, that lady did. Maria."

Nothing made sense. Maria hadn't given him his second dose cause it would have been two hours early. And you were holding the second syringe, which was very much full.

"Wh...What do you mean? Maria shouldn't have given you-"

"Are you being slow?" His tone was vicious, lips curled to reveal his incisors. Miguel hadn't snapped like that in a week. You balked, retreating a step. Okay, take a deep breath. He's definitely unstable.

"That other nurse gave me the medicine, you are wasting my time," he snarled. Your heart rate was steadily rising. Breathe.

"Just let me-"

Your hand was halfway to his wrist when he lunged.

no no not again-

A cry ripped from your throat as your head collided with the edge of the table, and a dull ringing overwhelmed your senses. throbbing washed over you in waves, pulsing like a drum in tune with your panicked heart.

Nothing was focusing. Were you crying? Someone was shouting, it was bright and your head hurt and where-?

Somebody was dragging you away, and you uselessly batted at their hands.

He's my patient he didn't mean to no stop wait he needs his meds

Surely it wasn't your wailing, that angry wounded animal howling over the thumping ache in your skull.

He was making progress...

did i just make a simple enemies to lovers into a weird crazy multiplotline clusterfuck? yes. yes I did.

tags:

@neeshsoodrippedout

@ridiculous-hibiscus

let me know if u wanna be added/removed xox

uh hi so!

i wrote this webpage that walks u thru looking after yourself when you know a thought is making you spiral. deployed it publicly bc i wanted it on mobile and i thought other people might like it too

check it oot