#have one nice thing. just one nice little time where we sleep and it's all good and fine
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RELATIONSHIP HEADCANNONS
Mondstadt Boys
Nothing sexual is explicitly mentioned in this, only vaguely suggestive for Venti. For all of the younger characters it is strictly romantic. (And before you come at me in the comments, I went to high school. I’ve seen close romantic relationships between teenagers that never even verged on sexual and would never even consider writing an underaged character in such a light.)
This is also my first time making a post like this, so please be nice. Any advice is welcome since I’m still relatively new to Tumblr.
Kaeya-
Kaeya would never in a million years consider dating someone with serious romantic intentions, even if his feelings were fully reciprocated. His past, his secrets, his ties to so many dangerous factions would put them in immediate danger at all times, and if there’s one thing we know about Kaeya it's that he would do anything to protect the people he loves. Including breaking both his and their hearts in the process. But if he was free from all of that, Kaeya would love an SO who he could just relax around. Just be Kaeya instead of everything else. They would be his safe space, his only true home outside of Dawn Winery, and the true meaning of freedom for him.
What Kaeya didn’t know he wanted in a significant other was someone who could see past his masks instinctively. They never commented on his half-truths, his bluffs, his misdirections. But through the briefest of eye contact he knew that you knew exactly what he was doing. He comes back home in the early hours of the morning with bloody knuckles and open wounds, they are still up and bandages him while talking softly about whatever gossip had been hot on the market that morning.
Kaeya is flirtatious by nature, and his playboy attitude extends to them in public so many don’t think their relationship is that serious. But behind closed doors, with his heart open and gently placed in their hands, you would think they were divine in nature. They laughed at the attempts of other people to flirt with him, because they already knew that his heart belonged to them.
Diluc-
Much like Kaeya, Diluc knows he lives too dangerous a life to consider a romantic relationship. Unlike Kaeya though, he craves that connection just a little more fiercely than Kaeya. While Kaeya is constantly surrounded by the friendly comradery of the Knights, Diluc is far more isolated. Of course he has Adeline, Elzer, and the other workers at the Dawn Winery who’ve known him since he was a child, but he doesn’t share any close friendships that goes to on a regular basis. What Diluc knows he would want in an SO more than anything else is companionship. If he could afford to, he wouldn’t care where they’re from or what their background is if they were able to make him forget about his responsibilities for just a little bit. Someone he can come home to.
What Diluc didn’t know he wanted was someone who could help him repair his stunted relationships. Someone who invites Kaeya over for tea while they know he will be home and eventually coax both of the brothers to dig up five years worth of skeletons and come to a much better understanding. Someone who helps him at the bar after long days working in the vineyard, keeping an ear out for anything people might not otherwise let slip near the intimidating man. Above all else, Diluc did not know what he wanted was a true partner who was as dedicated to his own wellbeing as he was to theirs.
Diluc would not be showy about his affection beyond what was appropriate for a gentleman. Arm hooked around yours, hand against lower back, and maybe a quick peck on the lips if they had relative privacy. Back home though, this man is so touch-starved that he will be wrapped around his SO for as much time as possible. Playing chess? Too bad, they have to move their pieces while sitting on his side of the board. Reading a book? Someone’s head is in the other person’s lap. Sleeping? They only use a thin sheet because Diluc is a heater and plasters himself to his SO’s back and tucks them under his chin like a stuffed animal.
Venti-
Wow. You thought the previous two were traumatized? Venti has watched entire civilizations be wiped from remembrance at the whims of the Heavenly Principles and does everything in his power to make Monstadt seem like less of a threat in order to prevent the same thing from happening to him. Nearly all of his significant relationships have been ended by death or time, so the thought of having an SO, especially an immortal one, would terrify him. Contrary to popular thinking, I think Venti would want an SO who is mortal. 60-70 years of bliss, forever immortalized in song, and out of reach from the claws of the Heavenly Principles.
What Venti didn’t know he wanted was an SO who was an artist themselves. He was so used to being the performer, the one expected to entertain the audience with story and song. With just a little instruction (and maybe a blessing made on a bet) they were already able to rival Venti’s prowess with a lyre. It made quite the stir in Mondsadt, as Venti had been unmatched for years, and soon fan clubs were formed. Whether they were being shipped or slandered, there was none who could deny the inherent chemistry between Venti and his rival. In fact, there was no clear confirmation on their relationship until Venti drank nearly half of the Angel Share’s stock on a dare and kissed them full on the mouth. And even then the heated debate persisted. Until one day, they climbed on top of the church and belted out a serenade for all of Monstadt to hear before proposing to their “cheeky, bird-brained, bastard who also happens to be the love of their life”. Yeah, Venti may or may not have caused a mini hurricane to knock them off their feet so he could sweep them away to Starsnatch Cliff.
Venti is flirty, but after he starts seriously courting his SO he noticeably tones it down. Creative and blush-inducing complements to his audience were still common, but nothing truly improper. In private… he shared an ungodly amount of characteristics with those cats he’s allergic to. Spoiled with kisses and cuddles, demanding when he goes without their attention for more than a few minutes, and if they’re open to it, always ready for more exciting activities. Like stated previously, Venti doesn’t want his SO to be immortal. As much as their death will hurt, at least he was able to make sure that their short life ended peacefully and with a full heart. He will sing your songs and tell the tale of the two bards who had captured each other’s hearts. Besides, even he will return to the winds one day. And then will be able to reunite with them, and all of his old friends.
Razor-
Honestly, Razor’s concept of a romantic relationship between two humans is either completely nonexistent or radically underdeveloped. He’s seen wolves court and mate (Though Andrius keeps Razor away during mating season. Young pups should not witness such things) so I think that any kind of romantic action would just come off as heavily platonic or familial. He’s never thought about finding any sort of life-partner, all he wants is to protect his family, so whatever vague idea of an SO or “mate” Razor has would involve him taking care of them and being taken care of in turn.
What Razor didn’t suspect was that his SO would be so willing to be accepted into his Lupical. While he had friends like Bennett and Klee who were nice to him whenever they saw him around, but most people still tended to avoid Razor. It hurt a bit, but as long as Razor had his Lupical and his friends, he never gave anyone else much thought. Until one day, he found an adventurer freeing a wolf cub who had gotten its paw stuck in a hunting trap. Such traps should not have been so close to the wolves’ territory, and Razor found out later that they had come on a commission from the Knights to investigate. However, Razor noticed how in the process of freeing and bandaging the pup, they had torn open their hands. He had immediately gone looking for Wolfhook, and waited until night when they had fallen asleep to sneak in and apply the berry paste. He didn’t want to frighten them, and instead opted to watch over them while they slept. He fell asleep sometime during the early morning, and only awoke to the smell of meat cooking. He opened his eyes to see the adventurer watching him from the opposite side of the fire, a plate of berries and steaming meat set near him.
Razor was quickly enamored by the lone adventurer. They were a new recruit, and had actually heard of Razor from Katheryne when they accepted the commission. Over time, the adventurer ended up taking every opportunity possible to visit Razor. The boy’s excitement whenever he caught their scent on the wind never lessened, and both of them often spent nights in the middle of Wolvendom in blissful silence. Razor never felt like he had to talk much around them, and the same could be said of them. The two were able to discern most of what they needed to from body language, facial expressions, and scent in Razor’s case at times. It didn’t take long for them to be introduced to the rest of Razor’s Lupical. The pup they had rescued recognized them immediately and spent the entire evening receiving head scratches. As midnight approached, the older wolves nudged Razor towards their slumped over form. They had passed out with most of the pups on top of them, and Razor immediately curled up behind them with his chin resting over their exposed neck protectively. Just as he had watched the wolves do with their mates.
Albedo-
Wow. Kinda a mix of Kaeya and Razor; he is flirty (His teapot voice lines startled a blush out of me the first time I heard them) but way more subtle about it. But I also don’t think he has ever seriously considered a romantic relationship with someone. While the thought had crossed his mind once or twice, who could he possibly meet who would be compatible with him? His personal identity as a homunculus and a creation of Rhinedottr means he is already a nonhuman entity, and his title as Mondstadt’s Chief Alchemist and his work keeps most of his relationships strictly professional. Even his friendships are mostly cordial, though he does enjoy the company of others at times. This man is always doing something, so entertaining romantic notions for anyone has never entered the picture. However, I think he would like a SO similar to Fanon!Traveler Lumine (And I’m not just saying this because I’m on the Albelumi ship I promise). Someone who managed to catch Albedo’s attention would need to have something inherently unique about them. Someone who manages to keep his attention on them for a significant period of time would have to have an equally appealing, lighthearted personality that practically lit up the room whenever they walked in.
What Albedo did not expect from his SO was someone who showed so much care for him. Someone who is curious about Albedo’s work, even if they don’t fully understand it. Someone who may not understand art, but recognizes the effort Albedo puts into his drawings. Someone who invites (read: coerces) Albedo out of his lab to go eat at Good Hunter or take the evening off to relax at Angels Share. Their occupation and background doesn’t mean much to him personally, the information is only relevant if it pertains to their health or behavior. Only one issue with this set up, even if feelings are completely reciprocated. Albedo has no clue what these feelings are and where they are coming from and will spend far too much time deliberating on what he should do to them. Much to the exasperation of all of the Knight and his fellow alchemists. Once Albedo does a full analysis of himself (bloodwork, brain scans, chemical analysis, a few experiments to see how he reacts to certain stimuli, this man is nothing if not thorough) he will come to the conclusion that he is in love. (Sucrose sighs when Albedo brings the test results to her.) And he immediately launches himself into a new kind of research. He asks around about the best way to confess, and eventually decides to cultivate a new species of flowers specifically for them and then just cut to the chase over a private picnic under the stars. This man already has no filter, so once he manages to correctly identify the emotions he is feeling, the length of time between then and the actual confession would be much shorter.
Those flowers Albedo cultivates in their honor would be everywhere once his SO admitted their feelings were mutual. He dedicated an entire section of the alchemists’ greenhouse to them and ordered for no one else to touch them except for him. They would find the flowers in their hair, in between books, scattered around Albedo’s workspace, and somehow in their house. Similar to Diluc, the few times Albedo and his SO were out together in public people would know that they’re dating, but beside the fact that the two were almost always holding hands and the occasional peck on the cheek, neither were overly affectionate in public. Albedo would also be incredibly flexible in private when it came to their dynamic. He likes both giving and receiving affection and doesn’t really have a preference as long as he can spend as much time as possible in their company when he’s not working. They like to follow him on his expeditions to Dragonspine, mainly for the excuse to snuggle with Albedo every night when they get cold. The rest of the Knights adjusted well to Albedo’s SO, even if Sucrose needed to take on more work at times so Albedo could spend more time with them. The Knights closest to Albedo watched with fascination as the typically workaholic alchemist actually took lunch breaks, got in late, and left the moment he was satisfied with the progress of his experiments. What they don’t see is how the way he treats his SO in private is almost reverent. They are his muse, his lover, and his eternal companion (because unlike Venti, Albedo would 100% find a way for his SO the share his lifespan if they so chose to) and in one of his dark moments, Albedo realizes just how much he would ruin if it meant they stayed safe.
Also, Alice would 100% show up for the first time in years just to help her son get ready for his first date.
Haven’t played Bennett’s hangout quest yet and don’t know enough about his character so I will probably post him with another nation once I get around to it.
I’ll get around to doing Liyue if enough people decide they like this.
#genshin impact#diluc x reader#kaeya x reader#genshin drabbles#genshin x you#relationship headcanons#venti x reader#razor x reader#albedo x reader#diluc headcanons#kaeya headcanons#venti headcanons#razor headcannons#albedo headcanons
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I Want To. | Wellness Check
logline; Such is life, you go from not being needed at The Bear today to being more needed than you ever have been.
[!!!] series history, this is the fourth; First, Second, Third
portion; 4.7k+
possible allergies; a dash of Tony's former paramedic background (and just medical shit in general) in this one, so, a sprinkle of post-trauma stress (and her usual yikes psyche). Mikey comes up a bit, as usual! despite the ops, we ball.
pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (pretty unavoidably gendered episode, mb non-fem folks)
we'll talk after babe, have a good time w/ this one.
Falling asleep was easy— par for Carmen fighting to keep his 6:30 am alarm on. When he finds out you don’t have a plug on his side of the bed and he has to charge his phone on your side, he turns it off. Cute.
Well, there’s also the part where you had to ask if he was okay because it sounded like he wasn’t breathing and it turns out —He was not breathing— He then pointed out that it sounded like you weren’t breathing —You were not breathing— Both of you thought the sound of your lungs would bother the other, so you opted not to use them at all. Turns out, counterproductive; you notice each other’s absences pretty well.
But besides that, it's easy. Carmen isn’t an awful bedfellow. He’s not super shifty, he doesn’t tug the blanket, he doesn’t roll all the fucking way over to your side, or anything like that. He’s honestly concerningly still. Is he annoyed that you’ve gotta toss and turn a little to get comfortable? Probably. He's probably dreaming of you exploding right now, he’s so annoyed. He didn’t make fun of your ages old build-a-bear plush nor it’s Cubs jersey, so that was nice. Pity, probably.
...If Carmen wasn’t here, he knows he’d be stirring and kicking and probably sleep-walking to his oven to light it on fire. But he is here. Where kicking would hurt. Where stirring would wake you. Where a fire would cause more anxiety than relief because all your plants and projects would die. Where you washed his hair and told him that taking care of people doesn’t feel like a lot of work to you. Was it not a lot of work, to take care of his brother? Was it worth it, to you? Probably not. How could it be?
He wills his body to not fucking move because if he does it's going to ruin everything. He's going to ruin everything.
He wakes up at 6:30 on the dot, alarm or no. He’d be concerned if his body functioned any differently. But he can’t get to his phone while you’re sleeping in his way and you’re so comfortable. You’re clutching a bear that’s undeniably on a losing team and you’re at peace with it. He’s trying not to make a metaphor out of this in his mind; alas, it’s already there. The only thing he can do is go back to sleep and dream about killing the teenage boy in his head before he can escape again and call you pretty.
It's around ten when you wake up, you try not to wake him when you turn to grab your phone, but the split second of motion makes him flinch like he’s about to get jumped. “Relax!” You hiss, but like, soft, whispered. “I’m doin’ the fuckin’ Wordle, not smothering you with a pillow.”
“You do the Wordle?”
“Oh, fuck you—”
“The first fuckin’ thing you do in the morning is the Wordle?”
“And I do the Crossword too, bitch, what of it?”
“…I like Connections.”
“I fuckin' hate Connections.”
“Alright, damn!”
The Chicago accent in both of you is stronger in your rasping morning voices. As is the laughter. You roll onto your stomach to get closer to him and let him see your screen. Neither of you have entirely woken up yet and that means it’s the perfect time to do a puzzle. If you don't focus on this puzzle right now, you fear you will get too comfortable in this idea of domesticity.
“C’s in the right place. Nothin’ else though.”
He’s the one that figures out its Cumin. You pretend not to be mad about this. You’re furious. Of course, it’d be a spice on the day Mr Food Guy sleeps over. Bullshit.
When you finally sit up, stretch, and say, “I’m just gonna shower real quick ‘nd—”
He’s at a breakneck speed to reply, “I’ll make breakfast.”
“Oh, you cook all the fuckin’ time, you don’t have to—”
“I want to.”
You blink, then shrug, the man likes to cook, c’est la vie. “Who am I to refuse?”
He looks far too happy about this, as though he’s won a lottery. A lottery of manual labour. He rolls out of bed, grabbing his back pack stuffed with yesterday’s clothes before leaving you to your own devices. In a literal sense, too, since you get a text. Ugh.
‘Gigi called in, can you reach?’
You would prefer not to reach, but this is capitalism.
‘When's the shift?’
‘6:30 to 12:30’
Why couldn’t something else at The Bear be fuckin’ broken today?
‘yeah i can reach’
‘that’s my girl, red tops today, see u’
You have also won the lottery of manual labour today. Look at you and Carm, luckiest people alive. Something like that. Alright, go shower and be normal about the fact that there’s a Michelin Star Chef making you breakfast in your kitchen. And he’s prett—
“You make your own bread.”
“I do.” You sit at your own little breakfast nook, waiting to be served. Towel hung around your neck post shower. You’d offer to help, but based on his urgency to cook for you, it’s gonna be a no. Plus, the gift on the table you’ve got for him is going to piss him off enough, can't poke this bear too much. He's already given you a mile. Too many idioms.
“I like to think in another universe I am a homesteader who makes her own soaps and renders tallow n’ shit. But I settle for growing basil and making sourdough in my shitty little Chicago apartment for now.”
“I like your apartment.” He hums, though amused. He turns and sets your plate—the one black plate— in front of you with a small smile. This smile immediately falls when he pushes the plate towards you and you push a travel bag of toiletries towards him.
“Fuck is this?”
“I don’t want to hear any complaints, Irish Spring.”
“How d’you know I use Irish Spring?”
“It’s all five of your routine, it’s going to be pungent— Now listen.” You pick up the bag; you’d dug through your sink cabinet and found a dollar store pack of plastic travel bottles, unused from cancelled trips of yesteryear. You've decanted your own products for him. It's fine, you buy jumbo sizes anyways...
“Shampoo, conditioner, face wash—They’ve even got labels.”
He takes the bag from you, setting it down on his side of the counter, begrudgingly. Though he hasn’t particularly paid it much mind, tunnelled on something else entirely, “Do you not like Irish Spring?”
"I didn't give you a body wash, you can still use it for that one purpose."
"Yeah, but do you not like Irish Spring?"
"...I think it's fine."
“Fine?”
“I’m more of an Old Spice fan.”
“You don’t deserve breakfast—” He pulls your plate, you pull it back.
“All I said—” “Thinkin’ I smell like shit—” “Did not say that—!” “Just cause you use the fruity stuff—” “I smell good! Deny that I smell good!” “You smell fine.” “Wowww—Whatever, do the thing.”
“Bruschetta with a breakfast twist.” Ah, that makes him give you the plate back. His kink is explaining food. “Sourdough toasted, topped with fresh basil—”
“Courtesy of me.”
“Courtesy of you, yes. Tomatoes, bacon glazed in balsamic, and you didn’t have parm so I used feta. And then, y’know, over medium egg on top.”
“You’re very good, Carmen.”
“Oh, I—Uh—” You haven’t even tried it yet. You’re telling him he’s good for the sake of the effort he’s given alone. He needs an antacid. “Thank you.”
It’s redundant to say his food is good. But what else can you say? It’s a fucking perfect open face sandwich. But he’s eating it with you, and half of it’s your own handiwork, and all of your pantry, so you leave your praises purely reaction based, unsaid.
You're honestly a little distracted, reading too hard into the act of him giving you the black plate and taking one of your shitty plastic ones for himself. Time to talk.
“Itinerary for today?”
“Gotta talk chaos menu with Syd before opening, then, well, running the restaurant all night… And then I’ll—I’ll go home.”
“Yeah? You can come back here, if you want to.” Thank God you took a bite in time to hide your selfish disappointment. It’s good for him to go home, but then he’s not here. Real Catch-22.
He shakes his head, “I think I’m good now. Thanks, though. What’s—What’s uh, your plans for today?”
“I’m gonna drop you off wherever you’re going, n’ then I’m gonna go shopping for Syd’s gift—”
“It’s her fuckin’ birthday or somethin?” It’s a delight how immediately panicked he is by this. You're also thankful because he's so distracted it means you won't have to tell him the rest of your plans for today. You'd like to keep that life separate. For as long as possible, at least.
“Nono, it’s just, I didn’t get her anything for her opening night and I wanna change that. I’ll get you something too.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” The very idea of waiting for his response is freaking you the fuck out, so you’re quick to clear your voice and add. “I’ll give you my number, in case you end up needing to crash.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay. Ey, text me your invoice too.”
You take both your cleared plates to the sink, and the lie is swift. You've gotten a lot better at that, in the past year.
“Oh no worries, your sister already covered it.”
It is 6:30 and your life is over. Kidding. Unless? You dropped off Carmen at the train station hours ago and, to use his words, ‘it’s hit’. He’s at The Bear and there’s nothing for you to fix there— So you’re not.
You’ve only been there like three times and yet it started to feel… Like your thing!
Like, like you’d just come in everyday and… Dunno, fix something... But it’s not like they’re gonna have a crisis everyday. Especially not ones that Fak can't handle himself if needed— There's no way he's gonna last at hosting, anyways. You’re now realizing the unrealistic dream— Possibly more unrealistic than homestead you.
Speaking of, Homestead You would probably throw up, if she saw the you you’re looking at in the mirror right now. You look good. Objectively, you know you look good. The mug is stamped. Your pants are black, high-waisted, and give you an ass. The bright red leather corset top is… Chafing, but it looks good! It's a sweetheart neckline so you have to take off your long rope chain necklace from Mikey and shove it in your pocket— Which is fine and doesn't feel bad at all. And listen, listen, being an on-call bottle girl is good money!
And you might get put on bar tonight! You don’t know for sure if you’re gonna have to juggle around lit up bottles for a bunch of fucking geezers!
...
God, fuck, it’s 10:20 and your life is over.
This group of geezers have been fucking annoying and fucking Cherry wouldn’t get off fucking bar even though you literally covered for her last week and these stupid grandpas asked if gratuity is included— No fucking shit! Did you take their card and put a 40% tip? Yeah, maybe. Fuck them! They’re too fucking rich to notice! And they took three hours to leave! Gonna bash this champagne bottle over his bald fucking—
“Ey! That’s a face I remember.”
You hear your name— Not Tony, not Chip, not Cousin. Your name.
You turn to see, oh fucking hell, let God kill you—
“Uncle J!~ Good to see you!~ What a surprise! It’s Jack, here.” Jack of all Trades. It was cute at the time of sign up. Your smile is bright, fake, strained, and beautiful.
“Been too long, really.” Cicero isn’t a bad guy—Correction: Cicero isn’t a bad guy, to you, but as Mikey once put it, he’s a fuckin’ ball buster and in your case, you’re one of the few people beneath him that he asks favours from. Always wants free labour and your expertise. And he always has a habit of asking for favours the second you need one back. But you don’t need one right now! So it’s fine! Everything’s fine!
“Do your Uncle a favour,”—Fully not your Uncle—“Could you pair me and my friends here with a good red?”
You let it go that they’re having fish and asking for a red. Stupid thing to get hung up over right now. You make a commission of it anyways; you just pick the most expensive bottle. He won’t know the difference. The Bear would know the difference. Carmen would notice the difference... Alright, relax.
While pouring glasses, Jimmy whispers to his compatriots and one by one they all peel off. It is almost alarming how quickly this group of men turn and leave without a second thought, taking their glasses with them.
You raise your brows and look at Cicero. “Ah. This is the moment where I sit?”
He nods, gesturing to the booth. “This is the moment where you sit.”
You slip into the booth, sitting across from him. “What do you need?”
“Right to the point with you.”
“I hate suspense.” You shrug.
“You liked Mikey.”
What the fuck?
You bite your inner cheek, hard. “Don’t say that shit.”
“I liked him too,” He says it solemnly, like your mutual grief is a proper apology. He takes a long sip of his stupid red wine. “Did you hear? Cousin Vinnie and Mira are gettin’ hitched, finally.”
“I have no fucking idea who Vinnie and Mira are.” You take the glass when he hands it to you, taking a sip. Small. You gotta drive home, after all.
“Really? It’s a big wedding—Destination too, in New York—”
“I hate to remind you, but I was friends with Mikey, not his family.” Not his biological one, at least. The Beef, sure. But you literally only met his siblings two days ago. “What’s a wedding gotta do with me?”
He bristles, and finally cuts it short. “Around three hundred guests, seven-hour shift, open bar—” “Oh, for fuckssake—” “Listen—”
“It’s an easy gig, I’ll fly you out for it, it’s a month and a half away, you’ll get to attend a big fuckin’ Italian wedding— Which will be a shitshow, certainly, so free entertainment; and Michelin Star level catering, kind of.”
You squint. Kind of? “You got Carmy in on this shit?”
“You know ‘em?”
You nod, pressing your elbows on the table, “We’ve recently become acquainted. What d’you got on him for him to cater a wedding?”
“He’s eight-hundred grand in the hole.” “Fuck!” “He gets thirty off for catering. Smart boy, said yes.”
Christ, you massage the bridge of your brow with one hand and pull out your phone with another to check your calendar, you might as well see if you can even entertain the idea. You don’t need a favour right now, maybe you can bargain and get him to actually pay you for it, this time.
“I dunno, Uncle J…”
Oh.
28 unread texts from Syd.
3 unread texts from an unknown number— Probably Carmen.
9 missed calls from Syd.
Uncle Jimmy, always, always, has a fucking way, of asking for a favour when you need one…
You slam your phone, screen down on the table, straightening your posture in your seat. “I have demands.”
He motions for you to continue, taking his wine glass back. “You always do.”
“You and your friends are gonna tip a hundred percent tonight.”
“That why you give me a 2016 Fisher?”
“I like to think ahead.”
“Smart girl.” He shrugs, palms of his hands out. Which means yes.
“If Uncle Lee comes up to the bar I’m throwing a fork at him and leaping over the counter.”
He chuckles, “Thought you 'didn’t know family'.”
“I remember what I'm told.”
His amusement fades quickly, remembering first hand. He nods. “…You’re allowed to jump him if I’m watching first.”
“And you’re friends with my boss, right?”
“We’re acquainted.”
“I’m gonna punch out now and you’re gonna smooth that out for me.”
He perks up, amused, glancing at your phone, “Somethin’ come up, Chip?”
“Don’t call me Chip.” He wants to poke at you, just a little bit more, but there’s a rattled look in your eyes that he’s so rarely seen that he lets it go.
He waves his hand, shrugging, “Be safe. I'll send you the details. December wedding, remember.”
At the end of the day, Cicero isn’t a bad guy to you, someone who loved his nephew as much as he did.
You’re running to your car while you dial back Syd. You don’t have time to read the texts, all you need to know is that it’s an emergency. She picks up just after the first ring.
“Syd what the—” “Code blue!”
You almost fall on your face and eat asphalt. For a flash, you’re in the back of an ambulance being handed a defibrillator at the age of 22, surrounded by faces just as scared and young as you. Then you’re back in the parking lot, slotting the key into your car door because the fob doesn’t work. It’s never worked.
“S-Someone’s having a fucking heart attack!?”
“What?!”
“That’s what fucking code blue means!”
“Oh my god! Sorry! No, I was just saying the thing that scares doctors the most!”
“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ scared Syd!” You slide into the driver’s seat and slam your car door shut. You take a deep breath, white knuckling the steering wheel. “…I’m-I'm sorry for yelling! Where are you, what’s going on?”
“The—The Bear, the restaurant.” The second you have a location you’re revving off.
“Nat locked herself in the office—” “Like trapped?” This shit again?
“No, no— Like she locked herself in— She did this like two hours ago and I thought she was just taking a breather— But we’ve closed and, and like almost everyone left and she’s still not coming out— And she blocked the door inside— and— And I think she’s trying to hide that she’s basically shrieking in pain every five minutes.”
You take a long time to register anything she’s just said. Her tone is as panicked as you feel on the inside. You’re only now registering the ambient yelling of Richie and Carmen in the background.
“…Did—Can you hear me?”
“Yeah, yeah Syd, I’m just thinking.” You don’t step on the gas on purpose, it just happens. “A pregnant woman is screaming in pain— in intervals— behind a blockaded door?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Have you called an ambulance?”
There’s a much more distinct yell in the background from Richie, “No cops!”
Then from Carmen, “No coverage!”
“Yeah…” Syd shakily continues for them, “The insurance is a problem, and Richie said— Motherfucker—” You hear a muffled scrap over the phone before Richie continues on for Syd.
“Er, yeah, Cousin, Sugar keeps yelling that she’s fine ‘n blocked the door, if we call the cops they’re gonna ram that shit down and take her to the loony bin.”
“That’s not— That’s not what paramedics do.”
“That’s what they all do.”
“Richie, y’know, I was a paramedic, right?”
“…You a fuckin’ fed, Chip?”
“Richie, if I was a fuckin' narc you would be in prison by now. I, I— I'll be there in like, like eight minutes, everyone stop fucking yelling at Sugar!”
You’re there in four. You almost rear end someone and you run every yellow you get but you’re there in four. You don’t park properly in the back, you just drive your car in and turn it off in the middle of the lot. You don’t bother to be let in, you just punch the code in as you remember it. As Natalie told you.
“Oh good you—Oh my, God?” Syd is no better than a man in this moment, going from grateful for your presence to being one intrusive thought away from whistling.
You did not have time to change out of your ...outfit and someone has been hogging your Carhartt. You pass Syd quickly, waving a hand in front of her face. Goddammit, why do your boot heels have to have that incredibly satisfying femme fatale click right now?
“Alright— Relax—”
“Holy shit, Chippy!” Richie was yelling at Sugar through the door along with Carm, but once alerted to your presence is now snapping his fingers. You'd describe him more as impressed than actually attracted to you. “You clean up!”
“Cousin, are you—” He grabs Carmen’s face, turning it to you— Carmen does of course, immediately slap Richie’s hand away which of course, means they just start smacking each other's hands. Like preteen girls. “Ey, get the fuck off—” “I just want you to look at a pretty girl, Cousin—!” “Stop fuckin’ touchin’ me!” “Are you looking!?” “I—”
“Everyone shut the fuck up!”
You silence the room. You’re thankful most of the staff has left by now since it’s well after close. It's just Carmen, Syd, Richie, Tina, and Fak for some goddamn reason...You can't be mean you're handymen, you have to stick together.
“I look different from the usual jumpsuit, yes, we get it, can we move on? Pregnant woman?”
Syd is the first to speak, “…Were you on a date, though?”
You blink and roll your eyes all at once, twisting your head to her, “Syd—”
“It’s good to see you getting out there, baby.” Tina, deeply unhelpful in this moment, puts a hand around your shoulder. Oh to have a mother’s judgment when she’s not even your mother.
“O-kay!” You drag on the ‘kay’, clapping your hands together, “Everyone, just get your thoughts out in the next five seconds and then we’re moving on.”
“Chippy, I cannot believe you’ve held this out on me—” “—I meant it like-like a concerned, did we interrupt your date—” “—The red is unbelievable on you, Cousin!” “I need you to teach me how you do your makeup—” “Can you— can you yell again—?” “Fak!” “Oh, so that’s too much?”
A cacophony, it continues on. Your eyes glaze over, and you’re waiting for Sugar to let out a scream so everyone remembers the fucking point of being here. But then you look at Carmen. Everyone’s pivoted from staring at you to yelling at each other. But Carmen; Carmen is still looking at you. Stupid soft scary eye contact. And his voice is so much quieter than the yelling but it’s the thing that you hear anyways.
“It looks tight.”
There’s a possibility that when you killed the teenage girl inside you that you also killed the feminist. Because there’s a small sub-sect of you that’s upset that he’s not objectifying you right now. That his vision is focused on you. Not the changes. He doesn’t seem to look at you any differently than when you’re wearing a jumpsuit and utility belt, covered in toilet water. This should not be annoying and yet it is.
“It is.”
He nods, eye contact unshifting, unblinking, “You wanna change?”
“Maybe after we find out whether or not your sister is in labour.”
He nods. He takes a second but he nods.
You approach him, rather, the door, knocking gently. Everyone quiets down.
You clear your throat, and once more, the persona is put on, you’re a paramedic, putting on that soft but firm reassuring authoritative tone. “E-M Rescue, I got a call for a wellness check on Natalie Berzatto?”
“Tony—” A groan of pain behind the door, “I am perfectly well! Everyone go home!”
You grimace, you motion with your hand for Fak to hand you a screwdriver— He keeps one in his breast-pocket, even when wearing a suit. Hey, you should start doing that.
“Nat, I’m a paramedic— Or I was—will you please let me in?”
“I don’t— Fuck! —Need a paramedic!”
“Never hurts to do a check-up, Nat.” You speak calmly, like you always did. “Listen, lover, if you don’t open the door, I’m gonna have to take it off its hinges, and we're gonna lose medic patient confidentiality.”
When she doesn’t reply after a good beat, you start to unscrew the top hinge; she can hear it, “Wait, wait, wait— Fuck-Fuck— I’m opening it!”
There’s another series of pained groans as she exerts herself to open the door, and once she does, it’s only by a crack, to look at you and you alone. She’s absolutely been crying. She speaks in a whispered tone. “Just you.”
You nod, handing the screwdriver back to Fak without breaking eye contact with her. “Just me.”
She cracks it open just enough for you to come in. And so, you do. Everyone is, for the first time, too worried about her shutting down to interrupt or yell a complaint.
You close the door behind you, pressing your back to it. You note the toppled over chair by your feet that she must’ve blocked it with. Plus the puddle of amniotic fluid beneath her. Oh fuck.
...
“You wanna talk or do you just want me to check your contractions?”
“I’m—” She shakes her head, covering her face. She half sits on the desk. “I’m fucking— I am not ready for this.”
“Yeah.” You nod. You’re not here to convince anyone they’re ready to be a fucking mother. But you’re here to listen, certainly.
“She’s gonna hate me.”
“Who?”
“Her—!” Her voice is choked, another contraction. You’re silently taking the time in your head. She points to her stomach.
“And— And we just opened, and— And I’m gonna have to go on maternity leave, which is the last fucking thing we need and— and— If I could just fucking keep her in!”
“Natalie.” You put a hand on her shoulder, she finally looks at you. “This is happening.”
“Not help—fu—ll.”
“I know it’s not. This is scary and there are no take backs—” “Very unhelp—”
“Nat, your daughter wants to meet you.”
You squeeze her shoulder; she looks like she’s gonna cry all over again for a completely different reason. “She probably won’t hate you. Who’s to say. But I know you’ll love her. And that’s enough, isn’t it?”
She nods, emphatically, but something is still bothering her. You squeeze her shoulder again. You whisper, so even if everyone’s ear is pressed to the door— Which you doubt, she’s screaming after all, they won’t hear.
“Carmen will still know you love him, even when you're not here.”
She immediately goes for a hug, you reciprocate with a shuddered ease. She sniffs, head on your shoulder. She stays there for a while before letting you go, nodding. “Okay.”
You hand her the tissue box next to her on the table, she takes it thankfully, crushing it in her hand. Another contraction. Oh, that couldn't have been more than 2 minutes. Oh fuck.
You kneel down in front of her, and you’re simply no longer in your body as a person but just the paramedic. You could not be more thankful that she’s wearing a dress today. Awkward requests of spreading legs and pulling off underwear aside, Natalie’s daughter does in fact really want to meet her. Oh fuck.
You look up at Natalie, between her knees, you speak cool, professional. “You’re crowning. This is gonna have to happen here. I'll have someone call your husband.”
You’re so calm that it doesn’t give Natalie the feeling or need to freak out, she just breathes. “Okay. Okay.”
You stand upright. “Do you prefer this office or somewhere else?”
“I can’t— Move.”
“Makes sense. Makes total sense. Okay. I’ll go get everything we need, I’ll be right back. I might send some people in, okay, love?”
She just grunts in reply, nodding, now that she’s not in as much emotional pain, she can entirely focus on her brutalizing physical pain.
“Oh, hey, I know—” You grab her purse, pulling out her phone and ear buds, handing them to her with haste, your calm demeanour is faltering just a bit. “Listen to some music, loud, y’know, chill…” You put the pods in her ear for her. She’s again, in too much pain to tell you to fuck off, and just plays her music loud.
You softly open the door, smiling just a bit too much as you leave, and very softly close the door behind you. Looking at the motley crew before you, your persona immediately falls apart. You really only wanted her to play music so you could scream. “Oh, my fucking God.”
“What’s happening, she good?” What a sweet, stupid brother, Sugar has.
You purse your lips together, eyes wide, shaking your head. “She’s going to give birth in like— Maybe six minutes. Max ten.” Everyone goes to speak in an uproar of panic, and then you slap yourself in the face. Hard. That stuns them silent.
“Alright!” You press your hands over your eyes, “Tina!”
She’s been around this block before, “What do you need?”
“Can you go sit in there with her? Tell her all the breathing exercises and shit? Keep her calm? Coming from you it won’t seem so—”
“Condescending as fuck?”
“Yes, exactly, can you?”
“Gotchu, baby.” She claps your shoulder when she walks past and into the office.
You clap hers in tandem, “Thank you, Mama—Okay, Richie!”
“Yeah?”
“I’m gonna need you to call Nat’s husband—”
“Why do I—”
“Because you’re a fuckin’ dad, Rich, and he will need you!” You’re yelling all pissed, snapping your fingers at him, but he does light up when you say it like that. “I don’t care if he wets his fuckin’ bed, tell him to get here!”
He salutes, walking off, “Aye aye, Cap’n Chip.”
You shake off the sting in your hand, God, you really did slap yourself too hard. You turn to the next targets. “Syd, Fak.”
Syd responds hesitantly for the both of them, since Fak is silently enjoying your colonel persona a little too much. “…Yes, C-Captain?”
“I need towels, a lot of clean towels— cloth ones, like sanitized clean— Warm half in water— And then I need a clean sheet— A table cloth or something, I don’t fucking care, something clean and big that you’re fine destroying. I need sterile sheaths, Syd you get those— Other than that, however they get to me, I don’t give a shit— Just scrub in before you touch anything!”
They almost knock into each other the way they run so fast. You yell after them. “Get the big sheet first, she needs to lay down!”
“Yes, Chef!”
You take a deep breath before moving your gaze onto Carmy. The screaming lead EM in you melts off your shoulders, just for the second.
He asks before you can even say anything, “Yes, Chef?”
“I need you to scrub in and get me gloves and an apron—” “On it, Chef—” “And you’re gonna sit in with me for the birth of your niece.”
He cringes, not to refuse, but just the mounting reality of the situation is dawning on him. His sister is going to give birth to his niece in their shared office of his high-class restaurant within it's first week of open.
But you then tag on, “Carmy, she needs you— Frankly, I’m not the one giving birth but fuckin' I need you. T-There.”
He softens instantly, like tranquilizing— Well, a bear.
“Yes, Chef.”
I know the opening probably feels so far away by now, but i do want to note that Breakfast Bruschetta is my own recipe that I used to make like every fuckin' day pre-employment. It's so goddamn good. I highly recommend it, babes. It's balsamic with brown sugar dissolved, btw, Carmy's just a quick explainer.
I wrote like a solid 75% of the labour sequence before deciding it just needed to have the breathing room of it's own chapter, so until next time for that one bbs. But I'm excited for it! And also dreading it! A lot of hard conversations combined with giving birth = nightmare to write, but well worth it, i think. Speaking of: I don't believe at the end of Season 2 that Sugar is at the end of her term of 36 weeks, but in our case here, she is. I'm very much so not interested in a very scary premature birth for our girl!! She's okay!! Dw!! I just wonked with time a little, hope that's okay.
And hey, look at that reveal! Bartender/Sommelier was code for bottle service-- Which is a very respectable career, btw, don't get it twisted-- I was critiquing it only in the way I would critique literally any other job: Misery Under Capitalism. And now we've got that fuckin' wedding in the future midst! Ah!!
Anyways please send me your thoughts ad nauseam, I reload my activity feed every 3 seconds to see what you guys are thinking. If you reblog, tell me what you think in the tags!! Yell at me in the replies!! Send an anon in!! I don't bite, I swear <3
#carmen berzatto#carmen berzatto imagine#carmen berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto x you#carmen x reader#carmy berzatto#carmy x reader#the bear fanfiction#the bear x reader#carmy the bear#the bear fx
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Never Ending ||m.yg||
Description: wasn't Yoongi the one that was supposed to give you flowers for no reason?
Genre: One-shot, Yoongi x f!reader, established relationship, fluff, Yoongi is literally the sweetest man alive (wbk)
WARNINGS: None, this idea came after seeing this really sweet like reddit post, it will be at the end of this post.
Word Count: 2.6k+
Ever since coming back from service, BTS’ comeback preparations had been nonstop. It was almost like their debut days, they started early and ended late, whether they were practicing the choreography for a new song or recording their parts again, or getting back into recording RUN BTS.
You and Yoongi had seen very little of each other, working almost opposite schedules with a Saturday or Sunday off sprinkled in where you would mostly sleep and catch up on what you had going on so far, having those little moments made all the time you missed him worth it, you loved them, it was how you were able to build your relationship in the first place.
You and him met when your best friend practically begged for you to come with her to a double date. Yoongi was the one you were paired with, and you connected almost instantly. You had so much in common, more specifically your mutual love for music and the art behind it, you had small dates where he would take you to his small studio space, he'd told you he was a trainee, and that he was set to debut soon with the guy your friend was on a date with.
A year later, the guy your friend dated didn't debut, but Yoongi did, and that's when the small gestures started, you were at every music show that you could be at, bought every album, and went to every showcase or small gig you could afford. Yoongi showed his gratitude in small ways, he would get you a single rose, or a small cheap necklace, or if he wanted to really treat you he'd save up and take you to a nice restaurant. And as his success grew he was able to give you more, although he wasn't one for extravagant gifts, he always gave you something that made you feel special.
Even whilst he was serving, at the end of each week when he came home he'd bring you flowers and your favorite food, you had never felt more loved.
And now that he was back, you wanted to show him just as much gratitude. He was working so hard to make their first comeback grandiose, and even if he was exhausted, he'd spend his days off spending his time with you only sleeping if you were accompanying him.
You decided to do something simple, you found a flower shop that did the most beautiful arrangements and you called, setting something up that you imagined Yoongi would like; they even gave you the choice to add some fruits, and what better for your boyfriend than to give him the absolute love of his life, tangerines. You hoped this would help him relax a bit, and feel your support even if you didn’t see each other much.
“Okay guys, why don’t you take five, hmm?” Sungdeuk announced to the room, the seven men and their backup dancers immediately heading for water or laying flat on the floor, the latter was Yoongi’s case.
“I said it in 2013 and I’ll say it again, I was told we would only rap, not dance,” Yoongi’s breathing was heavy as he spoke, causing his hyung and Jungkook who were laying on the floor to laugh. “This is good for you hyungs, at your old age you need to exercise to keep your joints healthy,” the maknae giggled, followed by chuckles and laughter around the room from their members and some of the dancers.
“Yah!” Jin yelled as he smacked Jungkook in the back of the neck.
“Yoongi-ssi!” he sat up as he heard their manager’s voice from the practice room door, “come to my office please,” Yoongi nodded, carefully standing up from his spot on the floor, softly kicking Jungkook after he loudly announced he was in trouble.
Yoongi giggled at the the whole thing, his mind slowly making his way back to you, he didn’t have to record anything today, maybe he’d go to his studio later and call you, yeah, that’s what he would do, they were told they wouldn’t be here till midnight today, and that they could sleep in tomorrow before they had to do some photoshoots for their upcoming album, so that meant he could get home before you did and make you dinner. You worked as a nurse, and unfortunately had been assigned 12-hour shifts the past couple of months; going into work at noon and getting out at midnight, by the time you got home and ready for bed, Yoongi would arrive, exhausted, but he still would want to at least have small conversation, your relationship was built with communication, and he wasn’t one to disregard it.
He met the man at the door and followed him to the elevator, reaching the floor where the offices were, they made it to his quickly, where Yoongi’s eyes almost popped out of his sockets when he noticed a medium-sized vase with a beautiful arrangement of flowers and small basket of tangerines. A little white piece of paper stuck out in the middle of all the flowers, Yoongi opened and he smiled so wide.
From Yn, just because. I love you ♡
“As you can tell, they are for you,” the manager chuckled humorously, “you better not fuck it up with her Yoongi-ssi,” he said candidly.
“I haven’t fucked up in 10 years, I don’t plan on starting now,” he kept re-reading your note, he thought your handwriting was beautiful, even when you didn’t.
When he made it back to the practice room with his flowers and tangerines his members immediately started teasing him, especially Jungkook. “Look at our hyung with his flowers! And they say chivalry is dead,” he would say, “yeah hyung, I thought you’re the one that’s meant to get her flowers?” Taehyung added, grabbing him by shoulders and ruffling his hair.
“Yah! Stop it, Ynie is sweet for doing this, don’t see how Yoongi hyung’s face is about to split into two?” Namjoon pointed out smiling, his dimples showing proudly.
They had lived together for 13 years after all, all Namjoon wanted was for his hyung to be happy, and the fact that you did that for him had his heart swelling with warmth. You were so good for Yoongi.
“I need you guys to talk me off of running to the jewelry store and getting her a ring,” the room went silent.
“You don’t have one already?!” Hobi piped up, smacking his shoulder, his good shoulder. Yoongi shook his head.
The guys look at each other, and then at Sungdeuk, “I don’t think no one’s going to talk you off of it Yoongi-ah, in fact, I think everyone should take the rest of the afternoon off,” he announced loudly, “you six, please help him set up,” he asked the other members who immediately pulled the cat-eyed man, grabbing all their stuff, including the flowers and tangerines, and headed out to prepare.
It was 8pm
They had made it to the jeweler just in time, they were lucky he owed Jimin a favor, otherwise Yoongi would’ve had to wait, and he sincerely didn’t think he could.
You guys had started talking more seriously about marriage about 5 years into your relationship, mainly because you had started to feel scared that with idol life, Yoongi would enjoy not being entirely tied down to a person. Thankfully that wasn't the case, and he'd promised you, when the time was right, he would get down on one knee.
He wasn't sure why it took him 10 years to come through with that promise.
Yoongi was grateful for your late nights of conversation after that, every so often you would have little YouTube marathons that would start with alcohol reviews and end in proposals, and he had remembered every comment you made about those rings, he’d also remembered the comments you’d made when one of your friends got engaged. He was able to find a beautiful ring, something he knew you’d like. His members helped get all the materials he needed, as they rushed to your shared apartment and started decorating the place, Yoongi and Jin cooked whilst the rest added finishing touches, at some point Jungkook went and got his camera, stating he’d be the one to stay so he could capture the moment.
Yoongi could complain about the maknae all he wanted, but there was no one as loyal and dedicated to his friends as him.
It was 11:30pm when they were finished, Jungkook and Yoongi were saying goodbye to the others as they made their way into the car they would have to share back to the HYBE building so they could get their own vehicles, they had all ran around in Yoongi’s car, a medium-sized SUV that barely fit all of them, but they managed.
“I call shotgun! I deserve it after going in hyung’s trunk,” Jimin ran after he had said his goodbyes, with Taehyung following closely behind as he whined about him getting shotgun, the rest walked away at a normal pace, not eager to deal with the soulmates and the game of rock-paper-scissors that they would certainly be playing.
Yoongi was pacing around, it was 12:48am now, you’d be home any minute now, Jungkook had hid behind the black sectional in your living room, thankful you had left some space between it and your wall due to the heating system. Yoongi started serving dinner, he’d kept it as warm as he could so that you could enjoy a warm meal before he asked what he believed to be one of the most important questions of your lives.
He heard the digital ping of you punching in the door code and he knew there was no backing out now.
You opened the door to find your house lit by small candles, your dining room table set up with your good plate set, and the flowers you had sent Yoongi as a centerpiece.
“Hi baby,” Yoongi smiled widely as approached you, kissing your lips softly, as if he was savoring you, “hey,” you sighed as he pulled away, as always he took your breath away, “did I miss an important day? Our anniversary has already passed, hasn't it?” you went through the different options nervously, and Yoongi could only chuckle at your silly concerns.
“No baby, I just wanted to thank you for the flowers,” he explained, taking your jacket off and grabbing your bag, putting them both away. You took off your shoes and slipped on your home one on, walking hand in hand with your boyfriend.
He pulled a chair out for you, you whispered a thank you and sat down; Yoongi left a kiss on your hair and went to sit down himself. He’d cooked your favorite meal, you both started eating, it was a comfortable silence at first, which you broke when Yoongi sat up to clean your dishes after you were both done. “How early did they let you all out for you to have pulled this off?” you asked him, supporting your chin on your fist as you watched him.
“Maybe…8:30?”
Your mouth dropped, he’d invested this much time to thank you for something so simple like flowers? You truly didn’t deserve him. Once he was done, he scrolled through his phone a bit, selecting one of the songs on the 3rd CD of Proof, he walked toward you and held out his hand, you recognized “Quotation Mark” almost immediately.
“We’re planning on making it a full group song,” Yoongi explained as he spun you around, making you giggle, how he wished to hear that sound forever.
And maybe, after tonight he would.
He danced around you, because truly they were planning on making it an OT7 song, and there was this bit of the choreo he had added for the purpose of what his plans were tonight. He truly hoped Jungkook was recording this, if you said yes like he hoped you would, he wanted to rewatch this every day until you were married, and eventually show it to your children. Here it came, the part that he’d be taking over once the song was done, the first half of Hobi’s rap was perfect for this.
“...Today, I make sure to throw my heart to you first, a safe landing with you, the catcher,” He got down one knee, pulling out the small velvety box from his pocket, you hands immediately covering your nose and mouth in shock, your eyes filled with tears as the song went on, Yoongi had stopped after he found himself tearing up.
“I’ve always known you were the one for me, you’ve been with me when I was nobody and when success came, you kept me humble, you kept my feet on the ground whilst being one of my biggest support systems. I told you when the time came, I’d get down on one knee, and your kind gesture today was what tied it all together for me, I don’t care if people think it’s not that big of a deal, it was to me.” your chuckled mixed with your sobs, “I want to be able to hear you giggle every day, and selfish as it maybe, I want you to be mine forever, would you marry me, Ynie?” the words left his mouth miraculously, as he was fully sobbing now.
Did your small gesture truly lead him to such a big decision? To join your lives as one was something you had dreamed of for a while, hell recently you’d had a dream of yourself and Yoongi dancing in what felt like cloud, with a beautiful white dress and him in one of those suits that made him look like absolute prince, you could only assume you dreamt of your wedding day.
“Baby my heart’s about to fall out of my ass please say yes,” he chuckled nervously, bringing you out of your thoughts. Poor guy, he’s probably watching you watch him and he’s thinking the worst.
“I’d like nothing more,” you thought Yoongi’s face would split in two, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you in for a tight hug “and I promise to send you pretty flowers and tangerines every chance I get, for the rest of our lives,” you whispered. Yoongi couldn’t help himself, pulling away slightly so he could give you the kiss of a lifetime, he knew how much you love his lips.
“She didn’t say no hyungs!” You heard Jungkook’s distinct giggle and muffled cheers.
“You FaceTimed them?!” Yoongi whined, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. His dongsaeng walked out of his hiding spot, camera in one hand phone on another hand, “I thought you were recording with it!”
“I was recording with my Samsung, you know when you post this video they’ll want to see that,” the younger rolled his eyes, bringing the camera over so you could see the pictures.
“I wish I wasn’t wearing scrubs for this,” you complained, thanking your lucky stars there was no puking or excess of blood spilled on you tonight.
“You could’ve worn a burlap sack and Yoongi hyung would still think you’re the most gorgeous person alive noona,” Jungkook laughed, causing your fiancé to blush intensely. And between the guys congratulating you and Yoongi actually putting the ring on your finger, it really hit you that he was now your fiancé, and that your biggest dream had come true.
Your life would have a never ending amount of love, laughter and chaos, and you wouldn’t want anything else when it came to Yoongi.
A/N:
Hello! Sorry this took so long to get to you! I had a plan for this and when I saw this particular like reddit story thing I just NEEDED to do it with Yoongi. I hope y'all like it!
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how you tell the boys goodbye when you see them off to work !
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Rafe !
you probably beg him to stay in bed like everyday even though you know he has to leave. like the beginning of the movie, “don’t worry darling” where alice tries to make excuses for jack to stay. “rafey please stay! ill be lonely without you..and! and im sick so who’s gonna take care of me?” and he just sighs because he doesn’t want to leave you but he is the man of the house and he has to work to give you all the things you want. “baby your not sick and you know I will be back, we do this everyday. im the one who has to keep you fed and get you all your nice things and I can’t do that if I stay in bed with you all day alright?” you pout at him knowing you can’t win, “c’mon give me a kiss before I leave.” you crawl to his side of the bed and stand on your knees at the edge of the bed facing him, you wrap you arms around his shoulders and kiss him deeply. rafe wraps his arms around your waist and slides them to the bottom of your ass, squeezing it firmly. “alright sweet girl, I gotta go but I will see you tonight and I left my card on the table. go buy something with your girlfriends and pick up the delivery of flowers that are coming today for you. ill call you and I love you, okay?” you nod your head showing him you understand, “mhm I love you too rafey! have a good day and come home soon!” blowing him a kiss as he walks out the bedroom door.
Jj !
since jj is always working outside jobs in the heat I feel like you would have to make him a lunch everyday before he goes. sometimes it could be leftovers from dinner last night or you could wake up early to make him a sandwich and fill it with all the snacks he likes. so currently, you are in the kitchen whipping up two sandwiches for jj in his oversized t-shirt, bonnet and fluffy slippers, moving from the fridge to the counter, your panties peeking from below every time you reach up for something. your boyfriend waking up from his slumber, scratches his neck, “g’morning babydoll, what you making f’me today?” reaching over to you and hugging you from behind, you smile and beam from the warmth of his chest. “good morning jayj! making you a scooby doo sandwich with chips and gatorade along with..” you ramble to him talking about all the snacks you stuffed his lunch box and he slides his hands up and down your curves, placing little kisses on your neck making you wince, “mmm jj you have to go to work!”
“I know cupcake but just a little bit..” you probably start your day with a make out session every morning because he can’t get enough of you, but when the two are done, you see him off at the door handing him his lunch box, “I love you jayj! have a good day at work nd I hope you like your lunch!” and he smiles to himself while putting his lunchbox around his waist, getting on his motorcycle. “see you later baby, I love ya and ill see you later.” along with a flirty comment probably, but you see him ride off to work with a grin on your face.
Barry !
I think barry cares for you too much to let you stay at his trap house so he never lets you go over there cause it’s dangerous, meaning he bought a apartment when the two of you started dating or he stayed over with you sometimes. but currently he was staying over at your house sleeping next to you. he would wake up first and make you breakfast, so usually you wake up to the smell of bacon and eggs. getting up in your pajamas walking into the kitchen with sleep still in your eyes. barry turns around, and sees you, “good morning sleepy girl, I made you some breakfast before I leave so si’down.” you mumble a quiet “g’morning bear..” and do as your told taking a seat in the cold chair to wait for your boyfriend to give you some food. you two talk for a while about the plans for today and you finish your breakfast. “I gotta leave now princess, some people waiting for me to show up but give me a hug before I go mama.” you smile and run up to him, melting in his touch, you look up at him from his chest giving him a peck. “please be safe bear..I love you and call me!”
“mhm will do ma’am, I love you too and get s’more sleep aight?” you nod and kiss him goodbye at the door.
<3
#obx fluff#rafe outer banks#barry outer banks#jj outer banks#obx x reader#rafe cameron#rafe x reader <3#barry x reader <3#jj maybank x black!reader#jj x reader <3#john b was supposed to be in this but his ass doesn’t have a job so I didn’t write for him 😇#I was also supposed to post this tmr but I got to keep yall fed 🙂↔️
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"to get rid of sleep deprivation headaches, you should sleep between 7-9 hours at night-" no fucking shit google, do you think i would be googling this rn if i could sleep???
#damien.txt#day 4 in a row of not being able to sleep at night and having to go into work with god awful headaches#i know i've seriously fucked up my sleep schedule and so it's a bit my fault but like. jesus fucking christ brain can we please#have one nice thing. just one nice little time where we sleep and it's all good and fine#i literally have an exam today /: and it's a 3:30 class so im going to be dead on my fucking feet#and technically i have a night class from 6:30-9:20 but i've already decided im not going because i think i will actually pass out in it#this is really bad for me because so genuinely caffeine doesn't work on me. so i am full raw-dogging the exhaustion#and every single day this week has gone at a snail's pace bc i've been so tired. and none of it feels real. like im not processing it#which is so bad bc literally im like a week and a half away from finals. i have SO much to do. but my body has given up fr#probably Because im so stressed. but it's making me more stressed#everything is so cyclical. fuck. i just want to sleep. but i have to get ready for work#wish me luck /:
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we work so hard we put our hearts and soul on everything that i/we post/do and i hate it cuz it always the BULLSHIT (i Said its bullshit bullshit BULLSHIT) things that gets admired/gets relevant/are serving, that people praise, i work so hard to post content of the things, i work so hard to do something coherent, portray the characters coherent, i study/absorve the things and seems like i never will be somebody/my things will never be considered relevant as those BULLSHIT things, those people that come out nowhere inventing bunch of nonsense/ruining the things are more admired and praised for serving content than me💧💧(me that always was there and always give so much💧), i think the way i/we do the things/our contents are cool/coherent, but it's never them the things that people like💧
#I don't feel comfortable saying what was exactly the reason of the trigger#Just know that i cried in the bathrom for almost 2 minutes and i still with a bad feeling in my chest/heart#Opened up to marina ceased a little the trembling and high anxiety but still#I wish were my/our things that were the things that are remembered i wished i was the one that was considered is serving content💧#But this feeling cuz at the same time i want to be the one i don't want to give anything to people and don't want to motivate them...#And i know we have that power and i don't want make them feel hyped i want people to get BORED to get NOTHING to a point where they will...#Lose interest and gone FOREVER but infuriates we being right here being the ones that work sooooooooooooo hard and...don't get anything💧#I certaily sure the major trigger was this ao3/fanfic thing (i fuckin hate it this feeling somedays i feel i cured but i not#(Sigh) i hate this it seems like i ruining the day/the vibe i enjoyed watching this n1mona but when i get triggered it changes everything#Sucks watch a self-accptance movie and then get triggered by ask of someone praising a fucking blog saying how much this person is serving.#Content for the community fandom how much there things are amazing how much they are amazing when for me is all BULLSHIT💢🔥#I...wished my/our things were the right#But has another part of me (that its the true one) that i don't want them to engage/like cuz it's personal for me it's personal i don't...#Like to share cuz it's personal ITS MINE THING and don't people to TOUCH IT💢🔥#Sucks watch a self-accptance movie and then get sad cuz you feel you as a person is no one/anything/unrelevant/nobody likes you💧#But it's not gonna be a movie that will make this thought go away or change that feeling#reflection#I wish someone could understand it too or say something like ;no your contents are good what you serve is nice/cool and maybe even better#I just will be here wishinig💧certaily sure nobody will get it or say anything#I don't like to feel like this cuz when i like this i don't know what to do💧i feel lost nothing heals only thing that last to me is sleep#And pray to the next day i forget about it#I feel a Sadness mixed with a fuckin RAGE/ANGER💢🔥
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could you write fem!BAU!reader x spencer, where reader finds out she’s pregnant while they’re on a case, like maybe she takes a test when she’s at the hotel and spencer hasn’t come back yet
(lack of) convenience | S.R.
who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader
category: fluff
content warnings: pregnancy, nausea, vomiting, spencer reid is unfortunately perfect. vertigo. fun pregnancy symptoms.
word count: 2.04k
a/n: and so, the spencer reid dilf agenda continues. this is my legacy.
It came over you just after Spencer and Rossi had left to investigate a lead. This case was going nowhere fast, and the morale in the FBI field office clearly displayed it. “Are you alright?” JJ asked from right next to you, blonde hair curtaining around her face.
You nodded tightly, enough to show the newly minted profiler that you were, in fact, not alright. Nonetheless, you were motivated to push through. People were being murdered, you could brave a little vertigo to bring their killer to justice, right?
“Hey, you look a little pale,” Emily said, walking into the conference room with Hotch trailing close behind her. “Are you feeling okay?”
Rolling your eyes dramatically, you huffed at both of your coworkers. “I’m fine,” you insisted while your head was spinning. You lowered yourself down into an office chair, hoping that being sedentary would prevent your dinner from coming up.
Emily looked over at Hotch before saying, “Maybe you should head back to the hotel, it’s been a long day for all of us.”
Furrowing your brow, you frowned at your colleague. “I’ll make it through, we have work to do,” you insisted, flipping open a file as your stomach churned.
“You’re no help to anyone if you’re sick,” Hotch told you authoritatively, and you knew from his tone that he was going to send you back to the hotel. “Get some rest, we’ll start taking breaks in shifts,” he instructed, turning back to the evidence board.
It didn’t feel like shifts, especially considering you were the only one being cast off. You mumbled an acknowledgment while you stuffed your things in your bag. JJ offered to drive you, so the two of you exited the field office.
The two of you spent most of the ride in silence, just the fuzz of the SUV’s radio as background noise while you tried not to hurl in the government vehicle.
Once you were in the hotel parking lot, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to get your bearings before heading inside. “You know, I used to get sick in the evening when I was pregnant with Henry,” she said offhandedly.
It felt like a pointed comment, even if she didn’t mean it like that. You started fishing in your pocket for your room card, “But I’m not pregnant.”
“Are things good with you and Spencer?” She asked, looking for details on your relationship like an older sister. JJ killed the engine before turning to face you.
Sighing, you looked at her, “Things are great with Spencer.” You wanted to scold her for prying, but you knew it was an occupational hazard. It had been seven months, and all you had been telling anyone was “great” or “nice.”
The both of you knew that the more details you gave them, the more they’d want to pry. Penelope especially. “You know he wants kids, right?” She pushed.
You frowned at her, “Jennifer.” She put her hands up in surrender as you hauled yourself out of the SUV, “I just want to go to sleep, I feel awful.” That much was true, as you stood up outside the car, your stomach started to roil again.
“I’ll check in on you later,” she said, recognizing that she had begun to pry. “Let me know if you need anything,” she urged you, the mom in her coming into play.
Nodding, you shut the door before poking your head in the open window, “Thanks, JJ.” You said, turning around and walking to your hotel room.
Luckily, the team was already checked in, so you didn’t need to waste time trying to explain the whole ‘I’m an FBI agent’ thing to the front desk. Once you got into your room, you immediately dropped to your knees in front of the toilet, eyes burning as you upchucked into the toilet.
While you were digging through your go-bag for your toothbrush, you found yourself thinking about what JJ had said to you in the car. You couldn’t be pregnant. Well, you supposed you very well could be pregnant.
Sighing, you returned to the bathroom and started brushing your teeth, having needed to take the toothpaste out of Spencer’s bag. You made a mental note to buy more for your bag – you had been using his for the last four cases.
You silently cursed JJ for planting the thought of a baby in your head as you stared out the hotel window to a convenience store on the corner. At the very least, you could get some saltines and a Gatorade. At the very most, you could get a test.
Begrudgingly, you changed into more comfortable clothes and walked across the street to the convenience store. Grabbing a sleeve of crackers and a drink before stopping in the family planning section.
Why were there so many options?
Not wanting to draw any attention to yourself, you grabbed a digital test off of the shelf and tossed it into your basket. Your shoes squeaked on the linoleum floors as you elected to use the self-checkout, not needing to provide anyone with a front seat to your misery.
Other than the nausea, your trip back to the hotel was uneventful, and thankfully it didn’t look like anyone else on the team had made the trip to your lodging.
After you took the test, you set a timer on your phone, tossing it onto the bed before you sat on the edge of the mattress, sitting on your freshly washed hands. The timer scared you when it went off, not expecting the two minutes to go by so quickly before you returned to the bathroom.
Flipping the test over, the wind was knocked out of you as you read the results.
Yes +
You didn’t know how long you had stared at the test, but the sound of the lock on your door engaging pulled you out of your stupor. Thankfully, you had done the latch on the door, so you had a few extra minutes to toss the test in your go-bag before you went up to the door and let Spencer in.
“Hey, love,” he greeted you, dropping a kiss on your forehead. “How are you feeling?” He asked caringly, someone must’ve told him you weren’t well. You hoped that was all they had told him.
Humming, you leaned into his touch for a moment before he herded you to the bed. “A bit better, but not much,” you were slightly less nauseous now, possibly because there was nothing left in your stomach. There was a dull ache in your chest though, likely a result of the information you were now aware of.
He hooked a finger under your chin and studied your features for a moment, “Were you crying?” He whispered with concern-filled eyes.
You shook your head, “I threw up.” You informed him, the lack of oxygen had caused your eyes to water – similar to a yawn. Meanwhile, your head was spinning as the words balanced precariously on your tongue, I’m pregnant.
Spencer pouted sympathetically, smoothing your hair away from your face before he felt your forehead, checking for a fever. “I’m going to take a shower,” he announced softly, “do you need anything?”
Pathetically, you gestured over to your Gatorade and saltines, silently letting him know that you were all good for the night. It was only about eight in the evening, but you were exhausted. Letting your head flop onto the pillows, you sighed before shutting your eyes.
“Hey, Y/N,” Spencer spoke up in an unfamiliar tone. “What is this?”
Crinkling your nose in frustration, you propped yourself up on your elbows, looking over at Spencer as he held up your test. Your positive pregnancy test. “Would you believe me if I told you it wasn’t mine?” Clearly, in your panic to hide the test, you had tossed the blue stick in Spencer’s bag. Your subconscious must’ve recalled that you had gotten the toothpaste out of that bag, so you thought it was yours.
Any confusion fell from his face, and in that instant, he knew exactly what was going on. “You’re pregnant?”
You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, you couldn’t tell how he was feeling. “I-“ you swallowed thickly, the roiling in your stomach picking back up again. “Yes,” you answered in a small voice.
“When were you going to tell me?” He asked, there was no accusation in his voice, just pure curiosity and wonder. When you stayed silent, his eyes narrowed, “You were going to tell me, weren’t you?” He said, his volume raising from a whisper to a normal speaking level.
Pulling yourself up into a sitting position, you protectively crossed your arms in front of your stomach. “Oh my god, yes, I was going to tell you,” you clarified quickly. He didn’t seriously think you were going to hide this from him, did he?
He shook his head in confusion, “Then why hide it, angel?”
Shrugging, you thumbed the soft fabric of your sweatshirt, “I wanted time to think about it.” The admission hung in the thick tension of the hotel room.
“Okay,” he said slowly, walking over and sitting across from you on the mattress. It was clear to you that he was dealing with this situation delicately. “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you about this, but I excel in thinking,” he told you.
His implications were clear to you, he wanted you to talk it out with him. “I want kids, you know I want kids. I know you want kids,” you blurted. It was something you had talked about early on in your relationship. Spencer had been very upfront with you about wanting children, he told you he needed to be with someone who also wanted that.
Spencer tilted his head to the side, “but?” He said gently, taking both of your hands in his, holding on to you.
“It’s too soon,” you whispered, feeling vulnerable on the bed with him.
He smiled at you softly, “Have I ever told you about the first time I knew that I was in love with you?”
The question left you understandably confused, “What?” You breathed, silently pleading for clarification.
Spencer nodded, “We were on a case in North Dakota, and there was this little girl who had just lost both of her parents.” The case did sound familiar, the more brutal ones involving children tended to stick with you. “We were waiting for a social worker to come stay with her, but they were stuck in a snowbank across town. Instead of working on the case, you sat down with her and taught her how to play cat’s cradle.” His voice was soft, almost placating you.
You hadn’t even realized you were crying until tears fell onto your intertwined hands, “Spence, that was years ago.”
“Two years, nine months, and thirteen days ago. I fell in love with you while watching you put a smile on her face despite the fact that it was the worst day of her life,” he said, skimming the pads of his thumbs over the backs of your hands. “I fell in love with your ability to make people feel good when the world is against them,” he murmured.
Taking a shaky breath, you looked up at him through bleary eyes, “What if we can’t protect them?”
Gathering you in his arms, Spencer let you tuck your face in the crook of his neck, “I’ll do whatever you want, Y/N. We can leave, I could be a professor and you could be a stay-at-home mom. If you want, I could stay with the BAU and you could stay home, or you can stay with the team, and I’ll stay home. Whatever you want, Y/N.”
Silently, you absorbed his words as you caught your breath, “I’m scared” you whispered.
“I know,” he murmured, “that’s okay. It’s okay to be scared.” He tightened his arms around you and rocked back and forth.
Allowing yourself to lean into him, you breathed him in, “You’re going to be such a good dad.”
He dropped a soft kiss on the crown of your head, “You’re already such a good mom.”
#criminal minds#spencer reid#criminal minds fanfic#spencer reid fanfic#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#written by margot#criminal minds fluff#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fic#criminal minds fic#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid angst#criminal minds angst#spencer reid hurt/comfort#criminal minds hurt/comfort#margot's requests#spencer reid dilf agenda#anon
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needs
3.3k, joel miller x virgin f!reader
joel master list
Summary: Joel wants to find a bed before you go all the way, but neither of you can wait that long.
A/N: Follows ✨ Fires (1.6, prequel), Aches (900), and Thoughts (1.6), but can read alone.
WARNINGS: I8+, big girthy age gap (20/50s), still only one sleeping bag, pining, c*ck hunger, fingering, grinding, masturbation, oral m receiving, cum eating, unsafe P in V, reluctantly pulling out, loss of virginity, pet names, praise, POV alternates, NO Y/N.
“God have mercy,” he mutters to himself.
He's gonna give it to ya good one day, but not yet. Not in a sleeping bag on the forest floor. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet, he tells himself . . . Your first time shouldn’t be like this. Shouldn’t be here. But god damn . . .
-------
It’s all over your face. He’s never seen anything like it, the way you crave his cock. You shamelessly stare at his pants. His whole body, really. You were bad enough before you touched it, and it’s only gotten worse. You can’t focus, you can’t listen. It’s dangerous. He should put a stop to this, take it away cold turkey. Sleep back-to-back. But you both have needs, and he's not gonna do that.
Joel feels like he might as well be a virgin himself, it's been so long for him. Frankly, he’s dying to put it in you just as much as you long to have it. He’s been trying to wait until Jackson so he can do it somewhere safe, somewhere a little nicer, more comfortable.
He wants to wait and make sure it's nice and special for you, but good lord, you’re makin' it hard. You make the sweetest little sounds when he touches you, and even when he doesn’t, like in your sleep. You ask him things like, “doesn’t sex feel better than hands?” He tells you half-truths, like “not always.” Of course it would with you. Of course it would.
-
You’re in the forest. With dusk approaching, you're just about to set up camp while there's still light. Joel is taking a leak at the edge of a small clearing, calculating mileage in his head, counting down the days ‘til you should get there. His back could use a real bed, too. He's shaking his dick dry and a twig snaps behind him. His head whips around and he reaches for his gun.
It’s you. God damnit, he could’ve killed you.
“Can I see it?” you ask.
“What the hell are ya doin’ over here?”
“I just wanna see it.” You look down toward his jeans. “Can I?”
It’s fair that you’re curious, he knows that. You mentioned it the night before with your hand wrapped around it, I wanna see it, really see it, I bet it’s good looking. You’ve only felt it at night and caught glimpses in the moonlight. At the time, he mindlessly reassured you, you’ll see it, baby, you'll see my cock, and he should’ve known you’d spring this on him.
“Not now,” he mutters, trying to calm his heart rate. “Can ya gimme a second, honey?”
“Okay.” He can hear the sadness, practically see the disappointment on your face. God damnit. He tucks himself away and zips up. You're only about eight feet away. “Now?”
“No. Ain’t nothin’ to see right now.” You probably don’t realize what a big difference it can make.
“What do you mean”
“Just trust me, it’s not how you wanna see it.”
“Why?"
“Cause it ain’t as. . .”
“Ain’t as what?”
“Nothin’, baby. Just not the right time.”
“Better if we’re close together, right?” You step closer.
He closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, and takes a deep breath. “This ain’t the time or the place, honey.”
When he looks at you again, your face has fallen, and you mumble, “K.”
He puts a big, comforting hand on your shoulder and walks you back to where y'all are setting up camp. “When we find a bed, I’ll show ya. . .”
"And when we find a bed," you repeat. Don't say it, don't say it, he prays to God you don't say it. "We can do it, right?" He doesn't answer. "You can put your cock inside me, right?"
Fuck, you're gonna drive this old man crazy. At least one of you needs your wits about you if you'll ever make it to Jackson. "We'll see," he sighs.
After a moment of silence, your voice trembles as you ask, "We'll see? Why not yes?"
"Cause we ain't gonna make it there at this rate," he complains, then sighs with instant regret. "I'm sorry, honey. But you gotta try to knock it off with this stuff."
You swallow and your eyes glimmer. "Sorry," you whisper.
He turns away to adjust himself, then sits down on the ground, leaning back against a log and extends an arm for you. "S'okay, c'mere."
You sit on the ground next to him. He squeezes your shoulder and changes the topic to twenty questions.
——
He’s nicer at night. He’s nice in the day, too, mostly. Once in a while, you can tell you’re annoying him, and you feel bad. If only he knew how many times you thought about it and didn't say something, he’d appreciate your efforts. It’s practically all you think about. It’s even worse now that you feel it in your hand every night, but the last thing you want is for that to stop.
You had been thinking about it all day when you finally asked what you thought was an easy request – if you could just see it, just a glimpse while he already had it out anyway.
Even if you don’t get to see it, at least it’s easy enough to recall what it feels like. Smooth, warm, and stiff. Soft veins, tiny wrinkles. A leaking slit.
—--
“Can I taste it?” you ask one night with your little fist wrapped around his shaft.
He groans quietly. “Yeah, you wanna taste it?”
“Yeah,” you whisper, your hand sticky with the lube of your own slick, a bead of precum under your thumb. You smear the precum and let go of his hard cock, making it slap against his stomach. You take your thumb into your mouth and hum, “Mmm,” at the salty taste.
“Whatcha think,” he whispers breathily.
“Can I have your cock in my mouth?”
“Oh, baby, ‘course ya can.” The zipper of the sleeping bag jingles, then you hear the satisfying zzz as it unzips. He folds it down and you get up on your knees. You bend at the hip and don't waste a second. You wrap your thumb and forefinger around the base, trying and failing to make your digits touch.
Then, your lips wrap around the head. He inhales sharply through his teeth.
“Did I hurt you?” you ask.
“God no, honey. Go ‘head, taste it all ya want.”
You curiously tongue the slit and suck for more.
“Oh god damn,” he breathes.
You lick around it under the crown and you’re salivating.
He wraps his hand around yours and moves it up and down, then leaves you be. “Use your spit, honey.” You let it dribble out of your mouth and onto his tip and catch it in your fist. You kitten lick the shaft, tasting your own tang, and letting your saliva fall out of your mouth as it accumulates, occasionally sliding the open ring of your finger and thumb up and down but mostly forgetting because you’re so focused on it in your mouth.
“Ya like that, sweetie? ya like how we taste?” You take a couple inches into your mouth then suck a little more of it in. It twitches against your tongue. The biggest vein throbs.
“Alright, baby,” he pants and takes it from you. He urgently pulls up his own shirt, slides his hand a few times, then comes with a groan, his voice and pulsing manhood making you ache with need, even though he already made you come. You stay there on your knees. In the dim moonlight, you watch his tummy rise and fall with the shiny trail leading to, and pooling in, his navel.
“Can I taste that, too?” you ask.
“Yeah,” he nods.
You dip your tongue in the trail below his navel. It’s thicker, headier, saltier than the precum. It’s not every day you get to taste something new. It’s not often at all. It's delicious.
“Like it,” you whisper.
“Yeah? take all ya want.”
You lick and seal your lips as you suck it up. You pause to pluck a hair from your teeth, then continue to his navel. You dip your tongue in and his stomach flexes abruptly. You take your mouth off and pause. “Sorry,” you whisper.
“Nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout.”
You tongue his navel, then suck, and he inhales a chest full of air as you do it, his stomach rising into your lips. You lick up every drop.
“Good girl,” he sighs and cups your cheek. “Such a good girl," he sighs.
—
All day you think about it in your mouth, in your hand, resting hard against your back, between your thighs. You imagine it all over your body. Doesn’t matter if he’s pressing it up against your hip or resting it in the crook of your elbow, God, you just want to feel it somewhere. You try not to think about it inside you too much because that makes you want it so bad, you could cry. Like really cry.
It’s not a want. It's a need. You see it happening everywhere you look. You see a tree, and you imagine him sitting on the forest floor against it, holding his cock at attention, ready for you to sit on it. You see another tree and he’s pinning you up against it with your legs wrapped around him, jeans pulled down under his ass as he rails you. You see a patch of moss and cluster of ferns that would be a nice pillow with him on top of you.
You think about it, and you dream about it, too. You can’t help that. He starts wearing jeans to sleep, and you can’t feel the shape of him quite as well against you, but it doesn’t matter. The fact that it’s there and it’s hard is enough to drive you mad. Even after he gets you off, it's bound to come back at some point in the night. Worst case scenario, you lose sleep over it. Best case, it works its way into your dreams.
----
One night, you're moaning in your sleep again, and Joel can hardly take it. His cock is painfully stiff and the strain against his jeans makes him ache. His hips press into you on their own; he can't stop them. All he can do is take off his jeans in hopes that being free of the rigid confines will lend some relief. He was wearing them as an extra layer between the two of you for this exact scenario, but he can no longer bear it.
On one hand, he’s taking precautions, like keeping his jeans on. But on the other hand, in the heat of the moment, when he’s touching you, he’s taking measures to prepare you, and to see how ready you are. Lately, he scissors his fingers, inserts three to see how you take it. “Good girl, that’s real good, honey.” He curls them inside you, “Ohhh, baby, you’re takin’ this real good.”
God, he wants a bed for this. You deserve a fuckin' mattress at the very least. He’s gotta wait. And yet now he finds himself taking off his jeans. He carefully removes them without waking you up. He lies there with his fist around his cock for a minute, still in his boxers, doing nothing but softly squeezing, as if that’ll make it go away. Then he resigns himself to the magnetism of your body. He curves his form around yours again and silently sighs as the hardness in his boxers rests against you and he wraps you in a hug. He manages not to thrust against your ass, but in no time, you're pushing yourself back against him. "Joel," you mumble in your sleep.
"God have mercy," he mutters to himself.
He's gonna give it to ya good one day, but not yet. Not in a sleeping bag on the forest floor. Not yet. . . not yet. . . not yet, he tells himself, taking deep calming breaths. Your first time shouldn’t be like this. Shouldn’t be here. But god damn he wants to take that tight little hole.
"Joel,” you whine and push back on him again. He can't stand it. He really can't. He has to wake you up.
He whispers, "Whatcha dreamin 'bout, sweetie?" then feels your breathing change.
When you blink awake, your hips are slowly moving, pushing your ass back into Joel's hard cock until you stop yourself.
"Sorry," you mumble. "Did I wake you up?" The sweet sound of your voice isn’t helping.
"Don't be sorry, baby," he murmurs into your hair.
"I dunno how to stop it," you whisper. "I'm sorry."
"Nothin' to be sorry 'bout, baby doll." He hugs you tight. “Don’t be embarrassed.” His cock swells harder against you. He whispers in your ear, "They want each other real bad, that's all."
"I know."
"Have a good dream?"
You sigh. “Yeah.”
“‘bout what?”
“I dunno if you wanna hear it,” you tell him. Fair enough, he's told you to knock it off, after all.
“Sure I do, honey. Was it you and me?”
“Yeah,” you wedge your hand between your legs.
"You want a hand?"
“Yeah.”
“What’d ya dream?” he asks as he reaches into your panties. "God damn," he whispers. You're soaked, swollen, and your clit is throbbing against his hand. "Poor thing." He thrusts his hardness against your ass. "No wonder you're tryin' to get at this, huh?"
You're quiet.
"No wonder ya can't stop thinkin' ‘bout it." He thrusts against you again and moans softly. "What'd ya dream, baby?"
“It was. . .” you can hardly form words thinking about it. It was so vivid, so real. “We were right here, like this.”
“Yeah?” He uses your ample moisture to lightly rub your clit.
He begins to make peace with himself that this might happen before he wants. He hooks his fingers into your panties. “Let’s take these off for a lil bit, hmm? Let her breathe.”
“Okay.” You bend your knees as he pulls your soaked panties down.
—-
"We were right here like this, in the dream?" He repeats.
“You took it out of your pants,” you whisper. He moans softly, takes his hand away, and jostles behind you. Then you feel his naked cock against your skin. Your breath hitches and you whimper at the contact. He returns his hand between your legs and lazily circles your clit, pressing his naked dick against you.
"Took it out like this?" He asks soft and deep.
"Yeah,"
He thrusts against you and whispers in your ear, "Then what?"
"You put it between my legs."
He inhales sharply then wedges his cock between your thighs, shuddering as he slides it forward along your dripping seam and the head meets his fingers on your clit.
You tilt your hips and he whispers, "Oh, baby. Like this?"
"No, you put it inside," you whisper.
Joel's breath hitches and he twitches against your heat. You moan. He slides slowly through your folds to your clit and back. He tries to slow down and think it over, but there are no thoughts, just his stiff, aching cock and your tight little pussy begging for it.
——
“Will you do that,” you ask, looking over your shoulder but not enough to meet his eyes.
Joel takes a deep breath. “You think I should? Don’t wanna wait for a bed?” He thrusts in small pulses. “Just a few days, baby.”
“They wanna be together real bad,” you whisper. “how they’re meant to be," you remind him.
Joel groans at your words. “I know, baby doll.” He takes a deep breath. “How’d it feel in your dream?”
“Full, really full,” you tell him, then sigh. “Felt so big.’
“Ohh, fuck,” Joel breathes into your hair and slides his cock against you, wet and stiff.
“It was like I was hugging you with my, um,” you say, then swallow and tilt your hips. "Hugging it."
“God damn,” he sighs. He pulls his cock back, and as he slides it forward again, it catches at your entrance. You spread your thighs ever so slightly. “You sure ‘bout this,” he confirms, and uses the hand between your legs to nestle his tip just inside. You gasp.
“Yeah,” you nod. “Yes, please. Joel, please,” you whine. You push back on him with a small grunt, stretching yourself open on his tip.
“Oh god, baby,” he sighs, then he holds you still and slowly pushes himself inside with a quiet groan muffled by your hair. “Fuck, you’re–ohh, you’re tight.” You gasp as his girth parts your walls and your body makes room for him. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you nod urgently, and he twitches inside you.
You shiver with pleasure as he pushes further and sighs, “Oh, baby.”
“Joel,” you whine, “its so big”
“Too big?”
“No,” you reassure him. “I want it.”
He pushes the rest of himself in until his pelvis is flush. He breathes heavily and mutters, “fuck.”
You moan and push back on him. “s’perfect,” you whine.
“you like havin’ me in here?”
“I love it,” you say.
“As much as the dream?”
“More than the dream.”
“What happened next?” he asks
“Then you it moved like you do in my hand.”
“Yeah,” he begins to rock his hips, his thick cock dragging inside you. “Like this?”
“nnngghh–yeah,” you nod then gasp as you're filled by his length again. “ohhh,” you moan. "And then you came inside—”
He groans, then pants as he’s moving inside you, “Ohh fuck, sweetie I can’t—ohh, I can’t do that, uggghh–god damn.”
“Felt so good, like a massage”
“Ohh, baby, please don’t–”
“And warm”
“Fuck,” he breathes and covers your mouth with his free hand, bicep flexing under your neck as he does it. No way he’s gonna last with you talking like that.
He begins to slowly move again and you whimper. You’re right, it is like you’re hugging him. You’re so tight and wet for him, taking his cock so good.
"Good girl," he whispers, burying his length in you every second or so, only pulling back halfway each time.
"Such a good girl, wantin' my cock so bad." He moans. "Waitin' all this time—uggh." You push your hips back to meet his thrusts. "That's my girl, takin' me so good," his next thrust is harder and you moan. "Yeah, just like that," he breathes. His hand teases your clit as he fucks you. You whimper and he repeats, "just like that," his voice shakier, his breath heavier on your ear, “yeah.”
You moan into his hand, and his fingers circle your clit. “C’mon, baby,” he pants. “Gonna come on my cock?” You nod and hum your agreement. “Better do it now, then, you can do it.”
You let go and your clit pulses madly, your walls clench down on him. It feels so good, your eyes well up in tears.
“Ohh, baby,” he sighs, and suddenly pulls out. He replaces his cock with two fingers that your cunt begins to hug. “Such a good girl, squeezin’ my fingers.”
His aching arousal presses against your ass, and he humps against you as he fingers you. “Ohh, yea--ohhhh.” His cock begins to pulse, spreading a silky warmth across your skin. He moans and sighs as you finish coming on his fingers and his balls empty.
—-
He uses a shirt of his to clean you up. As his breathing calms down, he hears you sniffling. “Hey, hey, you okay, sweetie?”
You’re fine, more than fine, but you can’t talk.
“Shit,” he mutters to himself when you don’t answer. He peeks over your side, gently stroking your arm. “Hey, c’mere, talk to me, sweetie.” You turn around and face him. “You okay, honey?”
You nod and smile at him with watery eyes.
His brows knit as he finishes catching his breath. He kisses you on the forehead and wraps you in a hug. You sniffle again and he speaks into your hair. “I know that was a big deal for you, baby.” He pulls his head back and tilts your chin up. “It was big for me too, okay?” You nod. He reads your eyes, then presses his lips into yours. He reads your face again, then repeats the kiss and you kiss him back. He kisses you on the forehead and holds you, stroking your head. You fall asleep holding each other face-to-face.
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Thank you so much for reading and engaging! Your comments and reblogs go a long way in motivation so if you liked it plz consider saying something 🫶. There's a virgin section on my joel master list right above the one shots. Left in Lincoln is a pretty similar Joel, in terms of how he is with you sexually. For more Joel POV, the most recent raider, Night Air, has a lot.
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#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller fic#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal#pedro pascal smut#toxicanonymity ☠️#joel miller x innocent reader#joel miller x virgin reader#pedro pascal characters#joel miller fanfic#tw virginity loss#Finally F*cking Friday
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istg that “just because you’re beautiful and a good kisser does not mean i forgive you.” “you think i’m beautiful?” is sooooo eddie coded.
i'm picturing a sorta enemies to lovers with eddie pulling yet another prank on reader (we all know this boy has the emotional maturity of a five year old when it comes to making a move on the girl he likes) but he really does hurt her feelings this time so he tries to make it up to her and they end up kissing.
from what you've written before i think you could put a great spin on this sorta scenario, if you feel like it <3
hope you like it! :D — you're eddie munson's biggest enemy. and, yes, you're also his soulmate. (enemies to lovers, secret relationship, 0.9k)
bug's one year celebration ♡
You storm into the bustling lunch room, having traded your pretty corseted blouse for a piece of oversized Corroded Coffin merch — definitely not by choice. “Do you have a death wish?” you ask when you reach the Hellfire table at the very back of the cafeteria, zeroed in on its leader at the head of it.
Eddie turns slowly, blinking up at you with innocent button eyes. His chews through the hamburger wadded in his cheek. “Potentially,” he answers, muffled before he swallows it down.
You huff, too easily frustrated. It isn’t any wonder why he likes to mess with you so much. “Where are my clothes?”
“The ones you left on my bedroom floor last night or…?”
“No, you idiot— The clothes you stole from the girl’s locker room. Which makes you a total perv, by the way.”
“Oh, that sexy little number?” he croons, turning in his seat to face you more. “It’s in my locker, actually.”
“Well, get it out,” you say with gritted teeth.
He thinks for a moment, pursing his lips to the side. “Hm… I don’t think I will.”
Your jaw tightens. “Why?”
“‘Cause it’s a little revealing, don’t you think?”
“Well, yeah, that’s kinda the point, Munson.”
He smacks his lips against his teeth, then scrunches the bridge of his nose. He wags a sarcastic, ringed finger at you. “See— Those aren’t the values a nice girl like you should have—”
“God, you’re infuriating,” you groan and stomp off again.
Eddie smiles to himself while he watches you go, cheek tilted lazily to his shoulder. The only thing he likes better than seeing you come (in more ways than one) is watching you leave.
He sighs a deep, contented sigh and turns back to the rest of the table. They’re all wide-eyed and silent, still musing on the sudden interaction with the disbelief that it had happened at all.
Eddie only grins, wider this time. “Ah… She’s obsessed with me.”
—————
By the end of the school day, your blouse hasn’t yet been returned to you. You’re still stuck in the stupid shirt Eddie had left for you — all black, too big, and obviously his. You know it belongs to him because you’ve worn it thousands of times while sleeping over at his place. It smells just like him, like weed and cologne and boy.
You’re heading towards the exits when a hand pulls you into an abandoned classroom around the corner — pale, ringed, and lanky. As if you needed any further confirmation it was Eddie Munson.
You stumble in, and he locks it behind you.
“Don’t you think you’ve bothered me enough today?” you squint.
“Oh, so you don’t want your shirt back?” he teases, waving the thing in his free hand. You reach for it, and he snatches it back, smirking softly down at you. “Uh-uh. What’s the magic word, sweetheart.”
“Give me my shirt back,” you answer in a monotone.
“Not even close, but I’ll give you a kiss for it.”
You sigh like it’s a chore for you and lean in to kiss his cheek. Your lips just barely graze his stubbly jaw. Eddie shrugs. “You missed, but I’m feeling nice today, so—”
You snatch it from him when he hands it to you. “You can’t keep doing this, Eds. We’re supposed to hate each other.”
“Well, one, we do hate each other. Obviously,” he scoffs and leans back on one of the desks. It shifts under his weight, and he stumbles. He decides to sit on it completely while you laugh. “And two, this was, like, a genius prank on my end. I made my arch nemesis walk around in my shirt all day— you’re not giving me enough credit for this, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, except I got called the freak’s girlfriend all day.”
“By who?”
“Who do you think?”
He ponders for a moment. “…Jason?”
You nod, all slow because it’s obvious. The only one who hates Eddie more than you do is Jason Carver. You wonder if he’s secretly in love with the town freak, too.
“Well, it’s about time he knows who you belong to,” the boy says with a laugh. “He’s only been trying to get with you for two years.”
You cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t belong to anyone— I’m not a toy.”
“Well, yeah— only when you wanna be,” Eddie teases, reaching out for you. His ringed fingers curl around your wrist to pull you closer. You sigh in annoyance but walk between his thighs anyway.
“You’re so annoying.”
Eddie grins, pink and boyish. “But you like me anyway. So who’s the real loser?”
“I thought we hated each other,” you quip with narrowed eyes.
“I was kidding— Just kiss me.”
You giggle quietly and lean in to peck his lips. He tastes like nicotine and spearmint, mouth soft like flower petals. You get lost in him too easily. One peck becomes two — then three — then a longer, languid, and more drawn-out thing.
You feel Eddie smile against you, knowing he’s won now that you’re melting for him. You pull away with a smack when you regain your senses.
“Just because you’re pretty and a good kisser, doesn’t mean I forgive you, by the way. You know that, right?”
“Mhmm,” he hums mindlessly, already leaning forward to kiss you again.
You pull softly back. “And that I’m totally getting you back for this?”
“Yep.” He pecks your lips once, with a lot more self-restraint than you’d had. “So… When are you coming over to get the clothes you left at my place last night?”
#published by bug#eddie munson x reader#stranger things x reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x you#eddie munson#stranger things#stranger things imagine#eddie munson imagine#stranger things fic#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fic#st drabbles#eddie spaghetti drabble#event: bug turns one
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so idk where i got this idea but mercenary!ghost x fem!reader because he's scary and mean and dangerous but then he sees some girl's ass in light blue denim.
notes about reader: as always, i tend to write readers described as curvy because im curvy and we deserve attention from 6'4 beefcakes who are soft only for us. reader is a civilian.
mercenary!ghost (part 1/?)
cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dark!ghost, mentions of ghost's past canon trauma (domestic abuse + violence), mw3 spoilers, violence and gore + mentions of murder and extortion, mentions of reader + domestic abuse, protective!simon, size kink (reader is described as much smaller than simon, easily manhandled by him), pet names (luv, bunny + rabbit, puppy, angel face), reader learns she has a dark side and she likes it, nsfw thoughts about reader, suggestive touching (fem!receiving)
the sound of the burner phone pings on the desk in front of him. when he picks it up, he narrows his eyes as he reads the message displayed across the screen.
DEPOSITED.
when he opens his laptop, his eyes scan over the balance on an offshore account, and he relaxes when he sees the hefty balance climb just a little higher. he closes the device once he's satisfied with what he sees; and like always, he tastes the warmth of that satisfaction. it's a nice high, but it won't last, and then he'll need to feed the gaping hole that lives in him.
it remains hungry. he has never been able to close it--it has only ever gotten wider, ripped at the seams and torn at the edges every time another body close to him drops.
the high is poison. but even if it kills him, no one will miss him. so he picks up the handgun that lays haphazard on the bed, and he tucks it into the back of his jeans.
he passes by the mirror as he fits a dark denim jacket over his shoulders. he stares back at himself, a recognizable beast of a man staring right back. he pulls his hoodie up over him, and in the shadow of it, all he can see are his dark eyes, pale skin peeking through the eyeblack that has lightened up with the wear of it throughout the day.
he craves something strong and warm tonight. he itches for something soft, too, something that makes him forget the red on his ledger, even if for only a few hours.
there is nothing quite strong enough to wipe that kind of stain away. he is nothing if not a reaper, and he buries bodies with the same tenacity that he had when he wore his country's flag on his chest. this time, however, he does not take orders--he names his price.
he thinks something is wrong with him. some used to say that it was his courage that brought him back from the dead--that his heart is too strong, his will to live too much, and that is how he continues to open his eyes and live another day. but he doesn't agree with this thought, because he doesn't really think he feels anything at all.
he doesn't feel human. he doesn't feel alive. the only thing that makes him feel any sort of vulnerability is how red his own blood is when he bleeds. when his scars heal jagged and crooked, it is because there is something underneath the skin. but he feels nothing inside--no remorse, no guilt, he is not sorry.
he does not check to see if those men are innocent. he does not care about the names that end up on his list. he doesn't ask questions. and he thinks something is wrong with him because he sleeps at night just fine now; the nightmares have gone. he is alone, and it is peaceful.
there are no voices. there is only silence. and there is something wrong with him.
the pub is quiet. it is a weekday, and the only patrons are here after a long day's work, and they all look into the depths of their half-empty glasses hoping to find relief there. there is none, but they will finish their glasses hoping it might be dissolved in the alcohol.
he asks for two fingers of bourbon. it stings when it goes down, but then it settles warm. he is poured another two fingers of it, but before he can pick it up, someone else grips the glass and tips it back to swallow it down.
the glass hits the wood of the counter with an echoing thud, and you cough out a fuck as you settle into the seat beside him. you run a trembling hand over your face, and he notices immediately the red of your knuckles and the splitting of the skin there. they are fresh; the bruising is still new, and the blood is just barely beginning run down the back of your hand.
he leans over the bar, swiping the whole bottle of bourbon, and he silently pours more into the glass, hitting it towards you before picking up a new glass and filling it generously.
"who's the lucky bastard?" he asks, and your eyes flick to the cuts on the back of your hand before going back to the dark swirling colors of the drink.
"i'm sure he'll be coming in here any second to introduce himself."
the pub doors slam open, and there is a man coming in, chest heaving, dark hair falling over his forehead in sweaty curls that do nothing to hide the clear bruise on his face the split of his lip. his eyes move over the room before they settle on you, and his boots fall heavy as he makes his way over.
ghost sees his intentions clear immediately. the way his hand twitches at his side, the angry glare, the uncontrollable urge to hurt and to take and to control coming off of him like steam.
he has seen this kind of man before. this man was the one that kept him up at night as a child. this man was the one that scared his mum, that drove his brother to chase vices, that tore apart a house that should've been filled with something warm and sticky and kind into one marred with teeth, rotten and putrid and forgotten.
his hand goes for the back of your neck, and you close your eyes and tense in the anticipation, but it never comes. a strong hand grips his outstretched one, and the man cries out as ghost twists it behind his back and uses his other hand to slam his face into the wood of the bar, trapping him there.
the bartender does not even flinch, just continues to wipe down glasses. the patrons continue to stare into the abyss of their sorrow.
you jump a little, your head snapping to the side where the man squirms and sputters, his face going pale from the paw of a hand gripping him by the back of the neck and shoving his face into the counter. if he pushes any harder, you wonder if it'd splinter and fray, dig into the bones of his bruised cheek.
"this man botherin' ya, yeah?"
your eyes finally flick up. you do not know what you expect, but it isn't this. you can only see his eyes; they scare you. you do not lie because you aren't entirely sure how far his kindness will go.
"yes," you whisper, and when the man tries to spit at you, a rough gloved hand grips his curls and positions his head against the edge of the counter, forcing his mouth open until the top row of his teeth bite the wood.
"y'keep talkin' to her, n'it'll be the last time you talk, hear that, mate? y'talk to me, n'me only."
you swallow hard, and the man trembles. a strong boot hits the back of his knees, and then he's crumbling to the ground, his jaw straining as the counter is still forced against his mouth. hot, pained tears come down his face, and then he addresses you.
"what did he do?"
"bad first date," is all you can manage to sputter. he grips the man by the scruff of his neck before pulling him off to speak, tilting his head to the side as he observes the begging man on his knees.
"y'try to put your hands on'er?"
"i-it wasn't...like that! i-it was just a mis...a misunderstanding, please! please--please tell him--!"
"don't like fuckin' liars either," is the only warning given before his mouth is forced to bite the counter, and then a sharp elbow comes down on his head. you jump in surprise at the suddenness of it all, and you close your eyes when you hear the crunch of teeth being broken. his scream is enough to rattle the pub, but when you look around, it's as if nothing at all has happened. it is quiet, and all the bartender does is shake their head.
when you open your eyes, he's crawling on his hands and knees out of the pub, and what he leaves behind is a mess of blood and teeth and fluid that are splattered against the floor at your feet. you shake as you look up at him, stiff in your seat and soft tears coming down your face.
he towers over you. you have to tilt your head back between your shoulders to look at him face-to-face. you cannot see his face; he hides it behind dark fabric, but his eyes talk loud. they are dark, and they are dull, and you realize as you stare up at him that he is not phased in the slightest by what he had just done. in fact, he steps into your space, and the squelch of blood under his boot doesn't seem to bother him. he wears black, and you wonder, momentarily, if he wears such a color to hide the red hiding between the threads of the fabric. the red he can't wash away.
"let me look at ya, little rabbit."
you flinch when he knocks your knees apart, spreading them to make space for the width of him. he reaches up with one gloved hand and grips your chin, tilting your head to either side to see if you are hurt anywhere but your hand. when he is satisfied with his observations, he cups the expanse of your throat, smoothing those big fingers along the pulsing vein there and feeling the way you swallow.
so alive. so soft. a pretty little bunny, dropped into his waiting hands.
his eyes fall, and he takes you in. wide hips that take up the seat you're sitting in, hugged so nicely by light blue denim jeans. they curve over the swell of your ass, and he wonders how much of it would fit in his palm--he thinks about how it might feel to spread them apart and taste the succulent sweetness that he knows exists between your thighs and how your mouth might look slack jawed and wide open for him.
you look like a good girl, even with bloody knuckles.
then he follows the line of your shirt. it's a simple t-shirt tucked into your jeans, but the neckline gives a nice peek of you and the curve of your tits--they sit so nicely there, all perky, and ghost thinks they look lonely. they would be better off in his mouth or squeezing his cock between them or pebbling between his dirty gloved fingers.
filthy. disgusting. he is scarred all over, and you look so soft and sweet, with those tender puppy eyes and the way your lips tremble, and he bets you kiss all soft and slippery. he bets your cunt is tight and with enough coaxing, he could make you drench his skin with something decadent and slick, with whatever drools into your panties. he imagines it is there now, even as you tremble and shake and plead with your eyes for him to let go of your throat.
but ghost is not a good man. he does not feel; he is not a man at all. he is a beast in the shape of one, disguised, and he brings misery to everything he touches. he knows he will do it to you, too--touching pretty girls, he leaves them with burns. they are not the same after they are with him, and he wants to feel bad about it, he wants to feel something, but he does not. he feels nothing.
"you olright, luv?"
you nod frantically, putting a hand over his wrist that holds you, and he almost laughs. your hand is so much smaller than his own. if he squeezes his hand just a little harder, he figures it would not take much to break what lies beneath it. he leans in, and you gulp when your thighs trap his hips. he is warm, a furnace that burns, but you relax when the side of his mask nuzzles against your face.
he is a dog, and he is fond of you.
you should run. you should hit him like you hit your wretched date, and you should run, far, away from him, swear off men for good and never allow one in your space again lest they be as beastly as this. you should run while you can, but you are a bunny not yet in his trap, and you still have time to escape.
but then both of your eyes open at the same time, and his eyes meet your own, and then--oh.
the cage snaps shut. it rattles around you. it is small and confined, but you don't realize what it is yet because you can still breathe, and it is still warm, and you are still soft and alive and here.
your face softens, and his eyes flicker down to your lips as you lick them. maybe he was right. liars are bad. men like the one you were with before were scum. you had been with men like that before, you had seen the destruction they brought to those they thought they loved. when they wrought fear and made others bleed, they never got in trouble. no one cared to do to them what they deserved because they silenced their lambs and slaughtered the light out of them.
it is biblical--an eye for an eye. if they take from you, why can't you take from them?
it is brutish men like this one that do what others are too timid to. your thighs close around his hips, and you feel something digging into your leg, something metal and heavy tucked into his jeans. a weapon, but you imagine it is a mercy because you have an inkling that what he does with his hands is so much worse. bullets are clean and fast; his hands are not.
johnny would tell him to let you go. he does, over his shoulder, spitting at him to leave, to let you slip through his fingers and find your way out, to open the cage.
the wee lass--look at 'er angel face. let 'er go--not meant for this, LT. she scares. 's in 'er eyes. won't last.
but he does not feel. he is not human. there is something wrong with him, he knows it, but he doesn't care. he will ruin you, and he should feel bad, but he can't, he doesn't. and then there it is--your eyes are flickering low, eyeing the mask, and you are wondering how much effort it would take to push it up and lick into his mouth, taste him, suck the warmth of the bourbon from his mouth and replace it with your own.
he will kill again. the cage is shut, it is locked, and he is watching the bunny in its cage, watching as it becomes aware of its surroundings, takes in what is new. but just like he figures, just like he knows, this little bunny has no idea what this cage is. she has no idea she is even in one.
fuck what johnny says. if johnny was like him, if he was not skin and bone but steel and reptile, he would not have died. he would have come back. he would have moved his head, shaken the blood off, and gotten back up, but he didn't, and he's not here, and he's not real--so fuck what he thinks, fuck what he says, fuck him because he left me, and i'm all alone, and if i don't devour and eat and tear apart, i will wither away because i am not me, i am something else--
he smiles under the mask. you notice it, the slight movement there, and you smile, too, suddenly. his hand falls, and the back of his knuckles graze over the swell of your breast, down your stomach, and then he's gripping your waist. that hand slips behind you, and you brace yourself with both hands on his chest as he cups one side of your ass. possessive and suffocating--you think maybe you should run again, but you don't want to.
you want something more. you want something a little rough, something a little sharp. you want something to tell you that a little blood is good sometimes. that answering blood with a little more blood was exactly how it should be. that we don't have to be docile, to back down. you want to be told that it's okay to bite.
there is something wrong with you.
#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost mw2#ghost cod#ghost call of duty#ghost mwii#ghost x reader#cod#call of duty#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley smut#dark!ghost#dark!simon riley#dark!simon
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I would like to share a few head canons for Gale Dekarios being in love with tav/you. If you liked this one and have a request for another character let me know. These ones have just been percolating for a bit.
In Battle
He tries very hard to stay near you. He doesn’t like it when you go off on your own. He knows he doesn’t quite have the strength of Karlach or the sure footedness of Astarion, but he’s not just going to let you fight everyone on your own.
Sometimes he gets a little hurt that you always put yourself in harms way/take so much of the damage on the battlefield. Don’t you know that losing you would destroy him?
You have never witnessed it, but according to the other party members he goes feral if you’re knocked unconscious.
When you wake up it’s always with your head cradled in his lap as shadowheart works on the worst of the wounds.
He does this thing with his magic where he makes his hands really cold. It feels nice on your feverish skin as he gently smooths your hair away from your face, you don’t know why you feel so nauseous and sweaty after you black out but this little gesture helps you come back smoothly.
He has a hard time sleeping after a rough encounter. He keeps waking up and making sure you’re still breathing. In the end he gives up on sleeping and just reads by the fire, calming his nerves to the sound of your steady, stable breathing.
In Camp
He is hilariously fussy about what you eat.
“No, you ABSOLUTELY CANNOT subsist off of a loaf of bread, three olives and a bottle of wine. We are no longer young scholars barely SCRAPING by—“
Very resourceful when it comes to what you can scrape together out of barrels around camp. You were very skeptical when you watched him putting a variety of different bones into a cauldron as you left him back in camp one day. But you came back to a rich stew full of potatoes, some wild rice and even some cut up apple in the mix.
He likes it when you play with his hair. But he has to very pointedly avoid it if he’s in the middle of reading up on something.
“Darling, are you certain you’re not practiced in the arcane arts? I do think you’ve got some magic in those fingertips of yours, at the very least, with how quickly they can put me to sleep.”
When You’re Alone
It’s simple. He worships you. Perhaps it’s because his last lover was a goddess but it seems to come easy for him; the reverent words, the gentle touches, the utter devotion. Sometimes you catch him just… looking at you. His eyes softly hooded, a relaxed curve to his lips. It’s your favorite to ask what’s on his mind when he looks at you like that.
“Hm? Oh, nothing much. I’ve just been observing. Did you know you purse your lips when you’re reading something that you disagree with? Yes—hah—just like that.”
He loves to read WITH you. Especially loves to show you some of his favorite tomes. He’ll get you all nestled up against him and hold the book down in front of you. He reads much faster than you, so he busies himself kissing behind your ear or playing with your hair until you turn the page.
Gods does he love it when you ask him questions about something to do with magic. He loves watching the glint in your eye when he’s helped you understand something.
You love it when you get him rolling on a topic of theory that you know he doesn’t get to talk about much. Sometimes he loses you when he gets into the minutiae, but he’s so damn cute when he’s ranting about the wonder in the world.
In Intimate Moments
(Potential NSFW below.)
Of course it is not a surprise that he’s a generous lover. What is a surprise is how demanding he can be when he feels like it. He knows you are no stranger to a challenge and he loves to make things more exciting by presenting you with one.
“Of course I’m aware of our companions in camp. But it’s not as if we can afford ourselves more privacy. You’re just going to have to quiet those lovely little sounds you make while I touch you… let’s see… it was here wasn’t it? Ah, ah… shhhh, my love. Those pointy ears of Astarion’s might pick even that tiny sound.”
Gods does he know how to string words together to leave you completely undone.
Sometimes foreplay is mostly talk. He can get you going without even touching you.
“My love, I’ve not been able to stop thinking of the ways I want to touch you all day. Shall I tell you what’s been on my mind?”
His breath tickles against your ear as his hands smooth over your clothed body, telling you how he wants to take you. It’s all the more flustering when you know he always keeps his word.
Love making always starts with a kiss, deep and slow.
You feel him smile into the kiss when he slips his fingers into the front of your trousers and he feels just how aroused he’s made you.
“You are exquisite. A delicacy of the highest quality. Do you know that?”
He’s not one to bang it out for a quickie. He doesn’t like to feel like he’s stealing his time with you, or like he’s a young man again and hastily getting whatever he can before heading back to the dormitories. Every touch, every word, every thrust is slow and deliberate. He wants to relish the feeling of it all. He wants to soak you in.
Somehow, he always smells good. Like cinnamon and tea and… some earthen, herbaceous scent you cant place.
So many cuddles after you’re done.
#bg3 tav#bg3 tav and gale#gale headcanons#gale dekarios#gale x tav#gale x reader#gale of waterdeep#bg3 headcanons#bg3 romance
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PLEASE!!! im on my hands n knees begging. poly!mauraders with a hyper partner that give off golden retriever vibes I BEG
Happy to oblige my love!
poly!marauders x golden retriever!reader ♡ 1k words
Sirius is still in the process of waking up when you come inside, bags of groceries in your arms.
“Morning!” You lean over the top of the couch to kiss his cheek as you go by, all but skipping into the kitchen. “Have you been outside? It’s gorgeous.”
Sirius levels you with a deadpan look. “Do I look like I’ve been outside?”
“You should,” you say, undeterred by his attitude. “Spring is in the air! The sun is out, the trees are starting to get their little flowers—I even bought us some tulips to put on the table.”
“That’s nice,” he mumbles, sinking deeper into the cushions. He knows he really should help you unload the groceries, but it feels like his bones have been replaced by barbells. Luckily, he hears a set of footsteps coming down the hall.
“Hey, sunshine.” James comes in fully dressed, pecking you on the lips before starting the coffee machine. “What’d you get?”
“I got tulips,” you tell him excitedly. “Have you been outside? It’s a really lovely day.”
James smiles, sliding one of the bags away from you as you start snipping the stems of your tulips so they’ll fit in a vase. “Yeah, I poked my head out for a sec. It is nice.” His glance slides over to where Sirius languishes on the couch, grin going somewhat cocky. “Morning, Sirius. You could help with the groceries, you know.”
Sirius waves his hand. “Two of you are enough.”
The coffee machine starts to gurgle, summoning Remus like a siren’s call. He trudges out of the bedroom, sleep clinging to his frame. Sirius opens his arms commiseratingly.
“It’s hardly ten,” Remus grunts as he collapses into them. “How have they already been productive?”
“I know, they’re so perky.” Sirius pets down the cowlick at the back of his boyfriend’s head. “It’s freakish.”
“You’re freakish,” you say brightly, bringing them each a cup of coffee. Sirius has no clue how you’ve managed to unload the groceries so fast, or where you found the time to doctor his coffee the way he likes it. You’re like a machine. You laugh giddily when he nips at your fingers as you pull away. “Remus, wait until you see the weather outside, it’s so perfect. I think we should have a picnic. What do you say?”
“I say it’s too early for decisions,” he mumbles, sitting up off Sirius so he can drink his coffee. “But that sounds nice.”
You beam as if you’ve gotten a full-stop go-ahead, breezing back towards the kitchen. “We can make brownies,” you say, bringing your vase of tulips to the table, “and sandwiches, and lemonade. And we can go to that park with the stream—what’s the one?”
You look to James, who in turn looks to Remus.
“Mayfield,” Remus says.
“Right! We can go to Mayfield park, and hike over to that meadow-y area.” Sirius glances your way, and you’ve already started taking down the ingredients for brownies. “It’s so sunny and nice out, you guys won’t believe it. We can bring a frisbee or something.”
“Hiking and frisbee?” Sirius murmurs to Remus. “I don’t like the sound of all this activity.” Remus snorts.
“That sounds great, angel.” James apprehends you before you can start pouring things into the mixing bowl, putting a mug of decaf tea in your hand and steering you towards the living room. “I think these guys are going to take a bit to be ready for all that, but I’m sure it’ll be fun.”
“Right.” You look a bit abashed, sitting down criss-cross-applesauce in the big armchair. “Yeah, we don’t have to go, like, right now. You guys just woke up.”
“Thanks for noticing,” Sirius says wryly. But when you fidget in your seat and he can feel James’ glare boring into the side of his head, he throws in an eye roll of feigned reluctance. “Get over here.”
You happily transfer into his lap, letting him brush your hair aside and squealing when he plants a wet, squelching kiss on your neck. Remus, sensing that Sirius’ attention has a new captive, leans back into James, who winds his arms around Remus’ middle gamely.
“Now why would we go outside,” Sirius asks, nosing at the underside of your jaw as you giggle and squirm, “when we can just do this all day?”
“You could just as easily do it outside,” James points out. Sirius whines petulantly against your skin, setting you giggling again.
“He’s right,” you reason, transferring your tea to your other hand so you can wrestle Sirius away from your neck. “We could do this in the sun, with wildflowers and trees around.”
He pouts. “But you know I burn easily,” he says, “and poor Remus’ hip can’t take the hike.”
“You don’t know what I can take,” Remus huffs, and Sirius realizes he’s chosen the wrong avenue for his argument. “If my hip hurts, it’s only because your mum was so rough last night.”
“I don’t particularly enjoy being compared to Sirius’ mum,” says James. Remus’ ears go a bit pink as he mumbles an apology.
“I won’t let you burn,” you tell Sirius. “You can use sunblock, or we’ll find you a nice shady spot. And Remus, if your hip’s bothering you, we can always find another park. One without a hike.”
Any vexation that might usually be summoned in Remus by mention of his aches and pains melts away in the face of your earnestness. “Thanks, dove, but I’m alright,” he says. “It’s fine today.”
James rubs the skin just above Remus’ hip lovingly, and you send him a beaming smile. “It’s probably because it’s so nice out,” you say.
“Yeah, Sirius,” James turns on him. “It’s so nice out. Do you really want to miss out on what could be the single most beautiful day of the year?”
Sirius really could give a shit, but he sighs, rolling his eyes. “Fine, let’s picnic.”
“Yay!” You won’t be contained any longer, hopping up from his lap. “I’m going to go get the frisbee.”
“The frisbee’s in the attic,” Remus muses, then raises his voice so you can hear him. “Don’t go up in the attic by yourself.”
“I can get it,” you call back.
“Don’t,” he warns. “You need someone to hold the ladder, just—” The ladder groans as it comes down and Remus echoes it, starting to stand. But James pats him on the shoulder, encouraging Remus back down as he gets up.
“Slow your roll, angel,” he calls ahead. “I’m coming.”
#poly!marauders#golden retriever!reader#poly!marauders x golden retriever!reader#poly!marauders x reader#poly!marauders x fem!reader#poly!marauders x you#poly!marauders x y/n#poly!marauders x self insert#poly!marauders fanfiction#poly!marauders fanfic#poly!marauders fic#poly!marauders fluff#poly!marauders imagine#poly!marauders drabble#poly!marauders blurb#poly!marauders scenario#poly!marauders one shot#poly!marauders oneshot#james potter#james potter x reader#sirius black#sirius black x reader#remus lupin#remus lupin x reader#marauders#marauders fanfiction#marauders fandom#hp marauders#marauders era#marauders x reader
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Best friend!Eddie x Fem!Reader
Summary: Your best friend gets a lot more than he bargained for when he walks in on you wearing only your Hellfire Club t-shirt.
Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), dry humping, thigh riding, cumming in pants
WC: 1.2k
A/N: Reader is described as wearing an oversized Hellfire t-shirt. This is her shirt, not Eddie's. There is no indication of her size whatsoever.
--
Once I had a love and it was a gas
Soon turned out had a heart of glass
Your toothbrush is clenched in your hand, but instead of cleaning your teeth, it serves as a microphone while you dance around your bedroom. The stereo is playing loudly; you can’t even hear the creaking staircase floorboards over the music.
Seemed like the real thing, only to find
Mucho mistrust, love’s gone be—AAAAH!
Your palm flies to your chest when you see Eddie standing in your doorway, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.
“And here I thought I was the rockstar in this friendship,” he smirks, arms folded across his chest.
Your heart rate slowly returns back to a pace that won’t send you to an early grave. “Jesus, Eddie! What are you doing here?”
“Figured I’d stop by,” he replies nonchalantly. “Y’know, you probably shouldn’t leave your front door unlocked while your folks aren’t home. Anyone could walk in off the street.” He flops onto your bed with an exaggerated exhale, looking pointedly in your direction. “Nice pants, by the way.”
Nice pants? You’re ready to sleep; an oversized Hellfire tee serving as your pajamas. You’re not even wearing—oh.
You tug at the hem, but even after years of wear, it doesn’t stretch below your thighs. Heat blooms in your face. “Yeah, well,” you sputter, “I wasn’t expecting visitors.”
Eddie pouts. “You mean you didn’t wear that ‘specially for little ol’ me?” He ducks as you hurl your toothbrush at his head. He opens his mouth to say something before quickly clamping it shut, but not before you notice.
“What?”
“N-Nothing.”
You cross your arms, more firm this time. “What?!”
“When you, uh, threw the toothbrush…your shirt…” His face turns bright red as he scrambles to explain. “…it, uh, kinda rode up.” His Adam’s apple bobs nervously.
“It’s just underwear. You’ve seen me in a swimsuit before.” You try to hide your own embarrassment, playing it off coolly, but all you can think about is the fact that Eddie Munson saw your panties.
He nods, wiping his palms on his jeans. “Right, yeah. Totally the same thing.” He clears his throat. “Well, I should get going.” He pushes on his knees, starting to stand up, but abruptly stops. “Actually, um, maybe I’ll hang out here for a bit, if you wanna maybe put…put something else on.” Pink embarrassment blooms in his cheeks, spreading down his neck.
“No, I’m going to bed, and you’re leaving. We can get breakfast tomorrow morning or something.” You sigh when he doesn’t move, making your way to where he’s sitting. “C’mon, time to—”
Eddie attempts to hunch himself over, but there’s no hiding the hardening bulge straining behind his zipper.
It’s only natural, you tell yourself. He’s a twenty-year-old guy; he’ll get a boner if the wind blows the wrong way. It doesn’t mean he’s into you.
“Shit, I’m sorry. This is super weird, and I shouldn’t have come in without knocking.” He buries his head in his hands. “Just…give me a sec, okay?”
“Okay.” Now’s your chance. If there’s any time to find out if he’s into you, it’s when he’s sporting a stiffie in your bedroom. “Or…I could help you with it?”
His head whips around so fast that his curls are a blur of brown. “Wh-What? Like, help me…?” He’s desperate for you to finish his sentence, not wanting to say something that makes the situation even more awkward.
“I can help you get off. If you want. Or you can just use my bathroom and, I dunno, rub one out.” You cringe at the phrasing. “No pressure.”
“Um, yeah. No pressure.” His thumbs circle each other, an anxious habit he’s had for years. “So if you were gonna help me out, what would that look like?”
You shrug, a half-smile gracing your lips. “I guess I’d do this first.” You place one hand on each of his shoulders, straddling his waist with your bare thighs. “And then I’d kiss you?”
“Mhm, please.” Eddie grips your hips as you lean in, mouths finding one another in unhurried splendor. He tastes like stale Camels and spearmint gum, only breaking the connection to trail his lips down your neck.
It’s your favorite spot to be kissed, and the way his teeth nip at your flesh, tongue gliding over the mark as though sealing it in, has you grinding down on him.
“Christ, honey,” he breathes, “you look so goddamn perfect like this.” His fingertips dig into your asscheeks possessively before one hand snakes its way up your shirt. You expect him to lift it above your head to expose your breasts, but he doesn’t.
“Y-You can take it off,” you stammer, feeling silly as you say it aloud.
Eddie shakes his head in refusal. “Next time.” Next time. It’s a promise you hope he’ll keep. “I just love the way you look in this shirt.” And nothing but this shirt, he thinks to himself.
The friction of your cotton panties on his denim pants is delectable, providing just enough pressure to your aching clit. You’re greedy in your movements but make sure to give him what he needs, too. Your pussy rubs against his clothed cock; Eddie uses the hand on your ass to help guide your hips.
“Thassit, oh, fuck,” he grunts, teased with the beginnings of an orgasm. “Right there, baby. Ohmygod, I’m gonna cum in my fuckin’ pants.”
“S’okay,” you murmur into his ear, gently biting the lobe, “‘m close, too. So close, holy shit.”
Sweat beads along his upper lip, his groans more needy and guttural. “‘M coming, ‘m coming, ‘m coming.” He babbles pathetically as sticky, wet warmth floods his boxers. You follow his lead, finishing on his somehow still-hard cock.
The immediate aftermath is filled with panting breaths and sporadic giggles as the pleasure high fades and reality sets in.
“Did we just—” Eddie starts, eyes wide in disbelief.
You laugh, resting your forehead on his shoulder. “Mhm. We sure did.”
He rakes a hand through his curls, frizzy from perspiration and activity. “So, um, what do we do now?” There are many unspoken questions woven into it. What does this mean for our friendship? Do we even have a friendship anymore? Was it as good for you as it was for me?
“Well…” You sit up a bit straighter, toying with the chain of his guitar pick necklace. “We can throw your stuff in the wash, and maybe while we’re waiting, we can get started on that next time you’d mentioned earlier?”
Eddie grins, kissing you with a fervor like you’ve never seen. “What are we waiting for?” He tugs off his pants and boxers, unashamed of the way he’s painted them with cum. When he notices you staring, he winks. “‘S a lot, isn’t it? Imagine how much it’ll be when I’m actually inside you.”
It doesn’t take long for either of you to find out.
--
#eddie munson#eddie munson smut#eddie munson stranger things#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things fanfic#stranger things#fanfic#smut
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Omg I love Persassy LOL. I was thinking maybe you could do an imagine where Percy knows about Luke and Reader but doesn’t like it and sasses them all the time but so basically Luke and Reader are kind of having a “date night” but in Luke’s cabin and they’re just like laying in his bed and stuff but the morning after, Percy is wondering the Reader is because the Reader is his half sister and like he goes the Luke’s cabin to ask him where Reader is and he finds them asleep in the same bed and he gets mad and sassy and starts lecturing Reader and Luke while they’re all confused because they just woke up🤣🤣
omg yes i can totally do this
luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader
warnings: persassy (do i even have to say it?), fluff, general show plot ignorance
Percy was staring at you with an unpleasant look on his face as you stole glances at Luke from the Poseidon table.
“Can you not do that in front of my dinner?”
Luke met your eyes from across the room. He grinned at you and you smiled dreamily back at him. “Do what?”
“Ogle him,” Percy said as though it was obvious.
You snapped your gaze to Percy’s. “I’m not ogling him.”
“You so are. Please refrain,” he persisted.
“How about you refrain from having an attitude?” you countered.
“This attitude is your fault,” he sassed, flicking a pea at you.
You caught it before as it rolled off the table and flung it back at his face. He flinched as it hit him and it fell on the floor. “You’re impossible.”
Percy shrugged. “You love me.”
You didn’t say anything. You would be lying if you denied it. Percy seemed to understand anyway, as he held back from sharing any thoughts about Luke for the rest of the meal.
If there was one thing you knew about your half-brother, it was that he was a little menace. He was always telling off your boyfriend for random things. These things mostly consisted of Luke’s actions in hypothetical situations Percy had made up.
He was also always telling you that you were too good for Luke. You were sure he would say that about any guy you dated though, because Luke was probably the best guy around.
He was always nice to Percy, and he easily combatted his sass, which you honestly thought Percy secretly enjoyed.
Deep down, you knew Percy actually liked Luke and looked up to him a lot, not that he would ever admit it.
After campfire that night, Luke was at your cabin, swinging the door open and calling your name.
“What do you want?” Percy responded rudely.
“Take a guess,” Luke said, unbothered.
“Percy, watch your attitude,” you said, walking toward the door and giving Luke a quick kiss.
“Bleh. Stop being nasty in here,” Percy objected.
“Lucky for you, we’re leaving.”
“Where are you going?”
You didn’t answer him and let the door swing shut behind you as you left the cabin.
“Y/n?” he called from inside.
Luke held your hand as you walked together to his cabin. Some of his siblings were asleep when you entered, and some of them let out a few teasing comments, but all of them were used to you sleeping there every once in a while.
“Lights out,” Luke said, flipping the light switch. A few campers groaned in protest before collapsing onto their beds.
You climbed into Luke’s bunk after him and he wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you into his chest. You relaxed into his touch, falling asleep quickly.
The next morning you were not awoken by the sun, but by your brother. “Well, well, well,” he said, standing over the bunk with his arms folded.
“Perce?” you said, sleep evident in your voice. “What are you doing here?”
“You weren’t in the cabin when I woke up, so I used my critical thinking skills, and here we are,” he explained.
Luke stirred next to you, taking his hand off of your hip to rub his eyes. “Baby? Has the conch blown yet?”
“Yeah, thirty minutes ago. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. How irresponsible,” Percy scoffed.
“Next time, we’ll sleep in our cabin, so you can wake us up at the right time,” you suggested.
Percy scrunched up his face in disgust. “Absolutely not. I don’t need to hear whatever weird stuff you freaks get up to. I need my beauty sleep, but you probably wouldn’t understand that, Luke.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Luke asked, offended.
“Hurry up and get dressed. I hate sitting alone,” Percy demanded and left you and Luke alone in the cabin again.
You turned back into his warmth, refusing to get out of bed. Luke got the message, pulling the blanket up over you. Percy could survive one day without you at the table.
#birdiewriteslit#birdiewritesfics#luke castellan#luke castellan x reader#percy jackson#percy jackson and the olympians#pjo#pjo fanfic#pjo disney+#pjo tv show#pjo series#daughter of poseidon
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I saw those pictures of Lando being all smiley while on a gurney at the hospital. I guess some fans were saying he looks high off pain killers lol. Wondering if you could write something where he falls for the nurse or doctor that was taking care of him at the hospital. I love your writing btw! You’re one of my favorite F1 accounts.
A/N: Um yes this one is for my medical girlies
"You're pretty," The boy or man giggles in front of you as the medics wheel him through the hospital halls. "Thank you, but really, you should answer my question. Name?" You repeat again trying to get his A&O down properly.
"Lando Norris, if you want that can be your name too." He giggles again and you just smile politely, used to people flirting with you or making passes. But the slightly older man beside your patient groans. "Lando, stop." He pats the boy's shoulder and mouths I'm sorry.
"Mr. Norris, do you know where you are?" "Vegasssss babbyyyy!" You bite down your lip hard trying to resist the urge to laugh. "And the date or time?" You ask. "It's November the 19th, just had my 24th birthday." He giggles and reaches out for you, but his companion slaps his hand down.
"Jesus, Lando. Sorry, they have him some pain meds for the crash." "The crash? Oh, right sorry you're one of the Formula 1 drivers." You didn't pay much mind to the news, only the increased traffic and the fuss everyone was making about this sport.
"Yeah, he drives for Mclaren. I swear he normally isn't like this. He's goofy sure, but it's the pain meds." You nod, understanding that the lack of sleep along with the crash and the meds has messed him up in some way. "It's okay, he's just here mainly for observation and to make sure his injuries aren't worse." You smile and the guy relaxes as Lando giggles.
"Lando, smile." Lando looks up, hair wild, eyes sunken and smiles this smile that has you staring for a second and look away blushing. Shaking your head you roll him into a private room, as his companion, named Jon asked you. He said some fans get a little, but you waved him off saying you've dealt with some famous people before, it is Vegas.
Smiling you were left in charge of Lando and making sure he didn't fall asleep. Jon was walking in and out, making phone calls and updating the team in his condition. "Any pain?" Lando groans, adjusting himself as the pain meds wore off, a blanket covering his naked chest.
His fireproof shirt, you learned the name was a casualty in making sure he didn't break any bones. "Just achy, um hey," You look up and try to control the blush as he did have pretty eyes. "Sorry about earlier." You smile softly and fix teh blanket tucking it in. "It's okay, it happens." You wave him off and mark his vital signs.
"I'm sure, you're very pretty." You stop writing and look up, his face was serious with a faint smile. "Hey good new, the Doc says we can go." Jon steps into the room and you two break eye contact smiling as you finish up your document.
"It was nice meeting you Mr. Norris, Jon." You leave the room heading to the nurses station and making your rounds on your other patients. "Oh, hey um," You turn seeing Lando as he tries to find your name. "Y/n," You fill in and he laughs, softly smiling. Wearing a much to large jacket and the rest of his race suit hanging off his waist.
"I wanted to ask you, if you'd like to go on a date?" You stop, and see your coworkers giggle and make kissy faces. "Oh, sorry I don't date patients." Lando just smiles and shrugs his shoulders. "Good thing I'm no longer a patient. This is my number. I hope you call." Lando smiles and you.
Watching him walk out of the hospital you smile seeing his scribble and put it in your pocket.
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whoops one bed you and lando (besties to lovers edition)
things had been rough in her life and things had been rough in his career. The start of the season wasn't everything McLaren had promised it would be and it had frustrated him. But he didn't quite understand what was going on in her life.
Still, he wanted to help in any way he could. So he had somebody book a nice little holiday for them, just as friends. Two beds and all that.
A cottage in the countryside was booked for them. The description on the website was very clear about two beds. Lando drove them out there. She controlled the music while he drove (even if he didn't like the music she chose, he wasn't going to complain. He'd never complain about anything she did).
When they got to the cottage the two of them immediately ran to find the two bedrooms.
"I've found the master bedroom," Lando said as he opened the room to find a kingsized bed. He dropped his bag on the floor as Y/N walked past him, trying to find the second bedroom.
It didn't take long until she found the door that probably led to the second bedroom. "Found the second... bedroom."
But, as she opened the door, she realised it wasn't the second bedroom. No, it was simply another door to the master bedroom. "Wait, is this the only one?" She asked as she dropped her own bag.
"Maybe it's two singles pushed together," Lando suggested as he pulled back the blankets. Spoiler alert, it wasn't two single beds pushed together.
Y/N looked up at Lando. "What the hell are we gonna do?"
Before either could say anything more, there was a knock on the cottage door. Y/N left her bag where it was to open the door.
It was a kindly old woman standing at the door. She smiled and stepped into the cottage when Y/N opened the door. "Hello, love," she said with a smile. "How are you finding everything?"
It took Y/N a moment to work out this was the owner of the cottage. "Oh. Oh! Lovely, everything is just lovely," she responded as she tried to match her smile. "But, I thought there was supposed to be more than one bed."
"Yes, we used to have two twin beds in the master bedroom, but since it's mostly couples staying with us for romantic weekends so we swapped it for the king."
As she said it, Lando walked up behind her. "That shouldn't be a problem for young lovers like you," she continued.
Lando swapped his arms around her and placed his head on her shoulder. "That's more than fine," he said.
They said their goodbyes to her and shut the door. "So," Lando began as he turned her towards him. "One bed."
"One bed," she repeated, sucking in a breath. "We can top and tail it."
"And sleep beside your smelly feet? No thanks."
They decided not to think anything of it. It would be fine, they were best friends and they could work through it. This was nothing.
But then they had a few bottles of wine between them.
But then they woke up beside each other, clothes scattered on the floor.
"What the hell happened?" She asked as she shook her head. But then she noticed the dried... stuff on her stomach. "Oh Lando, we didn't. We can't have."
Lando pulled down the blanket and looked between them. "I think we did."
At first things were awkward between the two. They tried to avoid each other at all cost. But in a small cottage where their only company was each other, it was pretty hard.
After two days of avoiding each other, they caved and slept together again. This time the alcohol wasn't influencing them. This time it was natural. The time after that as well. Fuck, they couldn't keep away from each other.
By the time summer break ended and they returned to Formula One, they were basically in love. They walked through the paddock together, like they always did. "I got to go for a meeting," he said and grabbed her hand, pulling her in for a kiss before he left.
"When did that happen?" Asked Oscar as they walked together.
Lando just shrugged his shoulders and grinned.
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