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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Note

ooh im glad!!! so, expanding on that then..

how about price with a civvi wife/gf, and when they’re talking over the phone while he’s gone, she’s being kinda cagey and definitely omitting something, but he doesn’t know what. so when he gets back home she tells him she’s pregnant? really just a lot of fluff (and maybe angst? 👀 like about how his job is super dangerous and he might not come home, so he has fears about it?? bc your angst is so good it makes me sob violently /pos)

ive never sent a request before, so if this is too specific or something, feel free to whittle it down or toss it, i don’t wanna bug you lol

have a good day hal, love u!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Our Remains

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Synopsis: You disliked hiding things from John. Certainly something as big as this.

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: Pregnancy, allusions to breeding kink & unprotected seggsy time, morning sickness, angst, major fluff at the end

A/N: This was an adorable request, Anon!! Thanks so much for sending it in.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You disliked hiding things from John. It not only felt like a betrayal of his unlimited trust in you but also a slap in the face for what you had built with each other. The both of you were always honest to a fault when it came to your relationship—like how a bird was loyal to the sky. It was an unselfish principle; a promise of pure love and devotion that transcended touch or given gifts.

You told each other things. Everything. Down to how much you had spent on groceries that day just because it was something to talk about and share; something that made you closer to one another even when you were apart. You told the Brit what you planted in the back garden—what shirt you were wearing!

But now you hold the ringing phone in your hand and for the first time in your entire relationship, you consider lying.

Your eyes bore into the icon of John’s smiling face, head covered by a black beanie and beard tilted up softly. Affectionately, his name on the device had been changed to ‘Grumpy St. Bernard,’ but now the title made your lips go thin instead of the usual giggling reaction. No heat spreads over your cheeks; no excitement.

Just an overwhelming sense of dread.

The week had started just as the last three had. A special form of hell. At nearly six o’clock you would whip back the covers with all the fervor of a terrified rabbit being chased by a hawk; the taste of bile immediately snapping you to attention as the toilet acts as your commanding officer.

You imagined John would get a chuckle out of that comparison, but when you’re hurling up your guts in nothing more than a pair of your boyfriend’s boxers and a tank top it’s hard to think about all that. The taste of bile was still lickable from your lips as the bathroom tile digs into your knees, ringing phone still in your palm.

The idea of a pregnancy test slid into your subconscious in the first week of John’s two-month deployment, the tantalizing thought that was like a hook to a fish. You had pulled on the string, of course, and had instantly drowned in air. But you hadn’t taken one until now. Too nervous, perhaps. Hesitant.

In your other hand, opposite of the buzzing phone, you held three positive pregnancy tests in a shaking grip. Pink and white plastic mock you from the corner of your vision; two double lines.

John’s icon dims.

You press the green circle in your panic, mouth opening and closing yet no sounds escaping. Would you tell him now? Later? Was it right to tell him about this now—when he was halfway across the continent? Fear overtakes your heart for no apparent reason. You didn’t want him to act rashly, especially when John could act so stubborn when he wanted to.

He was always so concerned about you when he was away but you were concerned just the same. That man was the one who was getting shot at constantly, not you.

“Took you a while to answer. Trying to give me the slip, then, Sweetheart?” John’s gravelly voice helped slightly, making your heart still, even if for a short moment. You close your eyes and tilt your head down, lips quivering at the soft chuckle over the line.

God, you loved him so much.

Blue eyes furrowed in confusion at the silence on the line, the chilled Switzerland air sneaking inside John’s compression shirt as he stood on the hotel balcony. The sounds of gentle conversation twitch his ears from inside the room—the voices of the One-Four-One a dull mumble behind the half-closed sliding door. They had been playing cards before the Captain had easily slipped away to check up on you.

He tried to call as often as he could.

John’s hips shift, one arm crossed over his chest as the other presses the phone harder to his ear. Lips pull to a frown, beard bristles going with them, before the lines on the Brit’s forehead grow larger.

“...Love?” Naturally, a sliver of concern wedges itself into his ribs but it subsides when your calming voice spreads honey over the call. John’s shoulders fall back down.

You breathe deeply, hands dropping the tests onto the bathroom counter with a small clack of plastic.

“John,” forcing away the hitch to your words, you stare at yourself in the mirror, free hand sliding up to lightly rest over your collarbone as a soothing method. Your eyes are so filled with shock that it throws you off. “I…I wasn’t expecting a call so soon.”

“Hm, been up since 0500.” the man grunts, looking out over the city and seeing the rising sun before asking softly with a deep-set brow. There was something about your tone…lids narrow at nothing. “Did I wake you?”

“No, no,” You force a chuckle, having to take a deep breath before ripping your sights from your own reflection. The disgust was settling at you trying to avoid this. But if your own brain could barely process this right now, what gave you the right to tell John when he wasn’t here? “I’ve been up for a few hours.”

Licking your lips, you run a hand over your hair, glancing out of the ajar door into the master bedroom, pushing out bland answers for only the fact that you couldn’t think clearly right now.

Jesus, this was actually happening.

You study the thrown covers from your morning rush to the bathroom, seeing the pictures on the nightstand and feeling the delicate atmosphere that was sparking—electricity between atoms. A silent moment of realization that everything down to the bare bones of your relationship was about to change. Blinking back to the tests, you dwell in the strange fuzz that took residence in the back of your mind.

“What’s been going on?” Your voice isn’t right. Too tight. Too…nervous. Why were you nervous? “Everyone good?”

The Brit frowns stiffly, shifting his feet again and sending a look back into the hotel. Hunching forward, John’s large fingers fix the position of the phone as his voice lowers, ignoring your question entirely. He doesn't want to jump to conclusions, but there were pros and cons to his line of work.

Above all, he knew when something was up with you.

“Are you alright over there, Sweetheart?” Blue eyes rove the street below, “Feelin’ okay? You sound a bit stuffed up.”

Your heart lurches, quickly stuttering through an explanation of, “O-oh, I think I just came down with something.” The irony wasn’t lost on you. “A stomach bug,” you cringe, “I’m sorry, was it that obvious?”

The laugh that exits is less convincing than you thought it would be, but it does the trick. John sighs in relief, chuckling as he shakes his head.

“No need to apologize, Love…anything bad, then? I can bring some meds from Base when I’m back if you need me to.” He was still concerned for you, but knowing that you’d never lied or withheld the truth from him before there was really no reason to believe that anything else was going on. John trusted you to the end of the earth.

The Captain rubbed at the back of his neck, cracking his spine as he bent back. It was still early and waking up on a hotel bed without you beside him was torture. John longed for home. Longed for you.

Back at the house, your face scrunches together.

Bad? You wonder, saying absentmindedly that some medication would be lovely. Was this…bad?

John had always wanted to have a kid—or, at least, he’d told you as much when he was above you, filling you to the brim and then doing it again a second and third time. Thighs quivering and eyes fighting to stay open through layered bliss as sharp pants rung in your ears.

“Gonna get you pregnant…watch you swell up…c’mon sweet thing, you can handle another one, can’t you? Need to watch it take.”

…But was that a true feeling or just a kink? You blank and realize you’d never asked him. More than that, though, was this what you wanted?

“When do you think you’ll be home, John?” You speak softly, palm flattening over your stomach as you exit the bathroom and sit on the end of the bed, gut swirling but not in a nauseous sort of way. “I…I really miss you, y’know? It would all be better if you were home.”

The brunette blinks softly, lids peeling back in shock for a moment before a thin thread of guilt worms its way into him.

“Kate said two months, Love,” John speaks slowly, the grumble in his voice trying to convey his unease at your strange behavior, “You know that.”

He’d explained his job when you both had gotten serious, how he would be gone for long periods of time, and the somewhat uncomfortable situations you’d be put in because of it. You’d agreed and never brought it up when John would have to leave in the small hours of the morning and disappear for months on end. It shocked him, really, with how well you adjusted but that was just how you were. One of a kind.

There was no one else with whom John could see himself building a life—being buried beside in some nice meadow grave plot and turning to dust together. Growing a family with.

John cleared his throat, tilting his head down slightly before pulling himself back to the present.

“It’s bothering you that much, eh?” His brows furrow, “Are you sure you’re alright? I can call hospital and—”

“No!” You slap a hand to your mouth, halting your outburst as blue eyes go somewhat wide, jaw slackening. Taking a breath over the shocked silence over the line, you dig your fingers into your cheek before letting your limb drop. “No, John…I-I’m sorry I just…”

Your voice quivers.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry…

Eyes burning and nose twitching, you breathe heavily, mouth closing shut because you knew that if you say another word you’ll explode. You were shivering with cold sweat, scared and confused, and wanting John to hold you in his arms; whispering that it would all be okay into the shell of your ear.

You force through a sob, “I’m just really scared.”

John tenses, one hand going to grasp the balcony with white knuckles. His mind goes into overdrive. “Scared?” the Brit prods, muscles going stiff and mind running, “What in the hell is going on?”

Authority leaks into his tone, serious and deep. It made him nervous that he couldn’t see you right now—couldn’t stop the sounds coming from your mouth. Why were you crying? Has something horrible happened to you? Were you in trouble but were unable to tell him? John runs over your conversation again, every word and sound, as his heart races. He was wound up like a spring.

From behind him, the conversation in the hotel room halts.

You force your eyes closed, now up on your feet and pacing. Tears lightly patter to the floor.

“John, I can’t tell you over the phone,” you admit, shaking, “that wouldn’t be…wouldn’t be fair to you.” Swiping at your eyes, you spread the salty liquid away from your lashes, sniffling; praying that he would understand. “But I really need you home as soon as you’re able. I don’t want to break up what's going on over there, it’s just really important. I don’t think I can wait two months by myself. You know I would never ask this if I didn’t need to.”

John’s jaw clenches, legs unable to stay still as your anxiety leaks to him. He’s nodding before he realizes you can’t see him, taking a deep breath to fill his lungs.

“...I’ll see what I can do, then.” The brunette runs his hand over his beard pulling at the strands aggressively. What was so crucial that you can’t tell him over the phone? It was a secure line, John always made sure it was; yet, at the same time, that fact didn’t matter at all. If you needed him home so fervently—then he was coming home. That was that. “How long can you wait for me, Love?” He spares a glance inside. “There are a few loose ends that need to be taken care of here. Might complicate things.”

You blink around the bedroom, hand wrapped around your middle and trying to run soothing circles into your skin.

“I…I don’t…” John’s face softens, closing his eyes.

“Breathe, Sweetheart,” he whispers, “I’m comin’ home to you. We’ll get whatever this is sorted, yeah? I need you to be brave for me until then.”

Listening, you let the words calm you down, sniffling one last time like a kid who had fallen off the monkey bars before you let out a chuckle. John instantly follows his own advice when that sound wafts over the line. His shoulders fall back once more, silent sigh exiting.

“You said that exact same thing to me when I ended up burning that loaf of bread I was making—two years ago, was it? ‘Breathe, Sweetheart.’” Blue glimmers with love, cheeky tone growing.

“Hm, nearly set the kitchen on fire, didn’t you? So much smoke I swore someone had set off a charge in the oven.” John doesn’t push you to answer him, though he’s more questions than anything else at this point. You’d said you would tell him when he’s home and he believes you. “Please, Love, at least promise me you didn’t burn the bloody house down, yeah?”

A laugh strikes his chest, and he’s chuckling slowly in retaliation.

“I promise, John.”

“Good.” You’re smiling for the first in what seems like ages, tears drying as the flood down your chin stops. You lick away the water stuck in the corner of your mouth when John grunts lowly, “I’ll tell the boys and inform Laswell. But I can’t say it’ll be less than two weeks.”

Nodding to yourself, you say, quietly, “Okay.” Your eyes fall to the framed picture on the nightstand—the image of John and you smiling brightly on your third anniversary. You’d gone hiking, both sweaty and dirt marks on your cheeks, but happy…always happy. Your veins pump blood faster. “I love you, John.”

The final comment is tender; the words are more silk and soft furs than vibrating vocal cords.

He blinks away the blush that lights his pale cheeks. John huffs, an infectious smile flickering over his face as his chest wells with affection. Acting like a bird preening itself, he smirks and says, “Well, you’re lucky then…I love you too, Sweetheart.” An exhalation echoes over the call as his tone drops, “Keep safe for me, eh? I’ll call to update tomorrow.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

When the phone is set down on the bed, tossed down carefully, you try to think over this situation more rationally. You wouldn’t say you were against this—building a family with John. In fact, if not him, then you don’t believe it would be anyone else.

The Brit was the only man for you. You both knew the risks of having unprotected sex and in reality, you think neither one of you cared about the consequences.

Nodding to yourself, you wonder how to explain this to him when he comes home as you get to fixing the sheets, one hand always drifting back to your stomach with a growing appreciation.

—

John jogged to his car in the underground parking garage, unlocking it with his fob as his bags are slung over his shoulders. He wastes no time chucking his belongings into the back seat, swiftly sliding into the driver's seat and slamming the door shut as the engine starts. His dog tags bounce on his chest, but he’s half convinced they move from the rate that his heart is going alone.

All through traffic his fingers are tapping against the wheel, grunting stiffly at red lights and shifting his hips.

It had been three and a half weeks of fixing loose ends.

“Fuckin’ hell, c’mon,” John huffs, one elbow on the car frame as his hand flattens over his lower jaw. The light slowly snaps back to green after a long minute.

Pressing on the gas, the vehicle moves forward and continues until the familiar home comes into view on that quiet street nearly twenty minutes later.

John barely parks the car before he hops out, leaving his bags in the back, and rushes to the door. Taking the key from under the doormat, his mind is focused on only you. He had been unable to stop his worry about you and your unnamed fear, watching the phone with every free instance he could. It had only grown as the days got longer, and no matter how much you assured him that you would be okay until he got back, deep-seated apprehension grew. He didn’t like living under a shroud, especially when it came to your health.

The key in his hand was inserted with a firm wrist and twisted, shoving open the door with a heavy shoulder like there was a cloud over his head.

“Love?!” He calls, not bothering to shuck off his boots before looking around the visible living room and foyer. “Where are you?”

Long legs move swiftly as an utterance calls from the kitchen, barely taking the time to close the door behind him in his anxiety, “John?”

The Brit immediately backtracks, skidding to a stop and turning with blinking eyes. His ears twitch at the sounds of dishes being dropped back into water, as his heart steadily slows at the sound of your beautiful voice calling his name.

He rushes around the doorframe, feet stomping and hand catching the wall as you come into view, staring wide-eyed.

Your digits are around the fabric of a dish towel, fingers dripping as John finally presents himself to you. You hadn’t heard him until he had called out, too preoccupied with your own thoughts to hear the lock click.

But now it was like every worry you had was wiped clean at the sight of that gruff face; the hitch in his large chest. A smile slashes your lips after a moment of shocked silence.

“John!” You laugh, rushing forward, and the man lets his face soften—bringing you close to him as you draw near and trapping you in his arms.

His breath spread out over the top of your head in a great sigh, grumbled chuckles accented by the way John’s great hands wrap around your shoulders. Fingers press you into a solid chest, digging through hair to let your ear twitch at the sound of his heartbeat.

John doesn't speak until he has held you in his arms for at least three minutes, just pressing his face into your scalp and feeling your warmth against him. You don’t pull away either, breathing in his musk as it instinctually leads to your muscles loosening.

Minutes later, the Brit pulls back slowly, gripping you by the shoulders and looking down into your eyes. His gaze filters over yours, taking you in before his lips meet yours in a brief yet deep kiss. You melt into it, hands going to grip his cheeks and spread throughout his beard hair, soft strands leaving you shivering when John’s thumbs rub circles into your flesh.

He pulls back and you fight the tears in your eyes as he connects his forehead with yours. His optics shine with love, bleeding out like trapped stars; silver flecks of devotion and a blue the color of sea storms.

“What’s going on, Love?” John whispers, concern alight and raving as his grip goes to your waist, squeezing comfortingly. “I’m here. Tell me.”

You blink slowly, lips going thin with tight brows. Swallowing through a tight throat, you nod.

“Can you go sit in the living room, please?” Speaking carefully, you tilt your head and watch John get confused—his nose scrunching and moving his lips together. You run your thumbs over his cheeks and smile slightly, obviously nervous again. “Trust me.”

Though it wasn’t a question, John replies under his breath, “Always.”

But still, he holds you, studying your expression and the whites of your eyes with stiff lungs. You were making him fear that something horrible was coming—something he couldn’t control. His heart begins to hurt, but he backs away from you, brows tight as he exits the kitchen and disappears into the living room.

Taking down a swift breath when he’s out of sight, you fiddle with your fingers above your abdomen, looking down at your still-flat stomach. You knew it was stupid to worry, but how could you not? It wasn’t every day you just told your Lover you were pregnant with his child…

“John loves me,” you mutter to yourself, nodding and getting ready to go through with the plan you’d formed over the three weeks you’d been alone. “And he’ll love the both of us. I know he will.”

Hand flattening over your stomach, you open a drawer with the other, pulling out a small cardboard box no bigger than a book. Fingers shaking, you lick your lips and feel the slight pull of a nervous, yet giddy, smile. Turning, you exit the kitchen and see John sitting with his nose resting above the clench of his fists, foot tapping. His head immediately snaps over when you come into view, hands falling to hang off his legs as the couch under him dips from his weight.

You steel yourself and raise the box.

“Here.” Placing it on the coffee table, you sit across from John in an armchair.

He blinks slowly, eyes going small with curiosity. The man sends you glances through his lashes as he stares down at the object but he says nothing. Rubbing his beard with one hand, he reaches and grabs it carefully.

Testing the weight, John is genuinely confused, clenching his jaw and feeling the material in his palm.

“...What’s this, then?” He asks lowly, glancing at you with a raised brow and lines on his forehead.

You put your intertwined hands in your lap, prompting with a tilt of your shoulders.

“Open it.” Off put by your cryptic answers, John nods firmly, grasping the top of the box and pulling lightly, careful not to disturb the contents. It was strange to think, but he was honestly quite perturbed.

What exactly was inside this box, and why had he been called home for it? He loved being here, no doubt, but the circumstances….

Blue eyes glimmer. You didn’t look overly afraid as you shifted in your seat, just plain timid—like the inside object would change something fundamental about his and yours relationship.

John pops the top off and looks as you start talking before your throat threatens to shut you up. “I…I know it’s not a life-threatening thing to call you home for,” the man stills as if he was made of stone; a statue as non-breathing and pulse-less as anything, “But I didn’t want to tell you over the phone because that seemed so—!”

Your voice is drowned out as John’s shaking fingers delve into the box, ears ringing. His fingers flinch off of three positive pregnancy tests and the soft fabric of the plain army green baby onesie that surrounds them; skimming slowly.

“I found out the day you called and I said I had come down with something.” Your laugh is strained when it exits you, and you stare at the Brit hard, seeing his features utterly halt all expression. Thumbs digging into your skin, your tone drops, speaking slowly, “...John? A-are you okay? Say something to me, Love.”

It’s only in that long minute of nothingness that you really start to get an all-consuming tenseness to your bones like a rabbit.

Why isn’t he saying anything?

John clears his stiff throat, blinking rapidly as he brings out one of the tests, dropping the box lightly to the coffee table with a dull thump. The twin red lines are ingrained into the softness of his retinas as the sun would be if you were to stare directly at it.

Pregnant.

His heart swells to an almost painful degree, blue eyes moving to look at you across the table and then dipping to your stomach. The Brit stands up slowly.

Your lungs are tight, lids moving quickly with wetness growing in your tear ducts.

“Please, John, what are you thinking—?” Large hands capture your arms, bringing you up as lips meet yours in a passionate and heart-stopping kiss.

John’s limbs wrap around your hips, bringing you up into the air as gently as a bird, face parting from yours with a series of loud and genuine laughs. You snap your arms around his neck, shocked but not at all complaining as he holds you up with ease, twirling you around in a firm but ever-gentle hold.

“You’re pregnant?” His whispers meet you, airy and deep with awe. It was like he was in his teens again, running around Herefordshire with his mates—his eyes shone with happiness; pure unabashed love. “Oh, truly, Sweetheart?”

Tears dribble down your cheeks at the sight of him glowing, beard peeled back in a large smile with wet eyes. Hiccuped giggles leave your lips as you nuzzle your face into his neck, the sight of him like this overwhelming. All stress leaves you in a millisecond when your feet hit the ground again.

“Yes, John,” you sob, overjoyed, pulling back so you both can stare into each other's teary eyes as the Brits’ fingers go to shakily wipe the waterworks from your under eyes. His orbs flicker quickly, looking you over in an entirely different light. “You’re going to be a father.”

He fights through a scratchy voice, “Me?” The tone is amused, but he can’t articulate how exalted he feels to hear that. A father…him? It was more than he could have ever asked for, and, even better—John whispers out, “You’re going to be a mum.”

You kiss him, multiple quick pecks that he returns through shared joyous chuckles.

“I didn’t want to tell you over the phone,” the confession meets the air as one of John’s hands travels to cup your flat abdomen, fingers flinching over the fabric of your shirt to sneak under. You laugh and shiver at his calluses, as his blue eyes are so soft they could be compared to butter. “And I couldn’t wait two months.”

“Christ, Love,” John lays a kiss on your forehead, needing to be as close to you as possible. You can feel his heart through his chest, and you know yours isn’t any better. This was far more than you could have hoped for. He mutters against your skin, “I’m so glad you didn’t. This is bloody amazing news—I want to be here for all of it.”

Sea storms lock onto your face with a grunt, “You’re so lovely. Perfect, yeah?”

His warm hand still rests under your shirt, and you doubt it’s going to leave anytime soon.

You feel your cheeks heat and you smile bashfully, heart about to explode.

“You are.” John reiterates. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect, Sweetheart. I’m so happy.”

The air is ripe with tenderness, a soft state of being that just keeps getting better. John had silent tears dripping down his face, blinking to clear them and not letting you leave his hold for a second.

“Oh, John,” you whisper, digging your fingers into the back of his shirt, looking up. “Me too, Love.”

While the glee is nearly physical enough to grab, there is a moment of hesitancy in the Brit. He was gone more times than not for work; put into situations that could leave him going through bodily harm. You didn’t deserve that stress—didn’t deserve to sit at home with a swelling stomach just watching the door and wondering if you’d have to become a single mother. You had a child in your womb. His child. Both of yours’ child.

A family that you both had made.

John swallows and says to you seriously, without an ounce of hesitation in his blood, “I’m telling Laswell to pull me out,” you blink up and listen, letting him continue as his press on your flesh gets even more prominent, nodding to you, “I’m not missing this—not putting you through that worry. Two years, then I’ll head back in. We have enough saved, I give you my word you’ll want for nothing.”

Blue eyes flicker down, and a small mumble so tiny it nearly disappears hits your ears. You almost start sobbing again. “This is more important. You both are more important.”

There were few moments in your life that you think you’ll remember when you are old, weathered and wrinkled, but this you tell yourself is one that you will carry to your grave. John and yours’ grave.

What remains behind, you ask? Simple.

White bones entangled with an eternity of deathless worship, and the generations that will come to lay flowers on the headstone.

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double--blind · 7 months

Text

(SPOILERS) breaking down how obsessed Andrew is w/his sister bc he's a repressed lil liar and I'm going insane

This post got longer than I intended it to

1. He claims they don't spend enough time apart from each other to even begin missing her so he doesn't even know if he would, but just earlier in the game he was apart from her for probs like 30 mins tops to investigates some cultists and guess what???? He was already missing her 😒

2. Says "I thought you grew out of this touchy-feely crap" when Ashley asks for a hug, but earlier when he was cooking dinner, he was the one with the inexplicable urge to "pull this broody bitch into [his] arms and force her to stay until she smiles" 😒

3. Piggy-backing off the last screenshot: WHAT OTHER THOUGHTS, ANDREW??? yOU WERE JUST THINKING ABT HUGGING HER. WHAT DO YOU EVEN MEAN. THESE ARE SIMPLY INNOCENT BROTHERLY THOUGHTS ARE THEY NOT????? 🤨🤨🤨

4. Bro just can't keep his hands off her. And everyone thinks Ashley's the clingy one jeez (lol the way he springs apart from her when Mom catches them is definitely definitelyyyy not worth analyzing. nope. not even when it happens a second time on the couch. nope. nooope)

5. What. What is he thinking here. Don't think I don't see those grey lil blush lines. Is this connected to my third point somehow bc like... 🤨😬 Is "Andrew" is gonna start doing and being what "Andy" was too spineless and afraid of doing?? That's what the vow was partly abt right?? Does that include—

5. WHEWWW BOY that little flashback with his gf has so much baggage in it I just wanna dissect. His girlfriend's tryna have a serious discussion with him abt his weird sister for the sake of bettering their relationship bc she genuinely loves him, but he just gets caught up in fondly talking abt said weird sister instead??

6. He's awfully hesitant abt Ashley learning some independence, bc y'know what?? I think he doesn't really want her to stop relying on him. But what do I know y'know

6. Wants his gf to put tie her hair up in a ponytail, then when she refuses bc he'll pull on it, says it's just "how boys express their love". Well. You know who else puts there hair up in a ponytail??? You know who else's hair he's always pulling on and touching???

7. The voicemails in his gf's phone left by Ashley are heard by him in his dreams, and his dreams are a construction of his mind utilizing his memories, personal hangups, and knowledge of Ashley. The voicemails irl were left on his gf's phone, and for all we know, he never actually listened to them in person. Bearing this in mind... odds are the things Ashley's saying contain bits of truths he believes within himself, filtered thru her crude, hateful dialogue.

Here. I transcribed one of them...

"DO YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN ME!? Just because you can fuck him and I can't? You think that's love?! Are you fucking delusional?? Cumdumpsters like you are just that. He will never love you. Not like he loves me. I am the only one. I am everything. I am the secrets you'll never hear. When he lies in bed at night, and when he needs someone to hold on to… It's not you he seeks out. It is me."

8. Claims Ashley's the one with the jealous streak, not him, but I think he's just as bad. The only difference is that Ashley's never given him reason to act on it since all she's ever wanted was him, but at the slightest mention of her gettin it on w/someone else, even as a joke, he gets mad. "OVER MY DEAD BODY!!" he says, when she's jokingly contemplating getting knocked up via the neighbor so an ambulance would come for her. "I wouldn't let them," he says, when she's complaining abt not being pretty enough for the wardens to bang her

9. Going hand-in-hand with that fact, he's intensely protective of her. Didn't hesitate to cleaver the warden who found her in the closet (probs didn't even BLINK lmaooo he chose VIOLENCE), and when the cake-stealing cultist insulted her just once, he stepped forward just like that

10. In their apt, when they were lying on the floor talking abt jumping off the balcony, he was really caught up in the "romantic" fantasy of them committing a double suicide and dying with their bodies entwined so irreparably by the impact they form one unified corpse "never to be separated!" and they get buried in the same coffin together. UM??? Bro fr thought he was the sane one of the two. That wasn't even true before the cannibalism and demon summoning 😭😭😭

BONUS:

11. This might just be me, but his reaction to seeing the post-sex vision doesn't strike me as someone who's inherently opposed to the idea. Instead of disgusted, he was... flustered?? He acted like she walked in mid-guilty pleasure wet dream. This wasn't a "GROSS THATS INCEST" reaction which is... the most normal reaction to have. That's the face of a man that got CAUGHT bro.

He asks "we're not like that, are we?" and "why are you like this?" and questions the veracity of the vision, but he never actually explicitly denies wanting the vision to happen, more focused on Ashley and her reaction. He buries the elephant under the rug as fast as he can, bc yeah, it struck a landmine, but it probably wasn't a landmine for the reason Ashley thinks it is. I bet the vision just hit a little too close... :P

#the coffin of andy and leyley #coffincest #andrew x ashley #tcoaal #txt post #character analysis #andrew graves #bro is MESSED UP and I'm only scratching the surface #half of this post is analyzing his gf and I'm not even done man I didn't even mention how Julia is both a foil for Ashley and a lookalike #he both chose a girl completely different from her (mfer's compensating) and someone who reminds him of her

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hopelesslyromanticshark · 3 months

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Hiii! This is one of my first request like ever so idk if I'm doing it right lol but I was wondering if u could write percy x hades!gf hcs, I never see much of hades sadly lol but if u can't or don't want to I perfectly understand and hope you have a lovely day<333

⋆⭒˚.⋆ percy jackson x daughter of hades! reader hcs

content: percy jackson x daughter of hades! reader hcs warning: talk of death??, minor angst at the end kinda sorta not really, author's note: i liked this one. i feel like this was a nice balance between silly goofy and seriously good takes. ALSO i would like to apologize in advance for those last few lines, i was feeling emo and sad and that's what came out of that. really rounds the whole thing out tho. also, honored to be your first request and i hope it's everything you want a more!!

i'm sorry but bro pulled both the children of hades??? hello??

he said imma 'make that family tree fall in love with me'

i just know every time percy does something hot, you and nico just share a glance that said 'this WILL be discussed before bed tn trust'

also, you and nico??? the best siblings

literally so cute together, so much love, so much trauma-

wait, what was that last one-

don't think about it too much

just like nico, you're a daddy's girl at heart and visit home (of the dead) as much as possible

and since hades is such a big gossip (you know its the truth) you just know he's prying you for information about your relationship

"but like...he treats you well, right?"

"yes, dad, obviously. if he didn't, he'd be dead."

"that's my girl."

and and even tho the hades cabin looks kinda sketchy and totally creepy, ideal nap and cuddle place.

like, cabin three is cool and all but the cabin thirteen is legit so perfect for naps bc built in blackout curtains and it's always cold so you can just cuddle up under your blankets with your snuggly son of the sea god and youre out like a light

until nico comes in banging cymbals that he got from gods know where, chanting 'GET OUT OF MY CABIN! GET OUT OF MY CABIN!"

"ITS OUR CABIN NICO!"

"I WASN'T TALKING TO YOOOOOOOU!" he yelled back, emphasizing his words with more cymbal crashes and pointed looks at percy, who was seizing with laughter

no one at camp really knows when you and percy became you and percy

just one day he was attached to you at the hip and no one asked questions

and when new campers ask the two when they got together, you both just share a glance and shrug.

anniversaries are celebrated randomly through the year, simply because you cannot remember dates to save your lives.

like, you'll just walk to breakfast and percy will present you with flowers and gifts and everyone cheers but as you give percy a kiss on his cheek you're like

"which one is this for?"

"i'm going with first date but tbh i have no idea."

"yeah, no, that sounds right, lets go with that."

just two idiots in love

two deadly idiots in love

but really, they only become a problem when you hurt the other

like you try stay out of fights as much as possible but the second percy has so much as a scratch, you're raising hell

literally

legions of hell will be raised to protect your man

he being helped off the ground by abe lincoln and princess diana fr

(not that im saying they in hell, they were just the only two famous dead people i could think of)

(don't shame me, i can feel it through the screen)

(SHUT UP-)

anyways

yeah, mr salt water and ms bones are in love and happy the world is spinning and they totally have no trauma at all

(percy doesn't want her anywhere near him sometimes, feeling like he can only bear bad news for children of hades)

(you get worried that percy might be too good for you, that you're tainted with the blood of the dead and there's no coming back from that. the blood of death is your blood is the blood of death. they are one in the same. you are death as death is you.)

very happy here, nothing to be concerned about 😀😀😀

dont worry, you guys talk through these issues and find healthy ways to deal with all the childhood trauma.

a couple that grows together, stays together.

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #pjo #pjo fandom #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson x reader #nico di angelo

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merchelsea · 9 months

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took care of your girl - max verstappen

pairing: max verstappen + fem! driver!(charles' gf) reader

summary: charles is too busy celebrating his P2 to care about your home dnf, but max is not.

author's note: this is my first time writing for tumblr and im so excited!! i cant believe i actually came up with is.

word count: 4k+

PART TWO

"ugh, you're so boring." charles sighed.

he had been trying to convince you to go celebrate his p2 with him for the last five minutes, but you were just not in the mood for a party.

i mean, this was monza. ferrari's and alfa romeo's home race, but your home race too. you had big expectations for this one.

of course you didn't mind ending up 6th, like you thought you would 4 laps before the end. you just wanted to cross the line. but you didn't.

at lap 50, you collided with sargeant, who was trying to overtake. the williams got to the end, and you didn't. you thought it was so unfair, but there was nothing you could do.

you had done an amazing race, managing to go from 15th to 6th. it was more than enough after a terrible qualifying, and you couldn't understand how someone took that from you in a heartbeat.

you were so angry. all you wanted to do was cry. but you still got out there with your best smile and watched the drivers getting to the podium.

first one to get up there was lando, who once again did a great race for mclaren, ending up 3rd after an 8th in qualifying. he was a great driver and everyone could see it.

then they called charles. the man in ferrari red stepped into the 2nd place with the brightest smile. he was really happy, and so were you. you were happy for him, genuinely.

you smiled and applauded just like everyone. you were so proud of your boyfriend. of how he managed to get that thing they call a car from 13th to 2nd.

the tifosi were out of their minds proud, and so were you.

in that moment, just for that one tiny amount of time, all you felt was happiness.

and then they called max verstappen. you sighed and applauded when the men got to his place. your smile never fading, but growing wider. you were beyond proud, more than what words could ever achieve to show. so you just stood there applauding.

you knew it was boring to see the same person win race after race, always getting to step on that ridiculous number one. but he deserved it, and you were delighted to be able to see his dreams coming true. because he was talented, that’s something no one could deny, but he worked his ass off.

you didn't get to watch them celebrate tho. because, unfortunately, someone called you in the garage.

lewis was already there when you arrived, and he was the first to talk to you.

"hey listen, i'm sorry for what happened. you deseved that 6th." he pat on your shoulder and you smiled, thankful.

"it was a great race, just a bad outcome." you sighed after hugging him casually like you always did after a race. "you nailed it today, congrats!" he thanked you and toto arrived, wanting to talk to both his drivers.

"you were absolutely amazing out there today. every person in this team is very proud." he smiled. "of both of you." his eyes fell on you when he said that. he knew you well, and he could tell you blamed yourself for what happened, even if you didn't show. "the incident with the williams was a shame, but you two fought like hell. i am proud of you."

you faked a smile and thanked toto. his words were comforting but they didn't do much. you were still upset.

that's why the first thing you did when you were free was lock yourself in your driver room. letting your body fall into the couch you reached for your phone to focus your mind on something that was not the race.

but after a little, you heard someone knocking in your door.

"mon amour? it's me. can i come in?" you got up and unlocked the door, facing your smiley boyfriend. he greeted you with a wholehearted kiss, showing you how happy he was for his race.

"hey baby." you smiled to him. "you did so good today, i am the proudest girlfriend in the world." you whispered into the tight hug you pulled him to.

"thank you!" he said simply, not even acknowledging your race. you weren't surprised because he never did, but it was your home race. and somehow you thought that changed something. "so, does the proudest girlfriend in the world want to come and celebrate with her man?"

and that is just how you got into this 'fight'.

"i'm not boring. you know that i would go any other day." you tried to explain yourself. it was kind of embarrassing, having to explain that to the person who's supposed to love you and understand you. "i just dnf'ed, charles. in my home country. after a freaking perfect race. that´s not easy."

"aren´t you happy for me?" he asked, looking at you with a fake sad expression.

"of course i am. you know i am." how could you not be? the monegasque deserved this more than anything.

"then come. why don't you make an effort for me? you know how important this is. and i want you to be by my side." he begged.

he didn't understand you. god, he didn't even try to. he was the one who wasn't making an effort here. he never made, and that's what you've been realizing for quite sometime.

"i'm sorry charles. but not today. you go and enjoy for me." his fake expression suddenly faded to give room to a frown.

"fine." he sighed and left, slamming the door on his way out.

you stood in the drivers room, this time not trying to avoid any thoughts. in fact, you were analyzing the race. from the start to the moment you went out.

all of your overtakes were perfect, not once colliding with other cars. you knew that because you were in the car, but you were looking for something to blame, some other touch that could've damaged the car slightly. but you never found it.

so you cried. you cried looking at the roof of the room. you cried your heart out because you were this close to proving people wrong, you were this close to making your people proud.

you cried until you heard another knock on the door, this time around being the last mechanics in the garage, telling you they would go for dinner and would come back later, leaving you alone for sometime.

when they left, you went to take a look at the car. and observing it, you realized what went wrong. but instead of putting your mind to rest, you started to think about what you could've done to prevent it.

"what are you doing here?" you heard a familiar voice, and turned to face its owner. the dutch was looking down at you, who cried with her head between her knees, in front of her racing car.

max had changed into his normal people clothes, whilst you still wore your racing suit.

"it's my team's garage. what are you doing here?" you asked, highlighting the 'you'.

"i was on my way and saw you here. what happened? why are you here on your own?" he asked. genuine preoccupation in his eyes. you could recognize any expression of his. any and every.

"nothing happened. i just wanted to be alone." you lied. straight up lied into his eyes. that was not something you were used to nor something you liked to do. but you did. and you knew he didn't buy it for a second.

"oh yeah. you decided you wanted to be alone, sitting against a wall, crying, for three hours after the race without showering and changing, just for fun? sounds like something i would do." max ironically said.

"look verstappen, i just wanted to be alone. and i still do, so if you could go away i would appreciate it." you said, getting up to walk to your room.

"don't call me verstappen." he says seriously. you never call him verstappen. "and i'm not leaving you alone after today. i know better than to do that." he follows you, leaning in the door frame when you are about to close the door in his face. "where is your so called boyfriend?"

your left eyebrow shot up as your head turned to look at him. his face remained serious, waiting for an answer.

"celebrating his podium. aren't you supposed to be celebrating your win?" you asked carefully, trying to get him to leave.

"maybe." he crosses his arms in his chest as you turn off your laptop and put it in your bag.

"then go." you said simply, collecting your stuff to go home. you wanted to stay there, but alone.

"not unless you're coming with me." he changes his position again to be more comfortable as you sighed, making him know you were getting tired. but that didn't change anything for him.

"leave, max." you said firmly, looking at him. he mimicked a 'no' with his mouth. "why?" you tried to get out of the room, but just as you passed through the door, the dutch caught your arm, making you look up to face him. your height difference was not too big, but it was still noticeable.

"because i know you, and leaving you alone after a dnf here, is a mistake i don't want to make." he let go of your arm, but you didn't move. "a mistake i'm not going to make." you stepped back, and proceeded to pick up your stuff. "go shower and get dressed, i'll get your stuff. if you are going home, i'm going with you."

"no. i don't want you to come." he laughed.

"care to guess who doesn't give a fuck, darling?"

"do not call me darling. and you are not coming, i wont let you in." you threatened, knowing you would never do such thing.

"then i hope you have money for a new door." he was determined, and you knew he was damn serious about not leaving you alone.

"i hate you." you laughed and as soon as the sound got to his ears his mouth formed a big bright smile. oh, what that laugh did to him. it was even better than winning races.

"if that means i get to come, i'm more than happy. now go shower." you did as he said, going straight to the bathroom.

once inside, you never thought about stuff like not giving the interviews you were supposed to, or how charles never once said he was proud of you.

the only thing you thought about was max, in your room, picking up your stuff so that you could go home with him. and the fact that it wasn't strange nor weird, it was fine.

from the beginning, you two had a special connection with each other. that's why you became best friends so easily, and also why you fell in love with him.

but he never showed reciprocity, so you thought it was a one way thing. god knows that if he had gave you one minimal sign, you would've never ended up with charles. the thing his, he didn't.

since your red bull day's, in his eyes you were just friends. or at least that's what you thought.

cause it turns out that the world champion is a way better liar than you could imagine. or you are just blind. because the signs were always there, you just doubted yourself enough to be oblivious to them.

it was the little things. like you being the first person he talked to after every freaking race. or how he was always in his best mood for you, but only for you. how he always said he was proud of you after a race, it didn't matter if you ended up first or last. he always came to you, hugged you tight and whispered "you were amazing, i'm so proud of you".

that's the kind of thing you noticed but never payed attention to. and that's exactly why you are with charles now. because he, on the other hand, was direct and shoot his shot.

he didn't love you and you didn't love him, but you felt good with each other, and it was nice having someone. you both knew it from the start, even if you denied with every thing in yourselves. it was just so obvious now.

you got out of the bathroom with hair still wet, but already dressed in your black sweat pants and your light pink top. max had picked every single thing, leaving your room exactly how you found him.

"let's go?" he asked, after a couple of seconds observing and admiring you.

you nodded in response and tossed your car keys to him.

"you drive, i sing." he picked them and laughed.

"deal." you made your way to your, brand new, white mercedes in a comfortable silence. but when you closed the doors, he broke it. "i don't want you blaming yourself, williams got a 10 second penalty for a reason. you were amazing, i'm so proud of you."

"you always say that." you smiled, looking at him.

"because it's true. i am proud of you."

"i know, and i am proud of you too. it's just that you always say the exact same thing." you noticed. max was sure you never took note of his words, but he didn't know how much they meant to you.

"i guess it became kind of our thing now." with now, he meant the past 3 years. you just nodded and smiled, searching through your phone for a good song.

"hey max?" you called, still unsure if you should mention it. he muttered something you didn't understand due to being focused on your words. "you know you don't have to do this, right?"

"do what, y/n?" he asked, fully focused on the car as he started driving.

"care because he didn't." straight to the point, we can see some improvements.

"omg, you can be so dumb sometimes." he talked, out loud, to himself. you didn't understand, so he might just be right. which is something you'll never say.

"huh?" you muttered, confused. he was indeed right.

"i care. i always do. i would have cared even if he had some decency in that shitty brain of his and had, at least, taken you home. do you actually believed i would have to go through the mercedes garage to get to my car?" he laughed, your face full of confusion, reflecting what was happening inside of your mind. "i was looking for you. i thought charles had took you home, or out, but i had this little thing inside of me telling me to check."

"oh yeah, that was me sending you telepathic messages." you joked. "thank you for coming, max. this is just a very important day for charles."

"whatever helps you sleep at night, y/n. and i would always come, any day and anytime." max took his eyes off the road to face you.

"are you saying racing is not important for him?" you focused on the first sentence.

"i'm saying he would do this on a regular tuesday. and i'm saying i would come after winning at zandvoort if you were needed me." he sighed. "you should stop lying to yourself." now was your turn to sigh. just as he layed his eyes on the road, your right hand went through your hair.

frustration, anger, sadness, loneliness.

"i'm not lying to myself, you don't know him like i do."

"i may not, but i know you. better than he ever will. you don't love him, and i bet my career you never even managed to lie to him about it." ding ding ding, max verstappen, the mr. knows it all was right once again. you are mad at him for knowing you so damn well.

"if i didn't, then why would i be with him?" you tried again. fooling max was getting more difficult by the day.

"we both know why." he said to your eyes, turning his head when he was done talking. damn, max.

the rest of the ride was completely silent, you wanted to say something but you couldn't. you simply could not. you couldn't even put on some music to relieve the tension.

all those questions coming to your head like gun shots "does he really know?" "why didn't he say something?" "does he see me the way i saw him? the way i still see him." every single one of them wounding you, creating a whole you couldn't close.

he was silent as well, his mind a little quieter than yours. that had been stressing his mind ever since you told him about charles, and now he couldn't keep it in.

not when the girl he loved was left alone by her boyfriend for a fucking party. he would've never do such thing, max would've been by her side, letting her know how proud he was, how loved she was.

the dutch was so angry, it took him everything to stay silent in that ride. but he did it, because it wasn't your fault. he was mad at charles, for not being a good enough boyfriend. he was infuriated because the monegasque couldn't make you happy. he was out of his mind because the greened eye ferrari driver took the place in your life that he wanted. that, in his head and heart, was supposed to be his.

the first glimpse of voice came from his mouth, when you were already in your apartment. monza was the only racing place you had somewhere to call home.

"come here." he opened his arms, when you looked at him. you expected him to talk, you wanted him to talk, but that was the only thing max said. the only thing he wanted in that moment was to feel you close, feel like he was protecting you from every bad thing.

of course you went, you would always go. his armes embraced you almost immediately and you closed your eyes, trying desperately to feel him closer. you could try to deny it but you missed him more than anything.

"i'm sorry." you apologized. none of you knew what you were talking about, yet at the same time, you both knew exactly what you meant.

max didn't respond, not with an "it's okay" nor a "not your fault". he simply kissed the top of your head while stroking your hair, and you knew it was okay. everything was fine between you two.

maybe not fine, but they were okay for now.

"break up with him." he half advised you half asked you. everyone knew that was the right thing to do, but he wanted you to do it for other reasons too, not just because it was right.

you chuckled into his chest, causing him to push a little just to face you.

"you talk like it's easy." he stepped back, separating the two bodies completely.

"breakups aren't easy, but yours, particularly, is. it's as simple as it sounds." he went back to the serious features.

"it's still a break-up."

"breakups only hurt when you love each other. do you love him?" you stood silent as he stepped closer. you watched as he brought his hand to your chin, caressing him once there's contact. "tell me. do you love him?"

"i don't." you let out as a sigh. instead of smiling, like you expected, max's face did the exact opposite.

"then why are you with him?" he asked in a low, tired voice. he was trying to find an explanation where he was not in the middle. he wanted to know that he was not involved in the why you weren't happy.

max knew, deep down, that you felt something for him. he always had that feeling. but, in his defense, you didn't make it easy for him. hiding it, locking the feelings in a deep part of your yourself, where no one could find them. bringing up some made-up-boy whenever you felt like you where being to obvious, constantly telling him he was like a big brother you could talk about that sort of thing. you had covered up the truth pretty damn well.

but even with all of that, he knew. something in him just knew. and all he could think about now was how he could've changed something, how you wouldn't be with someone who didn't deserve you if he had just done something.

he had tons of opportunities to ask you out on a date, or tell you how he really felt. it was just hard to believe you would feel something for him sometimes, so he waited for you. he waited until it was too late.

"i like him." you lied again. it was the second time you lied straight into his eyes in such a little time. that pissed him off. you should never feel the need to lie to him.

"bullshit. we both know that you're with him because i never risked losing you for how i felt. i never got to shoot my shot, and he did. that's why you are with him."

you lowered your head, both hands going to your face immediately. you felt like crap.

"what do you expect me to say?" you asked, raising your voice. your eyes finally fell on his.

"i don't expect you to say anything. i just want you to cut this thing you two have going on." his gaze never left your face, not even when you weren't looking at him. "you don't deserve this. you deserve to be happy. to be treated right. you deserve to be loved right."

another sight and then silence filled the room. no one could say anything.

"just..." he started, leading your eyes to look for his. "do you still..?"

"yes, max" you shot automatically, your voice sounded like a cry, but that didn't matter.

he sighed, relieved. and then stepped closer again, pulling your body to his, in a hug. he let you cry against his shoulder, while he cried silently against yours.

you pulled away to look into his eyes, smiling silently. even being like this, you had just found out that this was no 'one way thing', he felt the same.

"stop smiling. i'm fighting over here not to kiss you." you laughed, that was the best thing you could've heard that day.

"don't." you searched for his hand, taking it into yours once you've found it.

"i would love to, believe me. but as much as i want this, you have to be fully single first." his eyes were so bright that you were sure they could glow in the dark. you always loved his eyes.

"i love you, max." you whispered with the biggest smile on your face.

"i love you too." he whispered back. your smile growing impossibly wider.

max kissed the top of your head before leaving your room. it was a bit past 4a.m. and you had just finished watching a rom-com movie you liked.

it's fascinating how you two fit so perfectly. it's like you've been handmade for each other.

of course that, on his way out, max had to find charles coming. because that's just your life.

the dutch and the monegasque spent a little of time just staring at each other.

"what are you... what did you do in there?" charles asked breaking the awful silence that had been installed. you could hear everything from the inside of the room due to the paper thin walls.

"i took care of your girl." you would pay to see charles’ face that moment. "not so yours anymore, i guess." max said with his most serious face. he definitely won the idgaf war.

"not so mine anymore? mate, what are you talking about?" his confusion was deeply amplified by the alcohol in his system.

"i don't know man, figure it out." the world champion responded and walked out.

he knew that the moment he walked out charles would enter that room and lay in the same bed you were. but he didn't mind, he trusted you fully. and on top of everything, he knew that no matter what, he was the one you loved.

so when he closed that door, he had a smile on his face, knowing damn well he would open her soon.

#max verstappen #max #verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fic #charles lecrelc #f1 x reader #formula 1 #mercedes driver #driver reader

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euphorajeon · 8 months

Text

oh, the joy of having jeon jeongguk as a boyfriend | jjk

— pairing: boxer!jk x f. reader

— genre: fluff, slight smut | college!au, boxer!jk

— word count: 0.8k

— warnings: sleeveless jk, suggestive themes, usual boxer!jk and his gf shenanigans hahaha

— summary: you just want one bite.

— author's note: pls tell me im not the only one heavily affected by his vogue photoshoots D:

masterlist | boxer!gguk masterlist

“Just one, please?”

You’ve been at this for the past fifteen minutes. The first five you spent leaning your head on your boyfriend’s shoulder, enjoying the warmth on your cheek from the skin-on-skin contact. He was still unaware of your intentions, thinking it was just a silent gesture to initiate physical touch. He’d put his arm around you then, squeezing you further into his side.

The second five minutes you spent tracing his tattoos with the tips of your fingers. You paid special attention to your favorites—the tiger lily, the Winners Never Quit wording, and the recently-discovered moon on his shoulder (which you recolored with your own mouth some weeks ago)—and gripped his arm a bit tighter when you got to his bicep. The black tank top he’s wearing gives you too much of an easy access that you didn’t realize when you start squeezing your boyfriend’s bicep repeatedly like it’s your own personal stress ball.

“Babe, what are you doing?”

Jeongguk’s question triggered your next course of action, which you have been doing for the last one-third portion of the aforementioned fifteen minutes.

“Can I bite your arm?” was your opening line. When he blinks blankly, you continue with a paraphrased question, though it doesn’t really cease Jeongguk’s confusion: “Just one bite, please?”

“Why would you wanna bite my arm?” The puzzled look on Jeongguk’s face deepens, his thick eyebrows furrowing and scrunching up his face. A sliver of recognition flashes across his eyes as he squints at you in suspicion. “Are you horny again?”

“No, no.” You’re quick to deny. “It’s just—“ You give the bicep in your grasp yet another squeeze, watching, fascinated, as the skin bounces firmly in your hand. “—so … big, so sexy, so … delicious.” There’s a giant drooling emoji in your head right now and Jeongguk can only stare in part amusement and part confusion at his entranced girlfriend.

“Please, one bite?”

Your boyfriend’s eyes jump from your pleading eyes to your pouting lips, a tiny smile playing at the edge of his lips. The double piercing on the right side of his bottom lip taunts you, almost making you swerve to a whole new part of Jeongguk’s body to have between your lips and teeth. Oh, the joy of having a hot boyfriend.

“Okay.”

“Okay??”

“Okay, you can have one bite of my arm.”

You have your mouth on his arm not even a second after Jeongguk finishes his sentence. Sinking your teeth into the flesh, you’re careful to apply only a little pressure at the beginning before gradually adding more until you see Jeongguk grimacing from the corner of your eye. It’s his fault, though, for only giving you one bite of this big, sexy, and delicious inked arm. You’re just making the best use of the opportunity you were given.

In the seconds you spend attached to his arm, you think, why stop here? You could be doing so much more to this arm than just giving it a bite mark. So, with that in mind, you start to suck. The hiss Jeongguk lets out in surprise flashes something hot in your belly that you promptly ignore to continue your assault on his arm.

“I guess it’s kinda my fault, huh?” Jeongguk hums, his free hand tucking your hair behind your ear. The gesture seems sweet, innocent even, but the way he grips your nape after is anything but. “Always flaunting my tattoos, flexing my arms … even giving you surprise kisses. I wanted your attention and got more than what I asked for.” You pretend not to be affected by his words, now licking at the angry-red skin beneath the black ink. Jeongguk doesn’t need to know how much this is turning you on.

“I didn’t say anything about giving me a hickey, though.”

Jeongguk’s grip has moved from your nape to your hair, where he gives a slight tug to pull you away from his arm. When you look up, your blurry vision is met with Jeongguk’s piercing stare, making excitement course through your veins. You didn’t plan for any of this to happen—you just wanted to bite his arm, really—but if Jeongguk wants to teach you a lesson for what you did to him, you’d happily be a good student and accept whatever he decides to give you.

“Exactly,” you challenge him, grinning. “You didn’t say anything about it, therefore, there’s no reason for me not to give you a hickey.”

“Huh.” He squints his eyes. “You said you weren’t horny, didn’t you?” Your heart drops to your stomach as he leans forward to start tracing your neck with his nose, planting a tiny kiss on it. “So it won’t be a problem if I don’t let you cum while I use you to make myself cum, right?” The sickeningly-sweet smile on his lips contradicts the lewdness of his words. “You’re not horny so you don’t need to cum, am I right?”

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Oh, the joy of having Jeon Jeongguk as a boyfriend.

— a/n: thank you for reading! feedbacks here would be very much appreciated :D

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eddiessluttywaist · 3 months

Text

the boy is mine (eddiessluttywaist's edition)

AGELESS/BLANK/UNDER 18 BLOGS ARE NOT WELCOME TO INTERACT. PLEASE RESPECT MY RULES AND BOUNDARIES.

summary: romantic night at the trailer, based off of this prompt!

pairing: bf!eddie x gf!reader

word count: 1, 944 words

content/warnings: MDNI, fluff, kissing, lots of touchy feels, a lil smutty?

a/n: creds to whoever owns and posted those ^ photos! they’re not mine, i just made the collage! also would like to credit @carolmunson for this prompt and @mrsjellymunson for tagging me! I haven’t written for eddie in so long, and this was a great way to get back into it <3 thank you! hope you enjoy my contribution <3

You basked in the scent of Eddie’s bedding, how he was ingrained into each and every fiber. Every motion, every shift of the sheets, you could smell him. He had foolishly left you to your own devices in his bedroom (which was surprising since the last time he did that, you almost dared touch his Sweetheart) so you indulged.

You curled up in the sprawling mess of blankets and sheets then grabbed the small throw pillow you had embroidered for him and buried your face in it. It was a delicate, pretty, little thing that stood out in his room even with its DnD theme, but he loved it. He loved that you made it, that you put so much effort into it just for him, so he slept with it every night. Unfamiliar with the concept of purely decorative pillows, he didn’t realize most people tucked such things off to the side before getting into bed each night. So, it smelled like cigarettes, convenience store aftershave, and his shampoo. The scent filled you with dizzying affection, only pulling it away from your face to then hug it to your chest as he walked back into his room.

“I ran out of, like, nice cups. This okay?” he asked as he blew into one of the mugs and then used the bottom of his shirt to wipe it down. He was planning on cleaning those cartoon-themed cups properly for some absurdly fancy hot chocolate you had brought back from your family vacation. He was even planning on making another case for not wasting it on him, but, of course, his attention strayed easily when you were in his bed.

When his gaze finally fell on you, a lazy smile quirked up one side of his mouth. The handles of the mugs hung off the curl of his fingers which rested against his hips now as he took in the sight of you. He tilted his head to put it at the same angle as yours, his favorite pillow in your arms. You were an unbelievably endearing sight. The love that filled him was fluttery and overwhelming.

“And who said you could hold my favorite pillow?” He teased, sauntering over to the bed.

“I made it,” you scoffed with a smile.

He hums lazily in response, that crooked grin still hanging around as he shoved at the clutter on his bedside table. He picked up a small notebook, brow furrowed as he observed it only to haphazardly toss it towards his dresser to make more room. It was that or your tub of Betty Crocker, and he knew better.

You stared at his forearms, drinking in the movement of the musculature underneath. The warmth of his bedside lamp made it even better to watch the lines and curves of his tattoos beneath its comforting, golden light. How could something so simple be so beautiful? Your focus then trailed to the perfect structure of his hands as the mugs slid down his fingers. The ceramic cups clinked against the surface of the old table.

“I think as the creator, I have some right to hold it too,” you continued to make your case while he crawled into bed with you, giving you that subtle mischievous look he always got when he was toying with you.

His strong arms wrapped around you to secure you closer to him.

“I worked very hard on it, y’know.”

Eddie let out an “Is that right?” kind of sound, the texture of his jeans scratching against the bedding. He pulled you into him with such a desperate need to squish you as close as possible as if he thought you might be leaving soon. Those brown curls tickled your jaw while he nuzzled the side of your neck, audibly breathing you in.

“And it wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to embroider all that Dungeons and—”

He finally pulled back to cut you off, smushing his face against yours in a way that made you giggle. Eddie’s kisses were always lazy and sloppy this late at night, but you loved them that way. His lips were warm albeit a bit rough from all the anxious biting that he abused them with. A pleased hum left him and vibrated deep in his throat, his large hands encasing the sides of your face and his fingers tangling in your hair. His rings would probably tug a strand or two when he pulled them away, but you couldn’t be bothered to care.

The way your body relaxed reassured him, and he slid his arms down to pull you in again so your stomach could be flat against his own. Then, he let out a small chuckle when he had to separate from you to pluck the throw pillow out from between you. Eddie placed it elsewhere with emphasized tenderness while you stared at those ruddy lips that you missed already.

“Pillow was in the way,” he murmured in a low tone, kissing you back as you pulled him in for a few more pecks.

“And here I was thinking you were starting to love it more than me.”

“Aw, now don’t be like that. You know that’s not true,” Eddie drawled, grinning over that unconvincing little pout you gave him.

He sat back on his legs to move the bedding out of his way, then pulled you forward by your thighs which he readily settled in between. There was nothing he wanted more than to be thoroughly pressed against you. It wasn’t even about sex, at least not always. He just loved the feeling of you being so close to him. The softness of your stomach against his taut abdomen. The plushness of your chest pressed against the flat planes of his own. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love the way your bodies fit together too, but he’d melt into you if he could.

Eddie was the type to lean into you while you were walking together, ending up so close that his wallet chain would keep bumping against you. He always sought out your hand to hold or your shoulders for him to drape his arm across (which of course always ended up with him folding you into him so your face would press against a Hellfire symbol or band name, and he could settle his chin on the top of your head).

“I don’t think I believe you.”

You crossed your arms, failing to keep up with your façade, especially with that smile and those dimples.

“Well then, my dramatic lil lady,” He spoke with that same theatrical cadence that he used during campaigns, his brow furrowed with determination. You groaned over the incoming mawkishness, rolling your gaze up to the ceiling and smiling to the point that the apples of your cheeks ached.

“I suppose I must convince you.”

His hand settled on the side of your neck, thumb brushing against the center of your throat as he dipped down for another kiss.

“You’re so corny,” you laughed against his lips.

“And you… taste like vanilla,” he sighed, laughing with you after.

“Mm, well, that is the work of Ms. Betty Crocker,” you smiled up at him, gently tapping his nose. “Speaking of…”

Eddie groaned, mentally cursing himself for even bringing it up as you squirmed out from underneath him to grab the container from behind the abandoned mugs. He watched you intently while you sucked a scoop of frosting off your finger. When you met his gaze, he gave you a cheeky grin that he failed to conceal by biting his lip and then wiggled his eyebrows at you.

“You’re a child,” you snorted, reaching out to tap some frosting onto the tip of his nose.

“And you’re devastating,” he countered in a voice so sickeningly saccharine with love that you wiped the frosting right back off. He caught your hand and sucked the sugar from the pad of your thumb before you could fully pull back.

“Who knew the local bad boy could be such a softie,” you teased softly, scooping some more frosting to feed it to him. Eddie playfully bit down just enough to make you laugh.

“I believe you mean ‘the local freak.’”

“Mm, tomato, tomahto,” you shrugged, lapping up some more frosting off your finger. His rich umber eyes seemed to glitter in the dull lighting, his pupils dilating. You looked up at him through your lashes when you felt his stare.

“We’re gonna have a problem if you keep doing that,” Eddie’s voice was rough even as he smiled over you.

“What?” you laughed, full of faux innocence. He just smirked. “No, what?”

“You know what.”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you shrug, going to scoop some more frosting out when he snags the tub from you.

“Wh— hey!”

You already missed his warmth when he sank back onto folded legs, dipping his forefinger into the tub.

“You’re gonna get your rings all sticky,”

You blushed when that made him cackle, but you at least got the comfort of his body again as he hunched over you. His smile was tangible against the side of your neck, his hair tickling you again.

“Not the only thing that—”

“Eddie, shu-u-ush,” you laughed, and he flattened himself on top of you again, leaving tacky, sugary kisses on your neck while you pried the vanilla frosting from his hand. He gave up on keeping it from you, happy to have a free hand again to seek out your waist with.

Holding the container with one hand, you arched your other arm over him to scoop just one more—you swore just one more! —fingertip of frosting, but he was pulling back before you could even dip into it.

“Gimme that—”

“So rude taking things from me today,” you tutted, watching with a pout as he fed himself some of your treat.

“Have to have you all to myself,” he mimicked some toxic-alpha-dude-type bravado, but he couldn’t even get through it without chuckling at the end.

Eddie prodded at the dwindling supply of Betty Crocker’s then tossed the container back onto his bedside table. But you reached out to catch his wrist and brought his index finger to your mouth before he could bring it to his own.

He groaned, leaning onto one elbow while he gawked at you. His full lips parted at the sight of you, his thumb brushing against your cheek as you sucked on his finger. Damn.

“You never play fair.”

“And you like that,” you stated proudly once he slid his finger back out of your mouth.

“Course I do,” he grunted, sliding the pad of his thumb over your lower lip. “May have taken a few attempts to graduate, but I’m not that dumb.”

Your following giggle was breathy and fleeting as you sunk into the tension filling the room. You took in the growing heat in his gaze that tracked his thumb while it hooked your bottom lip. He mimicked opening his own mouth as you did so without even being asked, making him smile and drag his tongue over his lip. He slid his pointer finger down your tongue again, letting it trail down until he was holding your chin between his curled finger and thumb. Keeping your chin down and lips parted, he leaned in. The kiss was firmer—more determined—and desperate. He was putting every ounce of his desire into you, and this time you were the one melting. You felt like you were sinking deeper into that old mattress, and you wrapped your arms around his neck to keep him with you.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie stranger things #stranger things #eddiemunson #eddie munson imagine #stranger things x reader #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson ficlet #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #bf!eddie munson #the boy is mine eddie munson #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson smut

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