#yes i did make five in six days
Text
Could a depressed person make THIS, i say, and then trip and fall to the ground, dozens of bubbalubs spilling from my pockets
#crafts#crochet#craftyintentions#yes i did make five in six days#yes i am also forcing a hard stop on myself because that's the fastest turnaround#from mania: start to flirting with nerve damage I've ever done to myself#but eventually i probably need two more
144 notes
·
View notes
Text
Since everyone seems to love my sex shop stories, here’s another one.
Phone calls were literally a game for us. Not all phone calls, but there was a specific brand of call where guys would creep on us. 90% of the workforce at the sex shops was women. So we’d get dudes calling jacking off or trying to get their jollies from us.
The game: make them hang up. We could have hung up. On a few occasions I did, but for the most part we made a sport out of getting creeps to go flaccid. It really depended on a caller.
You couldn’t just go in for belittling them straight off- some guys wanted that. You had to tailor your strategy to the perv. Overall it was pretty fun and it turned an aspect of the job that could’ve become a major bummer into a fun sport. We’d get excited when the phones rang.
So one day the phone rings. I pick up and it was very clearly a young teen who was putting on a deep voice. I was utterly delighted, I’d never had a crank call before. He said, “I have a dildo emergency! Can you deliver 5 boxes of dildos to my home?!”
It took everything in me not to crack in that moment. It was so funny. It was like three kids had walked through the door in a trench coat and the phrase “dildo emergency” was one of the funniest things I’d ever heard.
But I kept it together. In smooth customer service tones I replied, “Oh, I’m sorry to hear you’re having an emergency, but due to the nature of our product we do require people to come pick it up themselves.”
The caller audibly deflated. Some of the deep voice he was putting on bled away when he said plaintively, “But it’s an emergency…”
“I’m sorry, sir, rules are rules.”
He hung up. I burst out laughing and told my coworker what had happened. She said, “I will buy you lunch if you call back and pretend you can deliver something.”
This sounded like an all around win for me, and the kid hadn’t used anything to block his number. So I called back.
“Hello!” This was before caller ID was common for home phones and so he picked up in his totally normal voice, several octaves higher than before.
“Hello, I’m calling regarding your dildo emergency?”
“Oh! Hem hem,” he coughed, getting his voice back into character for me. “Yes! The emergency!”
“Well I’ve spoken to my manager and it’s your lucky day. We’ll be able to make a delivery after all. Five boxes you said? We can swing it by later, we’ll just need your name, address, and credit card number.”
He was thrown by needing to provide info and was silent for a moment then said, “Well how much is it for five boxes?”
“About five hundred dollars, sir.”
He slipped out of his character voice to exclaim, “Five hundred dollars?! What kind of dildos are they?!”
“Just standard six inches with balls, sir.”
This was his breaking point. He started wheezing with laughter trying to repeat the phrase “six inches with balls” incoherently.
“So your address and card info?”
He hung up and I broke down laughing too. We both got a kick out of it, and I won the game twice in one day.
15K notes
·
View notes
Text
know someone who enjoys horror stories? share this one! it's true!
hahahahahahahahahaha aarrggghhhhhhhhhh
3,000,000 deaths due to COVID-19 last year. Globally. Three million.
Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic.
The reason people are still worried about COVID is because it has a way of quietly fucking up your body. And the risk is cumulative.
I'm going to say that again: the risk is cumulative.
It's not just that a lot of people get bad long-term effects from it. One in seven or so? Enough that it's kind of the Russian Roulette of diseases.
It's also that the more times you get it, the higher that risk becomes. Like if each time you survived Russian Roulette, the empty chamber was removed from the gun entirely.
The worst part is that, psychologically, we have the absolute opposite reaction. If we survive something with no ill effects, we assume it's pretty safe.
It is really, really hard to override that sense of, "Ok, well, I got it and now I probably have a lot of immunity and also it wasn't that bad."
It is not a respiratory disease. Airborne, yes. Respiratory disease, no: not a cold, not a flu, not RSV.
Like measles (or maybe chickenpox?), it starts with respiratory symptoms. And then it moves to other parts of your body.
It seems to target the lungs, the digestive system, the heart, and the brain the most.
It also hits the immune system really hard - a lot of people are suddenly more susceptible to completely unrelated viruses.
People get brain fog, migraines, forget things they used to know.
(I really, really hate that it can cross the blood-brain barrier. NOTHING SHOULD EVER CROSS THE BLOOD-BRAIN BARRIER IT IS THERE FOR A REASON.)
Anecdotal examples of this shit are horrifying. I've seen people talk about coworkers who've had COVID five or more times, and now their work... just often doesn't make sense?
They send emails that say things like, "Sorry, I didn't mean Los Angeles, I meant Los Angeles."
Or they insist they've never heard of some project that they were actually in charge of a year or two before.
Or their work is just kind of falling apart, and they don't seem to be aware of it.
People talk about how they don't want to get the person in trouble, so their team just works around it.
Or they describe neighbors and relatives who had COVID repeatedly, were nearly hospitalized, talked about how incredibly sick they felt at the time... and now swear they've only had it once and it wasn't bad, they barely even noticed it.
(As someone who lived with severe dissociation for most of my life, this is a genuinely terrifying idea to me. I've already spent my whole life being like, "but what if I told them that already? but what if I did do that? what if that did happen to me and I just don't remember?")
One of its known effects in the brain is to increase impulsivity and risk-taking, which is real fucking convenient honestly. What a fantastic fucking mutation. So happy for it on that one. Yes, please make it seem less important to wear a mask and get vaccinated. I'm not screaming internally at all now.
I saw a tweet from someone last year whose family hadn't had COVID yet, who were still masking in public, including school.
She said that her son was no kind of an athlete. Solidly bottom middle of the pack in gym.
And suddenly, this year, he was absolutely blowing past all the other kids who had to run the mile.
He wasn't running any faster. His times weren't fantastic or anything. It's just that the rest of the kids were worse than him now. For some reason.
I think about that a lot.
(Like my incredibly active six-year-old getting a cold, and suddenly developing post-viral asthma that looked like pneumonia.
He went back to school the day before yesterday, after being home for a month and using preventative inhalers for almost week.
He told me that it was GREAT - except that he couldn't run as much at recess, because he immediately got really tired.
Like how I went outside with him to do some yard work and felt like my body couldn't figure out how to increase breathing and heart rate.
I wasn't physically out of breath, but I felt like I was out of breath. That COVID feeling people describe, of "I'm not getting enough air." Except that I didn't have that problem when I had COVID.)
Some people don't observe any long (or medium) term side effects after they have it.
But researchers have found viral reservoirs of COVID-19 in everyone they've studied who had it.
It just seems to hang out, dormant, for... well, longer than we've had an opportunity to observe it, so far.
(I definitely watched that literal horror movie. I think that's an entire genre. The alien dormant under ice in the Arctic.)
(oh hey I don't like that either!!!!!!!!!)
All of which is to explain why we should still care about avoiding it, and how it manages to still cause excess deaths.
Measuring excess deaths has been a standard tool in public health for a long time.
We know how many people usually die from all different causes, every year. So we can tell if, for example, deaths from heart disease have gone way up in the past three years, and look for reasons.
Those are excess deaths: deaths that, four years ago, would not have happened.
During the pandemic, excess death rates have been a really important tool. For all sorts of reasons. Like, sometimes people die from COVID without ever getting tested, and the official cause is listed as something else because nobody knows they had COVID.
But also, people are dying from cardiovascular illness much younger now.
People are having strokes and heart attacks younger, and more often, than they did before the pandemic started.
COVID causes a lot of problems. And some of those problems kill people. And some of them make it easier for other things to kill us. Lung damage from COVID leading to lungs collapsing, or to pneumonia, or to a pulmonary embolism, for example.
The Economist built a machine-learning model with a 95% confidence interval that gauges excess death statistics around the world, to tell them what the true toll of the ongoing COVID pandemic has been so far.
Total excess deaths globally in 2023: Three million.
3,000,000.
Official COVID-19 deaths globally so far: Seven million. 7,000,000.
Total excess deaths during COVID so far: Thirty-five point two million. 35,200,000.
Five times as many.
That's bad.
I don't like that at all.
I'm glad last year was less than a tenth of that. I'm not particularly confident about that continuing, though, because last year we started a period of really high COVID transmission. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic.
Here's their data, and charts you can play with, and links to detailed information on how they did all of this:
Here's a non-paywalled link to it:
https://archive.vn/2024.01.26-012536/https://www.economist.com/graphic-detail/coronavirus-excess-deaths-estimates
Oh: here's a link to where you can buy comfy, effective N95 masks in all sizes:
Those ones are about a buck each after shipping - about $30 for a box of 30. They also have sample packs for a dollar, so you can try a couple of different sizes and styles.
You can wear an N95 mask for about 40 total hours before the effectiveness really drops, so that's like a dollar for a week of wear.
They're also family-owned and have cat-shaped masks and I really love them.
These ones are cuter and in a much wider range of colors, prints, and styles, but they're also more expensive; they range from $1.80 to $3 for a mask. ($18-$30 for a box of ten.)
#covid isn't over#covid 19#disability rights#disability advocacy#wear a mask#covid conscious#covid cautious#mask up#wall of words#public health#health care
8K notes
·
View notes
Text
do you believe me now? | 4
in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader are interrupted at the most inopportune of times. he calls you on the first night of his case. dirty talk turns into a hard conversation. we get a glimpse into spencer's past, and we finally learn why he's so hesitant to sleep with you.
series masterlist
18+ (smut)
warnings/tags: dirty talk, phone sex/mutual masturbation, softdom!spence, obligatory he talks u through it, lots of graphic discussions of sex, established relationship, angst (sorrryyy!)
a/n: so remember how i said you'd need the bonus chapter to fully appreciate/understand this part? i was wrong!! it will come in handy probably in the next part tho:) also idk how these parts keep getting so long im sorry! anyway, i love you all so bad. thank you for bearing w/ my craziness. PLEASE let me know your thoughts on this part!! i adore hearing from you!! kisses
(also special thank you to @fliesforeyes who convinced me phone sex w/ spence could be done!! i will link his phone sex blurb here :)) thank u binx!!
“Three million six hundred eighty four thousand three hundred thirty two times fourteen million seven hundred sixty one thousand nine hundred seventy one.”
You’ve lost count of how many stupid math questions you’ve asked your human calculator boyfriend, just to see if he can actually do them. Spencer is silent for a second, and you think you’ve finally stumped him.
“That one is complicated.”
You sit bolt upright in his bed, looking down at him and pointing an accusatory finger. His brows raise at the manic look in your eye.
“You don’t know.”
“I do know. I meant it would be hard to explain if you aren’t a math person.”
“Bullshit!” You scoff, “you don’t know!”
“It would display on a calculator as five-point-three-eight-eight-E-thirteen. It’s a really big number.”
“Oh, really big, huh?” you mumble, searching for your phone blindly in the sheets and scrambling to open the calculator app. “Um… what numbers did I say?”
Spencer repeats them back to you and you press the equals sign.
You look at it.
And then you set your phone down.
“I was right, huh?” he smiles up at you, probably reveling in your pouty wrongness.
Too proud to admit it, you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder.
“I don’t like this game anymore. What the fuck even is an e? Why are we doing algebra?”
Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside.
“The e stands for exponent. It’s to the power of ten.”
“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”
“Yes, I have.”
It’s hard not to snort even at his dumbest jokes.
“You’re annoying. Let’s do something else.”
You roll over onto your back again, letting your head flop over to look at Spencer, whose hair is exactly the right amount of messy after a long day, falling in impossibly soft waves over the perfect lines and contours of his face. Despite lounging, he’s still in his suit from work—he’d left Quantico and immediately picked you up. There were no solid plans for the evening, so after both of you pretended that you wanted to go out for a while, you ended up back at his apartment.
He looks good. Almost too good.
“Something like what?” he smiles lazily, reaching over and tracing his fingers over your cheek.
“Something… naked?”
His grin widens and he shakes his head.
“Me naked or you naked?”
Pretending to think about it, you roll your bottom lip between your teeth.
“Mm… why not both?”
“Hm. Why do I feel like I know where this is going?”
The mattress sinks underneath your elbow as you prop yourself up, dropping your head over Spencer’s to kiss him.
“Because you’re so smart, and you think it’s a great idea.”
He entertains your kiss for a moment. Just a moment.
“You sound sure of yourself.”
“Because I am!” You finally give in to your impulses, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him meaningfully. “It doesn’t make any sense for us to have not had sex. I don’t care about any of your weird, cryptic moral reasoning.”
He grabs your wrist carefully.
“It is not moral,” he scoffs. “We haven’t even talked about it yet.”
“Really? Because I feel like we’ve talked about it a lot.”
He begins to reply, but you realize you don’t want to get into a debate over whether you’ve technically talked about it yet. “I don’t even care! If that’s all that’s standing in your way, then let’s talk about it. Right now.”
Spencer sighs, his eyes darting between yours as he reaches up to cradle your cheek.
“Fine. But I have things to say you’re not going to like.”
“So business as usual?”
He rolls his eyes. You allow yourself a tiny self-satisfied smirk, forever relishing in his poorly-hidden soft spot for your constant teasing. Spencer ignores this. Which is probably for the best.
“I know you probably won’t see it this way, but—sex is different than everything else we’ve done so far. It can be really fun, obviously it feels good, it facilitates deeper feelings of connection—that’s all true. Which is why, in my opinion, it’s incredibly important that you be selective with who you sleep with. Because it’s so easy to do something you regret, and sex is vulnerable. It should always be with someone you trust and—and… care about.”
A pink flush stains his cheeks like watercolor as he stumbles over the last few words. It makes your heart flutter against the confines of your chest.
Maybe best not to think about the absence versus presence of certain four-letter words and what they may or may not mean. You’ll move on to more pressing matters and pretend like it doesn’t ache just a little in your whole body.
You cover his hand with your own.
“Are you going to break up with me anytime soon?”
Spencer’s eyes widen, filling with genuine horror and confusion.
“What? No!”
“Are you going to cheat on me?”
“Absolutely not, I—”
“Then I’m not going to regret it. Issue resolved. Moving on.”
“Honey, I just want you to be 100% sure that I’m what you want.”
“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping onto your back once more. “I have begged you to sleep with me on multiple occasions. We have been dating for months and I liked you even longer before that. I think about it literally every time I see you. I don’t know how to be any surer.”
It’s quiet for a moment as you study the imaginary pattern on the ceiling. The rebuttal you’d been anticipating doesn’t come—instead, the mattress shifts next to you. Spencer enters your field of vision, now leaning over you with a little smile on his face that gives you butterflies.
“Every time?”
“…yes, every time,” you agree, voice considerably thinner than it had been a moment ago. Spencer glances at your lips as he speaks.
“Interesting. And what is it that you think about exactly?”
You groan again, attempting to roll facedown, but he pins your shoulder to the bed. The way he’s sweetly kissing down your cheek and jaw is infuriating because you know it’s a false pretense.
“Ugh, I don’t know! Don’t make me answer that!”
“You said if talking about it was all that was standing in my way, we would talk about it. Now I want to talk about it. Come on,” he says, voice low and cloying against your throat as he attempts to tease the answer out of you. “Tell me what you think about when you think about us having sex.”
You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his lips skimming your neck, hating how easily he can reduce you to this.
“I… I always wonder what it will feel like. Sometimes I wonder if it will hurt.”
Spencer sighs, interrogation by way of seduction momentarily forgotten. You silently curse yourself for saying something so un-sexy.
“It might, sweetheart. That’s one of the reasons we’ve held back. I… really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even know if I can.”
You grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you with more confidence than you feel.
“Sometimes I worry about it, too. But I like you a lot more than it scares me. I still want to.”
He kisses your palm.
“You’ll be okay. It doesn’t hurt for everyone, and even if it does, you’re resilient.”
“Exactly. So you have to get over yourself.”
Spencer laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, eyes sparkling as he regards you.
“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”
He’s smiling again as he leans down and kisses you—a slow, lingering thing which tastes like spearmint as you part your lips for him.
“Please?” you whisper against him after a long moment. He hums, keeps kissing you.
“What is it that you think you want? You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”
“Tell me,” you beg, chasing his lips. “Tell me what you’re going to do with me. We can talk about it. This is talking about it.”
Spencer exhales deeply, wedging a thigh between yours. Immediately you clamp around it, trying not to grind against him too overtly.
“You want to know what I’d do to you?”
“Yes—” you paw at his jacket. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you from pushing it off. Your heart pounds.
“Well… we both know how anxious you get,” he muses, pressing his lips so delicately to your fluttering pulse-point in emphasis, and then back to your mouth. His thigh pushes harder against you to supplant the absence of his lips as he speaks, though he kisses you sporadically and between sentences. “You’re hard to get out of your head when you’re nervous, you know that? I watch it happen. One minute you’re with me, and then you start overthinking, and getting self-conscious. The only thing that seems to relax you is letting me touch you—so first I would touch you like I’ve touched you before. I’d make sure you know how pretty you are and how good you deserve to feel.” You whimper inadvertently at his words, arching into him and grinding against his leg as he pauses to kiss the sensitive soft spot below your jaw. “You’re going to need to be really ready to let me in. Do you know what I mean by that?”
As he asks, he pushes his thigh against you harder. Your body responds immediately, arching into him and seeking more friction. When you squeak, he takes it as a no.
“I mean I need you relaxed and wet. You’ll excuse my crude language.”
You pull at his tie, breathing heavier now and so turned on it’s almost painful.
“What are you gonna do after that?”
“What else is there to do but fuck you after that?” he breathes. “You want me to tell you how I’d fuck you?”
Something about it makes you whine salaciously. You’ve heard him curse—you’ve even heard him talk about fucking you. But it feels more real now; when it’s low in your ear and you’re covertly undressing him and he’s pushing your shirt over your stomach promisingly.
“Yes, please.”
He hums against your jaw, nipping and brushing his lips over the skin as he considers. Leaves you waiting.
“I would have to take my time with you. You’ll be overwhelmed. I know you think you won’t, but you will. I’m going to have to be so, so careful with you, angel. It’s going to drive me insane. But it will feel good for you.”
“Why careful? I don’t want that.”
He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine.
“Yeah, you do. You’re going to want me to be careful when I’m—” he pauses, pressing his thumb to your bare lower tummy and dragging up to a spot below your belly button. He presses down lightly again. “Right here. Approximately.”
The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your skin in this moment, as you writhe underneath him in both arousal and embarrassment. Mostly, burning need. You feel almost sick with it.
“Please don’t make me wait anymore. Just do it, please, Spencer. I need it to be you, I don’t want it to be anyone else. I promise I’m ready.”
It’s silent for a moment. Your heart quickens. You sense his walls wearing away, his instinct to keep you intact for god knows what reason crumbling. He’s finally going to give you what you’ve been begging for.
Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmering—
And then his phone rings.
You both freeze—he melts dejectedly before you do, more accustomed to an ill-timed phone call and realizing the finality it can present.
He’s breathing heavily against your neck, as if maybe whoever it is will just hang up. But the phone keeps ringing.
“I’m sorry.”
Your stomach sinks as he sits up, grabbing his phone from the side table and rubbing circles on your inner thigh as he answers.
“This is Reid,” he says, lackluster.
If you wanted, you could hear what Penelope is saying—but you don’t bother listening. It’s going to be a case. Spencer is about to leave. The details are his problem.
“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”
He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the mattress and not speaking for a moment, just continuing to rub your leg apologetically. Watching you almost mournfully—taking in your disheveled hair, your likely blown-out pupils, the shirt pushed almost over your chest.
“I have to go right now,” he finally manages with a heavy sigh, gently pulling your shirt back into place.
You sit up, shedding all the hopes that had been building for the evening, and try to sound chipper—though all you feel is bitter disappointment that goes deeper than you understand.
“I know. Go ahead, I can get a cab home.”
He frowns, running his hand over the back of your hair.
“I don’t love the idea of you standing on the sidewalk waiting for a car in this part of town so late. Do you just want to stay here for the night and go home tomorrow?”
You force a smile. Great. So you’ll be spending the night in his bed after all—just without him.
“Sure. Thanks.”
“Yeah.”
Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful.
Soon you’re walking him to his own door. Both of you come to a stop in front.
“I’m sorry,” he sighs again.
“Spencer, it’s fine. It’s your job. You don’t need to apologize. You were very clear about this part when we started dating.”
“I know, but… it’s easier in theory than in practice.”
You smile. If Spencer is a reflection of you, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. His hair is still messy from your fingers running through it and he’s missing his tie. You hope all his coworkers see and feel bad about taking him away from you.
But it’s not their fault. You just want someone to blame.
Instead you mould yourself to his body, wrapping around him like you belong there. He returns your embrace, pressing his lips into the crook of your shoulder and rubbing your back in that way he always does with you.
In that moment, your affection for him becomes so profound it’s like a chemical reaction—everywhere he touches burns and you love him so fucking much it aches in every inch of your body the way your muscles do when you have a bad fever. Love is the most terrible of afflictions, you realize. It is a fever dream. It’s every fiber of your being screaming to tell him how you feel, to beg him on your knees not to go because you love him like a child loves a parent or a bee loves honeysuckle or the ocean loves the horizon. Pared down to your most basic components, the barest version of yourself, you require him. Your soul needs his soul.
“Spencer?”
“Hm?”
It’s nothing more than an absentminded hum against your skin.
“I…”
Should you be looking him in the eye when you say this? Should you say it right before he has to leave? Just because you say it doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to be gone for several long days. Maybe this is a terrible time to admit something that suddenly feels so true and so consequential.
He senses your internal conflict, pulling back despite your resistance and holding your face between his hands.
“You what?” He murmurs, soft eyes bouncing back and forth between your own. Fuck—you feel so observed, now. Like he can read your mind.
“I forget.”
FUUUUUUCK.
Spencer blinks. Processes. You watch the disbelief crystallizing over his eyes like ice freezing over a lake.
He knows.
He knows you didn’t forget, and he probably knows what you were going to say, and he’s going to tell himself he was wrong to spare your dignity.
Everything hurts when he kisses you. You wonder what regret tastes like.
“Well, let me know if you remember.”
It’s too gentle and at the same time he can’t hide the edge with all the tenderness in the world. You nod as if in a trance, already looking forward to dissociating as you lie in bed and stare at the dark ceiling.
Two small goodbyes are exchanged, slightly stifled now, as if shared between drunk strangers who have sobered up and are mutually embarrassed about how candidly they’d interacted before.
You close the door behind him, doing up all the locks, and meticulously flick every light switch in the apartment off before climbing into his bed—though you don’t really feel like you deserve to be there anymore.
But perhaps this is all an overreaction. It’s not like you owe it to him to say I love you, or anything—it was bad timing, anyway. And why can’t he say it? In fact, why hasn’t he said it?
Maybe you have it all wrong.
Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about you.
You fall asleep before you allow these questions to make you sick.
24 hours go by.
24 hours go by and you really had meant to leave his apartment—it was just that you woke up late, and your phone was dead so you couldn’t call a car, so you charged it while you made breakfast, and then you ate, and then you decided to take a shower and wash your clothes, and then it was two in the afternoon and you hadn’t left yet and you decided to walk to the store and replenish the groceries you’d used up.
Maybe you got a bit distracted looking at flowers and other beautiful things at the market and by the time you got home it was 5:00, so you decided to wait until seven to skip rush hour. And then eight, just to be sure.
Before you know it, it’s midnight, and you’re dozing off in his bed again (teeth cleaned with the brush you’d bought at the store—maybe this whole situation hadn’t been entirely unwitting on your part.)
Throughout the day, you tried to let all your anxiety about the previous night melt away. If it’s something that needs to be addressed, Spencer will address it. Everything will work out in the end. That thought is how you’re able to doze off.
You’re almost asleep when your phone lights up and begins buzzing on the side table. You wince as your eyes open, not adjusting well to the harsh bright display and unable to discern who’s even calling you at this hour. Stupidly, probably because you’re half asleep, you answer without checking.
“Hello?”
Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep.
“Shit, did I wake you?”
“Spence?” you whisper, stomach flipping at the sound of his voice on the other line. You feel caught, still sleeping in his bed.
“… yeah,” he chuckles. “Did you not check who was calling before you picked up?”
“I was asleep,” you pout. “Kinda.”
“Okay. Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
You sit bolt upright, phone balanced between tense fingers and speaking directly into the microphone.
“No! No, I’m awake. What’s up? Why did you call?”
A longer stretch of silence—you’re too sleepy to comprehend what it might mean, though never too sleepy to worry about it. With a pang of pain, you recall your strange goodbye, the words you hadn’t said.
“I just needed to hear your voice,” he sighs. You frown, staring at nothing in particular in the pitch black room.
“Oh. Is everything okay?”
“As much as it can be.”
“Right.”
More quiet. You chew on the inside of your cheek, stricken with a sudden feeling of awkwardness that you haven’t had with Spencer in a while.
“I’m sorry… I don’t really know what to say.”
“That’s okay,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice which makes you feel a bit better, “why don’t you tell me about your day? Or you can absolutely go back to sleep, if you’re too tired.”
“Don’t ask me about my day,” you whisper, flopping down on the bed once more. Shame seeps into your voice. He laughs.
“What? Why?”
“Because if I tell you you’re going to think I’m super weird and you’re going to break up with me.”
Laughter tapers off into gentler tones.
“I already think you’re super weird. It’s actually one of your most attractive qualities.”
Blood rushes to your cheeks.
“But it’s like… borderline crazy.”
Immediately, he replies, “for better or worse, I also frequently find myself attracted to crazy.”
“Thank you for calling me crazy and super weird,” you grumble.
“I also called you attractive twice. Tell me.”
When his tone takes on that easy, assertive quality, and it’s sort of raspy and low because it’s late and he’s been talking all day, and you can hear the lazy smile on his face—you imagine him laying on his hotel bed, arm slung over his eyes in the dark as he grins into the microphone—you have a very difficult time saying no.
“Fine. Guess where I am right now.”
“Um, I would hope you’re in bed?”
You smile to yourself, basking in the victory of successfully throwing him off his game even slightly.
“Guess whose bed.”
Silence.
“What an interesting question.” That cocky smile, the low drawling is back, and you chew on your lip, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. “If it’s not mine or yours, we’re going to have issues.”
“But if it is yours? You’re not going to call the police on me?”
“Why would I call the police? To tell them there’s a pretty girl in my bed and I don’t want her there?”
“To tell them your psychopathic girlfriend broke into your apartment and might be holding hostages there.”
Spencer laughs; a brittle, drawn out thing, flat and quiet as the desert.
“If you were a psychopath, calling the cops would be a waste of time. I would handle you myself.” The idea of being handled has your thighs clenching. “But—yeah, don’t invite anyone else in.” More humor finds its way into his voice, momentarily relieving some tension that had sneakily begun to build. “Having people in my space makes me anxious.”
“But not me?” Your whisper is half flirtatious, half insecure. Spencer’s reply is soft, as if he’s picking up on this from hundreds of miles away.
“No, not you. You are always the exception.”
“Good,” you say, cheeks aching as you half-bury your warm face into his pillow. “Because I made myself really comfortable. You have a nice shower, by the way.”
Spencer groans.
“You’re killing me.”
“What? What did I do!”
“Don’t talk to me about my bed and my shower. I might start to think you’re intentionally being a brat.”
“You asked me about my day! I’m just telling you what I did!”
But you’re also intentional teasing him for sure. After a pause, he sighs in defeat.
“You’re right. I did do that. Tell me what else happened.”
“Well,” you begin, all too eager, “I had to put my clothes in the dryer after I got out, so I borrowed some of yours. But then they were way comfier than mine, so after I went to the store I put them back on, and—”
“Okay.”
“Okay what?” you frown.
“Tell me what this is.”
“I—I don’t know what you mean.”
Lying to a profiler is usually pointless.
“I’m not stupid, sweetheart. Tell me why you keep talking about my shower and my bed and my clothes.”
Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up.
“I don’t know. I miss you.”
He hums in a way that blurs the line between sympathetic and patronizing. Even through the phone you can feel the bass of it in your bones. It changes the frequency you’re vibrating at. It’s hypnotic.
“But that’s not really why you’re being intentionally provocative, is it?”
“No,” you admit quietly. “I’m still upset you had to go last night.”
“So you’re frustrated and you’re taking it out on me?”
Your brow furrows. Well, when he puts it like that…
“I’m not taking anything out on you.”
“I think you are. And I don’t appreciate that, because I’m on your side, honey. Do you think I prefer being in a hotel bed by myself or being in my bed with you?”
Somehow, he makes you feel like a scolded child. But he makes it appealing in ways you don’t understand.
“Your bed with me,” you murmur, skin prickling with the coldness of his absence even as you curl under the blanket.
“Right. So why don’t you tell me what I can do for you right now, instead of punishing me for things that are beyond my control?”
“I wasn’t punishing you,” you mutter.
“No? You weren’t intentionally talking about using my shower and sleeping in my bed and putting on my clothes so that I’d have to think about what I can’t have right now?”
“I—”
“Believe me when I tell you I have been thinking about what I can’t have, all day. Your efforts are entirely redundant and you can’t say anything about yourself that is even close to as dirty as the frankly disrespectful thoughts I’ve been having about you for seventeen hours.”
The lack of air is making you so dizzy your vision goes gray at the edges.
“What… what thoughts?”
“None that you need to concern yourself with.”
“You can’t just say something like that and then not tell me!” you insist. He’s obviously giving you a taste of your own medicine and it’s fair but it doesn’t mean you have to like it.
“I can do whatever I want,” Spencer corrects cooly in a way that pisses you off beyond belief because he’s right. It triggers some adolescent immaturity within you—a desire to get back at him, so to speak. He wants intentionally provocative? He can have it.
“Fine. Then so can I. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it even if I could.”
“Spencer,” you warn. “If you don’t tell me what you were thinking I’m gonna—” you look around the room for ammo. “I’m gonna look through your nightstand!”
“Go ahead. I’ll warn you, it’s not very interesting.”
“Sounds like what someone who has something hide would say,” you mumble, crawling across the mattress through tangled sheets and using your phone flashlight to open the drawer.
Spencer is patient and silent as you take in its contents—a small blue leather-bound notebook (full of what looks like Russian), a fountain pen, a glasses case, various kinds of vitamins, and—
“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name and pretending nothing is fluttering in your stomach, “what are these?”
“I don’t know. I can’t see what you’re referring to.”
“Take a wild guess.”
“Oh, I have one. But I’d like to hear you say it.”
You realize you may have gotten yourself in deeper than you meant to by going through his stuff. Well—they don’t say karma is a bitch for nothing.
“What are you doing with a box of condoms?”
He chuckles and you feel it in your whole body, warm as you stretch across his mattress and eye the box like it might jump out at you.
“Those are years old. I’ve used three since I bought them.”
“Don’t tell me that,” you whine. “I don’t wanna think about all the other women you’ve seduced.”
“You wanted them to be for you, huh?”
You flush. Honestly you hadn’t even thought about that.
“I… I don’t know. I kind of just assumed…”
It’s silent for a second and you frown, realizing you hadn’t even considered protection when you’d imagined sleeping with him before.
“You assumed what, honey?” he asks, voice soft.
“It’s dumb. I can’t tell you.”
“You can tell me anything. I’m not going to think it’s dumb, I promise.”
You chew on your lip, letting your eyes unfocus on the box as you muster the courage to be honest.
“Whenever I imagined it… we didn’t… use anything.”
The words make you cringe even as you’re saying them. So does the quiet that follows.
“When you imagine us sleeping together, we don’t use a condom?”
“Ah!” The phone drops to the mattress as you cover your ears and roll onto your side, curling into yourself once more. “You didn’t have to say it! You make me sound so weird!”
“It’s not weird,” he laughs, because he can probably imagine exactly what you just did, “I just wanted to make sure I was understanding you. That said… we would definitely use protection.”
“Do we have to?”
The quiet words take even you by surprise—and they seem to stun Spencer as well. Several false starts are punctuated by a sigh as he gathers his thoughts.
“We really should, baby. That’s the kind of thing we need to take seriously.”
“But you’re… you’re good, right?”
Thankfully he picks up on your meaning.
“I am. I wouldn’t touch you if I weren’t.”
“And I’m good. So...”
“Hm. And has anyone ever explained to you where babies come from?”
You groan in frustration.
“Spencer, I’m being serious! There are ways to negate that.”
“Honey,” he murmurs, “I understand that. But it would be irresponsible of me to say yes. We can talk about it in the future, but—”
“I’m telling you it’s already dealt with. The chances of an accidental pregnancy are slim to none.”
The new information hangs in the air for a moment until Spencer speaks—to your surprise, his voice is low and humorous.
“That is… good to know. But even so—I’m setting a dangerous precedent if I always let you get exactly what you want.”
“Is it such a bad thing that I just wanna—I wanna know what it feels like? You don’t want that?”
“That’s not what I said. I want to know exactly what you feel like. I’m just hesitant to give in so quickly because it makes me look weak.”
You laugh breathlessly, caught between being turned on by the first part of his sentence and amused by the sarcastic second half. Your thighs clench and your hand absentmindedly wanders between them.
“You know what I was thinking about?” you ask. Spencer hums curiously. “I was thinking about when you let me, um… when you let me touch you how you touch me.” He hums again, but you can hear the amused curve of a smile in it now.
“When you had your mouth all full of me and you looked so pretty?”
“When I—yeah,” you agree, too caught up to deny his compliment as your fingers brush your most sensitive spot through clothing. “And how you got me all messy after. And I was wondering what it would feel like… inside me.”
He sucks in a breath. Your legs brush against each other and you twist slightly as you pretend like you’re not touching yourself just a little bit.
“You want me to come inside you?”
“Yeah,” you whisper, brain short-circuiting at the way those words sound in his voice.
—
On the other side of the line, Spencer isn’t doing a fantastic job of thinking clearly either. His dick is half-hard already and it’s only getting worse with each little noise you make that you don’t seem to realize you’re making.
“Really? That would be very messy, baby. I’m surprised that’s what you want.”
“But I really want it,” you breathe. He’s not even looking as he slips his hand under the waistband of his pajamas and palms himself, his other hand rubbing tiredly over his face as his phone rests on his chest. This was not how he intended for this call to go, believe it or not—but he’s here now.
“Yeah? Is that why you’re touching yourself right now?”
You go silent—which is more or less exactly the reaction Spencer had been expecting. Patiently he waits for you to deny it, in three, two—
“’M not.”
Now, he could explain how he knows that’s a lie. How your breathing pattern changed, and your voice got softer and airier, and how you started speaking with smaller words in fragmented sentences. But he doesn’t feel like explaining any of that.
“I know that’s not true,” he murmurs. “You know what? It wasn’t fair to get you all worked up last night and then leave. I don’t want you frustrated, honey. I want you to do whatever you need to do.”
You make a little gasping noise, and Spencer can imagine the way your back would arch when you did it. His own hips buck slightly as his dick twitches under his fingers.
“Where are you touching?”
“Um—over my clothes.”
Cute.
“Go under them for me. Tell me how it feels when you’re touching yourself like that.”
It takes a moment, in which all he hears is the rustling of fabric, until you’re whispering, “feels… it feels good. I wish you were here.”
He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base.
“I know. Just listen to my voice, pretty. I’m right here.”
Spencer allows himself a few slow tugs as he imagines what’s happening in his bed. You make a squeaking noise, like a held-back moan, and his eyes screw shut.
“I need them inside,” you whine, and he knows you’re referring to his fingers—the ones currently stroking his own leaking cock.
“You can use your own, just give yourself a minute first. Remember what I said about needing to be ready?”
“I am ready—” judging by the surprised chirp you interrupt yourself with, you’ve proven yourself right. What surprises Spencer is the weak sound of disappointment you make next. “Spence, it doesn’t feel the same.”
“We’re different sizes, honey. Your hands aren’t as big as mine. But you can still make it feel good.”
He almost says, 90% of the nerves in the vaginal canal are located in the lower third—in other words, within approximately 2.36 inches from the opening, which you can most certainly reach—but he refrains. He’s not sure if that’s good dirty talk.
“You have a really sensitive spot about three inches up, right in front. It’s going to feel a little different than the rest of you when you touch it. I want you to try and find it for me, okay?”
“Okay,” you breathe, ever-eager to please even from a great distance. There’s a quiet moment. “I can’t—I don’t think I can r—oh,”
The moan is so pretty Spencer can’t help speeding up the motion of his hand, hissing slightly as his fingers brush against the angry tip with every pump.
“Did you find it?”
“Yeah,” you whine, a weak, high-pitched thing. “Oh my god.”
“Be gentle,” he warns with some effort as his own hips jump slightly. “You’re really sensitive there. If you’re not careful you’ll make yourself sore.”
“I don’t care—holy shit—” the way your voice rises and tightens to a squeak at the end has Spencer moaning as he fucks his fist. A black hole forms and warps time, turning every minute into a second and every second into an infinity until he has no idea how much time is going by. He drags his thumb over the tip, smearing precum over his cock and whining as his jaw drops at the feeling. “Oh my god, Spencer,” in that same strained, high voice. “’M gonna—ah!”
He gets the general sentiment.
“What, baby? You’re gonna make yourself come all over your fingers? Is that what you wanted to tell me?”
“Mhm!”
“Yeah, I bet you are. It feels good, huh?”
“Yes,” you cry.
“See? You don’t need my fingers to feel good. Mine barely fit, you know that? I have to hold your fucking hips down whenever I put my fingers in you because you can’t stop squirming. I don’t know how you think you’re going to take my cock.”
“Spencer!”
He knows.
“Come, baby. Let me hear you.”
The delicate sounds you make as you bring yourself to orgasm tip him over the edge of his own—grunting as he comes all over his fist.
“Jesus,” he strains under his breath, the word dragging out into two long syllables as his hips buck involuntarily and cum drips down his knuckles. He’s lightheaded and he’s created a mess and it all happened so quickly. “Fuck,” he breathes, a rasping chuckle as he reaches for the towel he’d dropped on the bed after his shower earlier. “You conscious over there?”
“I’m conscious,” you slur, breathing heavily. “I’ve never had an orgasm by myself before.”
“Are you proud of yourself?” Spencer smiles, wiping his hand off and making sure he’s otherwise clean. “You should be. I am.”
He’s barely kidding.
“I’ll be proud when I can do it without your help,” you tease.
“But I’ll always want to help you with that.” His already warm face flushes further as he goes over what he’d said. “Sorry I was so vulgar.”
You laugh. He blushes even more.
“Are you? I think you secretly love being vulgar.”
“I don’t know why! I have no idea where it comes from. I would never speak that way in any other context. I should probably work on that. Sometimes I look back on the things I say and I’m genuinely appalled.”
“Well, don’t stop on my account. Personally I enjoy it.”
“Yeah, I think I’m corrupting you. You probably shouldn’t enjoy it.”
The truth of it weighs heavy on his mind, but he’s pretty sure his voice alone doesn’t betray that and you can’t sense it through the phone.
“Oh, my god. Do not do that falling on your sword shit. I like being corrupted by you. If you stop I’ll be very upset.”
“Well god forbid you get upset,” he teases gently. Idly he wonders if the reason he’s suddenly feeling so depressed is because his cortisol levels were already high from the case, and then he jarred his system with an orgasm, spiking his dopamine and ultimately causing it to plummet without the oxytocin release that post-coital physical contact would usually provide.
Or if it was something else. It could also be something else.
For the millionth time, he wishes he was with you. Part of him also wants to go to sleep. But mostly he wishes he was with you.
—
A comfortable silence settles over the conversation. In the ditch between words, you’re mapping constellations in the texture of Spencer’s ceiling. If you squeeze your eyes almost shut, you can imagine it really is the night sky. You can imagine he’s really here.
You think about what he said—his apparently mindless vulgarity. Did it mean anything? Or was he just rambling to get you off?
“Spencer?” you murmur.
“Yeah?”
“Can I ask you a question?”
He sounds earnest, perhaps a little tired, as he replies, “always,” through the little metal rectangle on your chest. He likes me and my questions are important to him, you repeat to yourself silently as you work up the strength.
“If Penelope hadn’t called, last night… were you going to have sex with me?”
Your lip tastes like his toothpaste as you chew it. Spencer sucks in a breath of air like he’s about to speak—and lets it fizzle out like foam on a carbonated drink.
“I don’t know,” he finally admits, lamely. “That wasn’t my plan, but you can be extremely convincing when you want to be.”
“But why can’t it be your plan?” It’s an almost whine, pouty and childish—but the next words are quiet and pained. “Is it something I’m doing wrong?”
“No, no! It’s not you. You’re perfect. It’s—it’s complicated. It’s a me thing.”
Such trite words—such a ubiquitous, simple excuse sounds almost comical from his mouth when you know he’s capable of all the eloquence in the world. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s ridiculous.
“Okay. Let me simplify this for you,” you begin with an uncharacteristic assertiveness that surprises even you. “I want to have sex with you. Either we are going to have sex or we’re not. So your future branches in two diverging paths. In one, we have sex, and then we keep having sex. In the other we never have sex ever. If you want to ever have the privilege of fucking me, then we just have to do it. Otherwise it simply will never happen. And I’m not eternally patient, Reid.”
Go me, you think, slightly breathless from your monologue.
“Watch your mouth,” he says dryly. Something about the chastisement makes your stomach flip and your whole body tingle. “When you talk to me you call me Spencer. I will also accept Doctor Reid.” You wrestle down a smile, refusing to let him change the subject. A delayed sigh from him sobers up the conversation. “You know what I want. I’ve been very clear with you about that. But…”
“But…?”
Another sigh. A deeper, shuddering sigh, like his breath is searching for balance. Like Spencer is in a precarious position for which he was unprepared.
“But—but to be completely honest… I worry that you’ll regret choosing me. And I know virginity is a social construct and I’m not implying that your worth will somehow be diminished if we have sex but regardless of my views on virginity as a construct, having sex for the first time can be weird and scary and it’s incredibly intimate and I don’t want you to regret your first time like I regret mine because you chose the wrong person.”
The words come at you so rapid-fire it takes you a moment to process them. And aside from all the ways you want to reassure him that you will not regret choosing him—that you could never, ever regret anything about him—one thing stands out.
“You regret your first time?”
Something between a scoff and a sigh travels through the line. You can tell he’s not annoyed at you for asking so much as he’s flustered himself with all his own words as he occasionally does.
“Yeah. Yes. Sometimes I do. The person—she didn’t… like me as much as I liked her. And I was really, really in love with her, and she knew that and she knew she wasn’t in love with me—or maybe she was, I don’t know—but my point is, when one person likes the other more than the other person like them, things get complicated. And however you feel about me—that’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t want you to feel bad if we don’t feel exactly the same way about each other. I understand that this is newer for you, it’s different, I—I just don’t want us to do something we can’t undo because I don’t want to relive that. And I’m not saying it will never happen but I just don’t want you to make this choice when… when right now, I think we’re in different places emotionally. Regardless of that, I want you to choose the right person. I don’t want you to choose me and then find out that we feel differently after we sleep together and leave you feeling like you signed up for something you didn’t understand. I’m sorry. Maybe telling you this is selfish. But I’ve been thinking about it and trying to ignore it and I think I just have to be completely honest.”
Your ears ring like Spencer just fired a blank right into the microphone. Like you just got backhanded across the face and now you have the world’s worst case of whiplash.
Every finger is numb and your blood is so cold it feels blue as it slithers thick through your veins.
What you want to do is scream. What you want to do is go back to last night and stop yourself from almost telling him I love you, slap yourself and keep your cards a little closer to your chest. Because now he knows, and he doesn’t feel the same.
You want to scream bloody murder.
But when you try, when you unhinge your jaw and part your chapped lips and expect a bellow to come hurdling up the corridor of your throat with so much force it rattles your bones, all that falls out is a small, “oh.”
Maybe that’s worse.
Spencer doesn’t reply. You hate yourself for feeling obliged to fill the silence.
“I didn’t realize you…”
I didn’t realize that you don’t love me back.
I didn’t realize I like you more than you like me.
I didn’t realize you’d tell me to masturbate in your fucking bed and then drop this not even five minutes later.
If Spencer Reid was able to talk to you over the phone with the same amount of affection and familiarity as always, like everything was still okay, knowing you love him and he doesn’t love you the whole time, he is not who you thought he was.
“I’m sorry,” he lamely says again, like it could ever help.
More silence. Now you can’t bring yourself to speak, so Spencer does.
“I realize how awkward this is. I really didn’t mean to put you in this position. Especially not over the phone when I—god, I’m stupid. I’m sorry. But can we—can we talk about this in person when I get back? Please?”
Is that what grownups do? Is the proper etiquette for him to take you out to dinner and explain why he’s not in love with you? Is he going to break up with you?
What does one even wear to a breakup date?
“Okay,” you whisper. Your eyes sting, your everything stings, like you’ve been wrapped in a shroud of briar. Sheets that were soft a moment ago feel like sandpaper on open wounds. You feel like an open wound.
Spencer sighs. It’s a sound of relief that confuses and hurts you even more.
“Okay. I—okay. Thank you. Um—I’ll let you go back to sleep, now.”
“Okay,” you repeat—as if any of this were okay. But you can’t keep being that stupid girl who feels it all so much harder, who loves easily and begs to be loved in return, too naive to assume that someone who treats her so kindly might not reciprocate her feelings. It has to be okay, because if it’s not, you’re silly and dramatic and you’re just proving him right.
“Goodnight,” Spencer whispers, and you can’t help but feeling that it’s the last time you’ll ever hear those words from his mouth while you’re in his bed. And he’s not even fucking here.
So you pull the blanket a little higher. You let your tears stain his pillow because they’ll be invisible by the morning. It will be like they were never here. Like you were never here.
“Goodnight.”
-
part five
#spencer reid#spencer reid fic#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid angst#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#criminal minds#criminal minds smut#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds fic
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
Dad!Spencer forgetting to take a hair clip out of his hair that his daughter put in earlier that morning 🤭 and nobody telling him until he goes home LMAO
Georgia has a cutesie little routine with her dad, he does her hair and she does his.
This morning Spencer has spent the better half of twenty minutes braiding her hair back and out of her face.
“Daddy, can you put the ribbons in today? The orange ones, please?” It would clash with her outfit but who is Spencer to deny her that?
“Course Georgia, on both braids or one tying them both together?”
He likes giving her choices like this, letting her decide little things so she feels she has a say. Spencer likes her to be knowledgeable and a little independent- but not too much, he still wants her to need you both.
“Invididually,” he smiles at how she says it and nods.
“Individually, you got it.” He ties the ribbons in cute little bows and then pats her back. “All done, go get breakfast with your mom.”
She starts to hop off the stool she’s stood on and then stops. “Wait. Daddy?” Her eyebrows pulled tight together as she reaches in her hair bag.
“Yes, sweetheart?” Spencer looks equally perturbed.
“Can I put this one in your hair? So we match?” He nods and kneels down, letting her little hands push back his hair and set the orange clip in his hair.
Breakfast is busy, as it usually is with a five year old. She wants waffles and you and Spencer spend a little time coaxing yogurt and fruit on her plate.
You pack her lunch kit, pack yours and then Spencer’s and you’re all rushing out of the door- you need to beat traffic.
You kiss Spencer goodbye and you both rush off- you to drop Georgia and Spencer to the bau.
His day doesn’t get less busy, an all paperwork day, so he’s stuck at his desk and while he gets weird looks from Derek, he doesn’t take it on much.
It’s not unusual at all.
“Okay guys, get home. We’re not getting much else and we’re all updated on the paperwork.” Hotch makes the announcement around four thirty and Spencer sighs, cracking his knuckles as he stretches in his chair.
“Alright, I’m headed home guys. Georgia started fractions today and that math is never good for six year olds.”
He’s packing his back and catches a look of himself in his laptop’s reflection before he closes it.
“Oh shit,” he mumbles, turning round Emily and JJ. “Did I have it in all day?”
They both nod, JJ smiles gently. “It’s a good look Spence, a nice touch from Georgia.”
“She’s getting better at gripping your hair back. Fine motor fully developed.” Emily compliments.
He blushes but doesn’t even bother to take it out, knowing she’s going to love it that he’s kept it in all day.
#spencerreid#spencer reid#spencer reid one shot#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid blurb#spencer reid fic#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x yn#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x black reader#dad!spencer reid#dad!spencer
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
[ SMAU + DRABBLE ] 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 ! ( sixth installment ) in which you are forced to plan a corporate event with your office enemy .
୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight.
୨୧˚ incl; kento nanami
୨୧˚ cw; profanity , mentions of sex
୨୧˚ an; so sorry if anyone asked to be tagged recently and you didn’t get tagged!! tumblr is being screwy again and i can’t see any of my comments😭😭 also apology time from nanami woo hoo!!!
Nanami stole yet another glance at the expensive watch wrapping around his wrist. Your promptness was certainly an issue; how does she show up nearly thirty minutes late to a meeting she called?
And then he scoffs at himself, giving a little shake of the head. Meeting? There he goes again, speaking in corporate tongue.
But finally, you do show up. Bursting through the entrance of the quiet café, making an embarrassing show of noisiness with your heaving breaths and wheezes. Not that it had been much of a disturbance to anyone else—only two other patrons resided in the small establishment; one too engrossed in her book to care, and the other scrolling mindlessly through his cellphone with a pastry in his free hand. Even so, you bashfully clapped two hands together as you peeked around the room. “Sorry!”
The older woman behind the counter nods in appreciation. Nanami can’t help but exhale roughly through his nose in sort of an almost-chuckle. God, you were a mess, weren’t you?
“Sorry, I’m so late!” You approached the table he resumed, one near the front window like you’d asked for. Your heels clopping against the grainy tile, knee-length dress flowing like water around your legs. He stands, walking to the opposite side of the tiny, rectangular table and pulling out the chair for you.
“Impressively late,” Nanami derides, but it’s not full of any malice. Truth be told, he did have the patience of a saint when situations like these were called to question. He didn’t mind waiting, because despite your utter tardiness, he trusted that you'd show up eventually, rather than ditching him altogether and leaving him to sulk in the humiliation of being stood up over a cup of black coffee. You were scatterbrained at times, yes, but dependable? Always.
Nanami returns to his side of the table after pushing your seat in. It wasn't meant to come across as a romantic gesture; Nanami had made it a habit of serving the women in his life nothing but a respectful demeanor. Whether it be lovers, colleagues, friends, and anyone in between. Though admittedly, his behavior towards you these past couple of months has been anything but respectful. It’s too late to start making amends to things, but the least Nanami can do now is try.
You shudder. Flustered, maybe? “Y’didn’t have to do that,” you tell him, placing your phone and clutch bag onto the table.
Nonsense. “My mother would have my head if she knew I let a lady pull out her own seat.” While true—his mother, bless her heart, raised him to be the gentleman his is today—he also just… wanted to do it. It felt right to serve you a seat.
Your elbow slams rudely on the table, finger reaching across to wag in his face. “Sounds like a good woman!” You laugh, and Nanami gingerly swats your hand away. He’s about to say something, but you beat him to the next sentence. “Hey, what gives? I thought this was supposed to be a day of relaxation?”
He worms under the scrutinized glare you wave up and down from his face to neck to chest to abdomen, finally peeking under the table to gawk at his shoes. Nanami curls his toes, a feeble attempt to shrink away from the judgement casted in your eyes. “What? Stop looking at me like that.”
“You’re dressed in fancy-man clothes.” At that, he takes it upon himself to look down at his wear; an ironed dress shirt clung to his chest, tie resting flat and perfectly centered between his pectorals. His slacks were ashy grey and devoid of any wrinkles, cut and hemmed around his ankles just above those stiff, leather shoes snug on his feet. The matching suit jacket was slung neatly over the backrest of Nanami’s chair, sleeves tucked away into its pockets.
His least expensive suit, sure, but still far too pristine and tidy for a little coffee shop outing. "Is it so bad that I like to remain presentable?" Nanami offers the question while he busies his hands, plucking open the pearlescent buttons at his wrists and rolling back the sleeves off the off-white button down.
"Presentability and discomfort don't always go hand in hand, you know. I mean, look at me," your voice echoes the mocking tone of cockiness, clearly a joke but also not at the same time. With a gesture towards yourself, you beam and shimmy in the simple, breezy dress. It had a floral pattern, Nanami notices. "Cute, stylish, and comfortable."
He isn't jumping to disagree with that. "Sorry, all my sun dresses were in the wash." He surprises himself with the jest, but it has you splitting an unladylike snort, so he doesn't come to regret it.
The toe of a thick, wedged heel jabs into his sock-clad ankle. "You business men are all so sassy." Nanami glowers at the adjective chosen to describe him, but doesn't refute. You sigh. "It's fine, I guess. Nothing we can do about it now. Wear some sweats next time though, would you?"
Next time. There’d be a repeat of this?
“Sure.”
“Great.” Your toothy grin beams over your clutch purse, of which is now wrangled in your grabby hands. Rifling through its unorganized contents, dumping out tubes of chapstick, loose change, and sticks of gum onto the table before fishing out a wallet. “Right, I’m starved. Did you look over the menu any?”
Nanami looked it over five times during the wait, if not for anything other than something to pass time. “Not really. Tell me what you recommend.”
You bite. Rambling about the array of pastries and baked goods that have been worthy enough to be placed in the category of y/n’s favorites. Nanami soaks in your excited, leaning in ever so slightly with open ears a you passionately ramble about cake.
“I take it you come here often?”
The question has you nodding. “Like, all the time man. This is my spot, you should be so grateful that I’m not a gatekeeper.” You look back at the menu once more before verbally deciding: “I want pistachio cheesecake and peppermint tea.”
The man poorly stifles his chuckle, rising from his seat. "Alright then, stay here. I'll go order."
"Oh, okay thanks." You shove your wallet into the wall of Nanami's chest, "take my card with you."
He is bewildered that you would even think he'd let you pay for your own meal. "I've got it," Nanami tells you, gently pushing the leather thing back to you.
"Nanami, stop."
"Stop what?"
"Take my fucking wallet," you gnarr, and he thinks you look much like a soaked kitten in this state of agitation. "Don't make me slap you."
It's an unserious threat, but Nanami plays a long. He raises two thick, blonde eyebrows. "Jesus, okay, you win. Just please keep your hands to yourself.” He revels in your little smirk of satisfaction, snatching your wallet back before making his way to the front counter.
Nanami kindly asked for two slices of pistachio cheese cake and two drinks; for you, peppermint tea, and him a coffee, black. Of course, everything was charged to his card. You didn’t need to know that, though.
You scarfed your portion down with swiftness, slinging spoonfuls of chartreuse custard into your mouth with such savagery that Nanami feared you might choke. He was a much more serene sight, preferring to savor each bite between slow swigs of piping coffee. The dark roast complimented the nutty pistachio flavor stunningly. For such a nameless little eatery, the food was exquisite. He takes another calculated bite of cake.
“You like?” The question was garbled behind a mouthful, cheesecake clinging to your milky teeth as you smiled brightly. A childlike excitement radiated warmly off you, clouding across the table to heat him up, too. It was sweet how wired you were, hopeful that he’d, too, enjoy your choice of confection.
Nanami huffs, amused. “Swallow before you choke.” You make a show of swallowing, a big hearty gulp with your eyes squeezed shut. “And yes, I like it a lot. Your tastes are surprisingly refined.”
“Surprisingly?” You gape, offended.
Nanami wants to crack a quip, something referring to your sub-par taste in men, but this little get together was nice. Yeah, it was really nice, actually. So he refrained from ruining it like the asshole he’d been lately, and drowned the snide remark with another toss of coffee. “Sorry, sorry.”
The remainder of the evening was cushy; you both fell into easy conversation about the randomest of topics. Discussions that never breached corporate subject matter, and he was eternally grateful for that. You spoke in tangents, whistling appreciation for a new movie you caught recently, to describing a long list of bands you enjoy, to lamenting about the headache that your minty iced tea sprang upon you: “Ah, brainfreeze!” Nanami doesn’t add much to the conversation, but he is content to listen and provide little hums of encouragement to urge you to keep talking. His eyes, inquisitive honey-colored things, found your lips and stayed there. Despite the uncouth display in which you carry yourself ( Nanami had been itching to tell you to close your legs, what with the way you sit spread-thighed in your seat donning that dress. So careless and unabashed. If the cafe had been a little more crowded, had a little more men around, and he might’ve slipped his foot over the imaginary boundary line to your side underneath the table and nudged them shut himself ) there was an elegance in the way you spoke about topics of interest. Passion flourished from the little curve of your lips, teeth bared in a great smile because you really were just that happy. Nanami feels envious when he watches you.
“I’m shocked at how well this is going.” You grin cheekily, licking cream from the pad of your thumb. “Kind of makes me sad that we didn’t get off on the right foot, you know? I think we could've been good friends.”
“Is it too late for atonement?” Nanami bites back a frown. “I understand if you can never see me as anything other than an asshole. But I never got to formally apologize for my behavior these past few months, Y/n. And I’d like to, if you’ll let me.” Why was this humiliating? It was a seldom occurrence when Nanami was in the wrong, but he was never one to let his faults drift by unaddressed. You deserve an apology—a proper one, not over measly text messages. Still, he miscalculated how awkward this would be.
You flail. “A formal apology? Nanami please, a simple ‘I’m sorry’ will work. It doesn’t have to be a whole thing, I’m mostly over it anyway.” But that was a lie and an obvious one, at that. You weren’t over it, he could see it in your eyes.
The blonde clears his throat and rubs his hands together mindlessly. “No, please. It’s long overdue, and if we’re going to be working in alliance, then you deserve to feel secure with me.” Though Nanami’s hands wrench restlessly, his gaze never detracts from yours. He bares his sincerity in the intense eye contact, offering a peek into his soul. Vulnerability. “I’ve been nothing but rude and ignorant and vulgar towards you, ever since…”
“That night.” You finish for him. “It really upset you, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess it did.”
“Why? Do you have a revulsion to sex or something?”
“What? Wh—I—No, t-that’s not…” Nanami sputtered, his ears growing warm from your accusation. “I don’t… mind sex?”
You play with the dainty straw flouncing around your drink, seemingly oblivious to Nanami’s flummoxed reaction. “You seem to have a strong opinion of whores, though.”
He groans, embarrassed with himself, and drags a palm down his pallor face. “Who you choose to sleep with does not make you a whore. It never did, I was just being petty and grasping at straws for anything that would get a reaction out of you.” Nanami runs his tongue over the roof of his mouth, inwardly wishing that the mug of coffee before him would turn to water so he could cure the dryness that ached in his throat.
“Why go through the trouble?”
Nanami opens his mouth, then closes it. Then opens again, “I don’t know.”
A piss poor attempt at playing the fool. Surely there was a reason for his unabashed cruelty towards you, but what the fuck was it? “Well, when you figure it out, let me know?” To his utter surprise, your expression doesn’t hold an ounce of animosity; you’re smiling at him. Finding humor in any situation had to be your special talent. Nanami nods dumbly. “In the meantime, you’ll just have to start making it up to me. You were a dick, big time.”
“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
“Hmmm,” you make a comical show of humming, touching your index to the point of your chin, and now Nanami knows you’re fucking with him. “Hmmm, hmmm, hmmm. I guess I can start the forgiving process if…” A pause for dramatic effect? The man raises his brows expectantly. “You and I make this,” you gesture between both bodies at the table, “a weekly thing.”
Nanami was expecting a punishment, but this suggestion was anything but. “I’ll need to take a look at my schedule first.”
“Listen, man, do what you gotta do. But I’m telling you, we are getting together at least once a weekend.” You scrub the corners of your lips with a napkin before crumpling it into a tight ball and discarding it on your empty plate. Nanami looks down at his own to see a healthy portion of his cake left. Wordlessly, he slides his plate across the table, and you accept the offering with open arms. “Oh shit, thanks! Like I was saying, this is fun, what we’re doing here. You’re having a good time, right?”
Sitting in a desolate coffee shop and listening to you prattle on has been the most fun he’s had in a devastatingly long time. “Yes, I am.”
“Good. You look fun-deprived.”
Fuck, I am. “I’m not.”
“Keep lying, I see through them all.” You scoop the last bite of Nanami’s cheesecake into your mouth, sighing with satisfaction and rubbing over your full tummy. “Anyway, I think hanging out would be good for us. Healthy, you know? Besides, I’ve been dying to know what off-duty Nanami looks like.”
He cracks a chuckle. “He’s nothing special.”
Your finger snaps in his face, invading his bubble of personal space, but this time he doesn’t shoo you off. “Another lie!”
likes and reblogs are appreciated !
tags . • @justbelljust @amnmich @ti-mame @silkija @maddietries @vyntagei @ebrysteria @aesukuni @lololooolleonnaaa @nanamiswife22 @r0ckst4rjk @mizzfizz @saiki-enthusiast @taelattecookie @enchantingkitty @kindadolly @reinam00n @hqtoge @syamamas @numblytemporary @xxravenxstarxx-blog @bloomedintome @guacam011y @jameinfrau @luvvmae @kazisupreme @nowhoremones @https-tank @venjrnjrbhrr19 @ya9amicide @darkstarlight82
#❝ 𝐑𝐀𝐄’𝐒 𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄 ❞#jjk smau#jjk texts#jjk x reader#jjk fluff#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jjk drabbles#jjk crack#jjk smut#kento smut#nanami kento#nanami x y/n#nanami fluff#nanami x you#jjk nanami#nanami smut#jjk kento#toji smut#geto smut#choso smut#gojo smut#social media au#enemies to friends to lovers
841 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Gang React to You Breaking Your Ankle
Lucifer
"This was bound to happen sooner or later."
I mean, really, with all the stunts you play with his brothers and that sorcerer, it's more surprising that you didn't break anything before now. Thank goodness your room is on the ground floor. Now, here is a schedule of where you need to be and when, along with the brother who is your designated companion at all times to ensure you don't get stuck somewhere or fall over and break something else. This is a rotating position so stop fighting all of you!
Mammon
"Holy shit, humans break easy, huh?"
Assuming for the moment that Mammon didn't accidentally get your ankle broken by pulling some stupid stunt for Devilgram clout and involving you in it, he'll be extra careful with you for a little bit. People keep jostling you in the hall! Don't they realize you're basically made of glass and paper?! He'll clear the halls for you to hobble by with your crutches. Yep, you're earning all sorts of new friends.
Leviathan
"E-sports are the best activity when you're injured."
What a convenient excuse to drag you to his room more often than usual for anime marathons and all-night gaming sessions. Like Mammon, he's a little uneasy about this revelation about just how delicate you are, but nobody gets injured playing video games. He's basically protecting you from your next inevitable accident.
Satan
"Stop trying to do so much on your own."
Satan acts extremely annoyed when he sees you trying to hop somewhere without your crutches or lifting anything more than fifteen pounds unaided. Of course, he's just worried about you and expressing that in the most practical way he can. He repeatedly reminds you of advice on improving your recovery rate he found in medical books and the blogs of reputable physical therapists (he always checks into their credentials).
Asmodeus
"Poor thing! Let me spoil you!"
And that's basically what he does, whenever he gets the opportunity. This is a great excuse to get some much needed R&R, in his opinion, so the two of you will be visiting spas and getting massages and you aren't walking anywhere anymore, he is one of the Rulers of the Underworld and you are going to be carried on a litter, so help him Gardonus.
Beelzebub
"You need to eat well to get your strength back."
Prepare yourself for Beel's version of "eating well". You only had three eggs for breakfast? You'll never heal at that rate. Have another six and some bacon. Here's a protein shake. It's designed for demons so it's probably a little grittier than the soft stuff from the human world but it's exactly what you need. No, he doesn't have any science to back this up. Yes, he expects you to clean your plate.
Belphegor
"Of course you got hurt, running around all the time. You should just relax with me."
Little did you know this was all part of Belphegor's master plan...
What a perfect opportunity to spend every second of the day with you. Now that you're forced to sit around and avoid being too active, he has you right where he wants you (specifically, under the blankets with him while he sleeps). He'll remind you at every opportunity that you normally run yourself ragged, and you've earned some time to laze around. And now that you're injured, you have the perfect excuse!
Diavolo
"Your poor human bones... My home is always open to you if you need somewhere more convenient to stay. Please take care of yourself, in the meantime."
Rest assured, he will provide you with all transportation necessary to and from RAD. Or perhaps you would like to try remote classes? Leviathan finds them productive! And if you need anything, please let him know. He'll be in touch about five times a day just to make sure you remember that.
Barbatos
"I am only a phone call away should you require my assistance."
And he will be on call at all hours of the day and night, just in case. You'll be treated like royalty when you visit the castle too, of course. (Even more like royalty than usual, that is.)
Solomon
"Oh, that? Here."
He just magics your ankle better. There, there, little apprentice. He's surprised you didn't do that yourself.
Simeon
"What are you carrying? I'll take it for you. No, I insist!"
Simeon will be a perfect gentleman, helping you up and down stairs and carrying your books and shopping for you. He's very concerned about you somehow re-injuring yourself, and even when you're alright to walk without crutches anymore, he still *really wishes* you'd use them for an extra week or two, just to be on the safe side.
Luke
"You did what to your ankle?! Ankles can do that?!
Congratulations, you've introduced Luke to the concept of broken bones, and he will find the human skeleton creepy and gross for the rest of his life.
--------
@thefandomthings I know this isn't exactly what your ask was, but it's similar, so I hope you like this!
#this was in my drafts for weeks#time to do another gang reacts post#obey me#obey me ensemble#obey me headcanons#obey me lucifer#obey me x reader#obey me mammon#obey me leviathan#obey me satan#obey me asmo#obey me beel#obey me belphegor#obey me belphie#obey me diavolo#obey me solomon#obey me simeon#obey me barbatos#obey me luke#dthc#hcs#text post#lucifer#mammon#belphie#levi#satan#asmo#beel#the gang react
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
The surprise guest (who had to be protected by the host)
Lando Norris x Leclerc! Reader
After Lando Norris had a make out session with YN Leclerc on his stream, it hadn't been intentional, he had been too scared to come face to face with any of his girlfriend's three older brothers. But when his girlfriend's mother invites him over for dinner, he can't just ignore her
or
in which Pascale Leclerc invites her daughter's boyfriend (or as she likes to call him, her fourth son) over for a family dinner
N.B: I feel like the humor isn't what most of you expected and I am so sorry, I swear I am funnier irl 😭 hope you guys like it... special thanks to @glai1023-blog and @flowerchild-96 for the idea of mama leclerc doting on Lando
For context
The brothers' reactions to the steamy stream
Social media reactions
YN had always been close to her mother, she always told her about her new hair ideas, how she wants to cook a new recipe and her crushes, so when YN started dating Lando Norris her mother was the first person to know (with the promise of not telling her brothers)
Pascale had met Lando quite a lot in the 9 months that the young couple's relationship had stayed secret from her brothers. To say Pascale adored the young Brit was an understatement.
Pascale Leclerc loved Lando Norris like her own son; she learned all his favorite foods, what are his preferred desserts and the meals he hadn't been able to taste before (so that she could make it for him)
With that being said, the Leclerc parent is always big on family. She had instilled in her childrens' head that even if you are busy, you must have a day each month for a family dinner and that all five members of the Leclerc family must be present.
Except for this month, six members were present at that dinner, and three of them were ready to kick the intruder out if it not had been for their mother hitting them on the back of their heads.
It had all started out normal- well as normal as it could be when just a week ago you had seen your sister making out with her boyfriend on live.
Pascale had been in the kitchen making dinner with the help of YN while the three male Leclercs were too traumatised by last week's events to face their sister. It's not that they didn't want to ask her questions, they really did, they wanted to interrogate her, but whenever they catch a glimpse of her they remember the phone screens showing her and her boyfriend.
Boyfriend. That was one person they would love to meet. Charles could probably know where Lando Norris is whenever he wanted, that was the perks of having the same circle of friends, team workers who were also friends and same bosses. Did he want to talk to him? No. Did he want to beat him? Yes.
The doorbell interrupted the brothers creative imagination of how they could kill the British driver. As Arthur was closest to the door he went up to see who it was, not expecting the one who they murdered 100 different ways in their haeds to be standing at the door with 2 bouquets of flowers, a box of chocolate and a box of what appeared to be a cake.
"Oh, umm, hi?"
Lando was about to piss his pants, he saw that expression change on Arthur's face, and he was the youngest of his girlfriend's brothers. With every second Arthur stared at him his heart rate increased with sweat filling his palms as his throat tightened up.
"Who is it Arthur?"
Shit, fuck. Lando knew that voice all too well, and he was not ready to have his head nailed to the front of the paddock for everyone to see.
"Oh dear, hello my son, Arthur move out of the way."
The gentle voice of Pascale Leclerc stopped any and all movements in the living room.
"SON!"
The three Leclercs exclaimed in sync, looking at the young brit with wide eyes and clenched jaws.
The boys' anger increased as they watched their mother fuss over the boy, thanking him for the flowers as she called their sister to place them in a vase, giving him a hug and kissing his cheeks.
"Oh lovely, you didn't have to bring anything. Is that your favorite dessert then?"
Lando was all too aware of the three pairs of eyes staring at him, and if looks could kill he'd be 18 feet under. Gulping, he gave Pascale an awkward smile, too scared to actually utter a word.
Noticing his trembling hands and terrified glances at her sons, Pascale glared at the young men "you three! Stop it!"
"But mum-"
"No! I don't want to hear a word out of any of you if it's not going to be nice! You should respect you sister's boyfriend and my guest!"
"It's a family dinner! You never invited any of our girlfriends to a family dinner before"
"Oh my god," now that's a familiar voice Lando loves hearing "stop being babies about it."
Moving closed, YN took the flowers from Lando's hands "ohhh, mum, he got you your favourite!"
"Thank you love." Giving him a peck on the lips, YN smiled at him, and upon hearing her brothers' groans and complains she gave him a wink before kissing him again.
■■♡■■
The three Leclerc brothers were like Hyenas, waiting for their mother to stop protecting their pray so they could have a word (with their fists.)
Sitting at the couch facing the open kitchen they watched as their mother dotted over the British driver, stretching her hand for him to taste the food on the spoon before giving her a wide smile
"You three look like Scar." YN teased as she took a seat besides Charles
"Mon ange," Charles started as he rotated in his seat making him face to face with his sister "please, why didn't you tell us?"
"YN, Lando Norris, really?" Arthur whined as he looked at his younger sister, waiting for an explanation of hers.
"You three are really insufferable," YN stated as she looked at them with a devilish smirk "if you guys are wondering why i didn't tell you, it's just cause I know you three will be earing my ear off about our relationship and yes Arthur, Lando Norris, he makes me happy and he kisses me oh so-"
"LALALALALALAAA" Arthur screamed at the top of his lungs, making his sister laugh while their mother scolded them for the noise
"No, but really," YN took a sip of water "he is really nice to me, he treats me really well and he is so respectful-"
"Oh yeah, making out on live is oh so respectful of him" Lorenzo rolled his eyes then glared at the young boy in the kitchen, getting head pats from their mother like a golden retriever.
"Oh god, don't remind me man" Charles groaned as the image he tried so hard to erase came back much more vibrant and clearer, as if the presence of Lando just solidified it in his brain.
"Okay listen," YN huffed as she crossed her arms "if you don't like him then okay, fine, I will end it before it goes any further, but it was an honest mistake on both of out parts. We're not into that kind of thing."
"God, will you stop doing that!"
"Do you want to tramatise us?"
"Oh god, I did not need to know anything about this."
Hearing her brothers whine and groan from her teasing brings YN the greatest of joys. Was she planning on actually breaking things off for her brothers? Hell no, they're not little princesses they can keep their emotions in check.
"Mon ange, are you really sure that you like him?"
"Yes!" YN insisted as she looked at him like he grew 2 heads "will you just please get to know him?"
Sighing Charles bit his tongue, not wanting to actually upset his sister with what he really wanted to say.
"Okay mon ange, I'll talk to him and I'll make sure everything is normal," Charles got up to make his way to his mother who was now in a matching apron with Lando as he listened to her every word, basking up the praises and head pats given to him "just please, if he hurts you or if you feel like you aren't his top priority don't stick around okay. You are worth so much more than a race driver."
"Aren't you one?"
"Exactly."
With that, Charles left his siblings heading off to his mother with a pout as he spotted her patting the Brit's cheek with a full smile
"God, he's so whipped for her." Arthur told his brother, shaking his head.
"Yeah well, I told him it'd bite him in the ass someday."
"Hey! I'm not that bad!"
"YN," Lorenzo looked at her with a blank expression "you take full advantage of it and you know it."
■■♡■■
It had been an hour and now the family of five and their guest are sitting at the dinner table, having their first bite of the homemade dinner.
"Oh, this tastes phenomenal Mrs Leclerc. I hadn't had that in a while"
"Oh dear, I'm so glad you like it!" Pascale cooed over the young boy, getting up to place more for him on his plate "YN told me it's one of your favourites."
"Thank you so much darling." Lando smiled at YN, feeling more at ease with the glares sent his way as Pascale Leclerc glared right back at her sons.
"Mum," Lorenzo started as he looked at the food in distaste "I don't eat that, you know."
"Well," the mother smiled at her son sarcastically, making sure to get her point across "if you don't like it, then don't eat."
"Oh, c'est brutal maman." Arthur murmured under his breath, looking at his oldest sibling in pity
("Oh, that's brutal mum")
"I said no French!" Pascale warned her youngest son before turning to her now favorite son "tell me Lando, do you like Vanilla cakes?"
"Not really no, but YN told me it's your favorite so I bought it from what I also believe to be your favorite dessert shop."
"Oh dear, you really are my favorite," four voices of a 'mum!' yelled in the dinning room which did not take any of Pascale's attention away from the British young man "you're going to make me swoon."
"Oh my god," YN whispered to her brothers "we lost her."
"Yeah well," Lorenzo grumbled at his sister "he is your boyfriend"
"I lost my mum to my boyfriend."
"Oh, he went out of his way to go to her favourite shop," Arthur stated "she's not letting him go anywhere."
"I think you lost both of them mon ange."
■■♡■■
{Taglist: @idaesrhy @masonspulisic}
#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#charles leclerc#f1#lando norris x y/n#lando norris#lando norris x reader#lando norris x leclerc!reader#lando norris x leclerc reader#charles leclerc sister#charles leclerc x sister!reader#leclerc!reader#arthur leclerc x sister reader#older brother arthur#lorenzo leclerc x sister reader#lorenzo leclerc#older brother leclerc#older brother charles#brother!charles leclerc
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
more than friends ; lando norris + part ten
In which your best friend is going to help you to gain more sexual experience and say goodbye to your insecurities, but he's quick to discover that he never wants to share you and your new experiences with others - the only problem being, him having to confess his feelings.
masterlist - playlist
fem!y/n x lando norris
warnings: smut with a plot. minors dni! probably grammar or spelling errors due to english not being my first language.
requested: yes, based on this request: something with a driver sister that’s still a virgin & lando (her bestfriend) suggests to teach her things
part one / part two / part three / part four / part five / part six / part seven / part eight / part nine
“You’re insane,” Oscar tells his teammate when he sees you walking towards Lando and him. “Actually insane,” he mutters when he gets an even closer look on you. When you feel Oscar his eyes on you, you know for sure what he’s looking at. He looks at the same thing that everyone else is looking at when they see you. Lando his love bites. Why did he even leave them so out in the open? You tried to cover them up with make up, but it didn’t work. If you brought a turtle neck with you, you would have worn it for sure right now. But since you’re in another hot country, you only have summer clothes with low necklines. Which means that everyone can see the marks on your skin that Lando made two days earlier. You curse him for leaving them on this place, but you continue to walk closer to him.
“Insane?” Lando asks Oscar. He notices the way his teammate looks at you.
“Is this to show Pierre that she’s taken or something stupid like that?” Oscar continues to scold Lando. He didn’t even think about it like that, but now that he does… The hickeys might help with Pierre backing off a bit. “You can’t claim something you don’t own,” Oscar sighs, “just remember that before you do more stupid shit.”
Before Lando can say anything to Oscar, you’re already standing in front of them. He notices the way you try to cover the hickeys with you hair, but he stills sees the red love bites. Now that he thinks about it, let everyone see them - maybe then everyone will figure out that you belong to him.
“Hey baby,” Lando greets you.
“Don’t baby me, I’m mad at you,” you sigh, “I should have brought a turtleneck with me. Everyone is looking at me.”
“Sorry,” Lando jokes. He watches around you and notices the way people are watching at you. You’re right. Everyone is paying attention to you. He notices some press workers as well. Normally the track isn’t busy on Wednesdays, but today seems different. He hears cameras clicking. Are people taking pictures of you? He starts to stress a bit. Lando pulls you closer to himself and drapes his arm around your shoulder, using it to hide your hickeys a bit more.
“I might have a crewneck sweater laying here somewhere,” Lando tells you.
You nod at Lando. Together you walk inside the McLaren motorhome. You notice the way even some mechanics are watching you. You’re going to kill Lando. This is all his fault. Lando doesn’t pay attention to them, he takes your hand and pulls you with him the his drivers room. There you finally get his sweater. You’re quick to put it on. Happily you watch in the mirror, almost no love bite is still visible now. The sweater is way too hot, but you rather become sweaty then have people look at you for the whole day. You can only hope they’ll fade away quickly. In silence the two of you walk back to the track.
Together with Lando you’re strolling on the track. It’s relaxing to walk around with him like this. Lando is holding your hand. You like the peaceful silence between you two right now. It feels comfortable and relaxing. You realize that you don’t feel like this around other people. Lando has always been your safe place. It reminds you about how special things are between Lando and you, but it reminds you most about how you can’t fuck things up between you two.
Your feelings are already coming in the way. They have always done, but since you have been experiencing the sexual stuff with him it has become worse. Maybe it’s because you have a tiny bit of hope that Lando also feels something for you. It’s the first time you have ever had that hope. Partly because of his jealousy, that must mean something right? But still, you wonder if it’s worth it if it can also ruin your friendship? What if you’re wrong and Lando doesn’t feel the same?
When Lando grabs your hand, he pulls you out of your thoughts. “Don’t look to fast,” he says, “but I think Pierre is coming this way.” Fuck. You’re not in the mood for that. Slowly you watch around you, it doesn’t take you long to see that Lando is right. Pierre is walking towards the two of you. In only a couple seconds he’s standing in front of you.
“You could have told me,” Pierre says to Lando without any context.
“Told you what?” Lando asks confused.
“Come on,” Pierre sighs, “All the gossip accounts are full with it. The two of you are dating.”
“Sorry?” You ask confused, “Are gossip accounts stating that we’re dating?”
“Yes!”
You let out a sigh. Gossip accounts have always been a thing. They always suspect that there’s something going on between Lando and you, but they never had any proof. You drop Lando his hand. This is a mess. You don’t even want to see your socials right now, they’re probably full with hate. Fuck.
“Since when do you believe gossip accounts?” Lando asks Pierre.
“Since she has been spotted with hickeys all over her and she’s now wearing one of your crewneck sweaters,” Pierre answers annoyed, “I don’t get it why you didn’t tell me. I made a fool of myself by asking her on a date. You could have said something.”
“I told you that you weren’t her type.”
Lando continues to argue with Pierre. You on the other hand can only wonder when the gossip accounts are going to share the pictures of your love bites. Fuck, what are ‘fans’ going to do then? You grab your phone and look at the way your notifications are already blowing up. Reactions keep coming, you read a couple of them. Most of them are calling you a slut. Whenever you see a nice one, there are more negative ones beneath them. You search on a gossip page, wondering what they already posted. Then you see one of the pictures.
It’s you in your former outfit. The hickeys on your neck and collar are hard to miss. Suddenly you start to feel watched. It feels like everyone around you is looking at you.
“You should have told me that you two are dating,” Pierre scoffs angrily.
“We’re not,” you sigh. It’s the first time that you’re saying something again. “And even if we were, it’s none of your business. Can you take me back to the motorhome Lando?”
When you’re finally back in Lando his drivers room, you grab your phone again. Your notifications are blowing up. It seems like everyone is talking about Lando and you dating. You have never gotten this many comments under a Instagram post, you’re above a thousand now on your most recent post. You try to read as many as you can, but a lot of them are the same. People are calling you a slut for “parading” around the track with the hickeys. Others are saying that Lando deserves better, that you’re only with him for the fame. As if you weren’t with him before he even started in Formula One. Sometimes you read a positive comment. Some people seem to like it that Lando and you are “finally” together, not that it’s true. Some people are even reacting about the true love between you two. All of it makes you sad. You don’t even notice the tears that are falling down on your cheeks, until Lando wipes a couple of them away.
Lando doesn’t know how to act. He takes you into his arms and tries to comfort you as much as he can manage. He doesn’t know what is wrong, but he can guess. When Pierre said something about the gossip accounts, he didn’t even think about the consequences for you from those accounts, but now he remembers. Every time they post about you, your notifications are blowing up. People know how to find your Instagram and how to leave horrible comments. He doesn’t even want to read it.
“Nothing of what they’re saying is true babygirl,” Lando shushes. You let out a soft sob. “Everyone thinks I’m a slut,” you tell him, “or a gold digger or just an awful person.”
“You’re not.” He presses a soft kiss on your forehead. “You’re the most wonderful person I know,” he continues, “So stop letting this get to you babygirl, they’re not worth it.”
“Lan?” You ask softly. He nods and waits for you to continue. “This is all your fault,” you softly joke, “fucking hickeys.” Lando lets out a soft laugh.
+++
“Fuck, babygirl,” Lando grunts when you lower your body onto his. He feels himself enter you. “You feel so fucking good.”
You’re sitting on top of Lando. He’s not even more then ten minutes back from the second free practice. It didn’t went like he wanted to. When he got out of the car, he let everyone know about that. The moment he started to scold multiple mechanics you were quick to intervene. Normally you don’t, but Lando kept going on and on. It was getting too much. He really lost his temper this time. You wonder why, normally he’s rather patient.
Slowly you move your body on top of Lando. This position makes you feel more fulled up then the first time. With slow movements you fuck him. When you let out a soft moan, Lando shows you a small smile. His hands are all over your body. He kneads your boobs while pressing his lips against your collarbone. Softly placing kisses all over it.
You didn’t know what got into you when you grabbed Lando his hand while he acted rude to his team. He gave you a surprised look and even shut his mouth for a bit. When you stood on your toes to reach his ear, he turned all of his attention to you. “If you stop whining,” you whisper, “I’ll have sex with you in your drivers room.” Lando shut in within seconds. He even apologized to his crew before taking your hand and almost running towards his drivers room with you. Undressing you as soon as he turned the door behind him. When your dress was all up and his pants were down and he was ready to enter you, you surprised him one more time. “I want to be on top.”
Lando can’t stop himself from letting out multiple moans when you increase your pace. Faster then before you move yourself on top of him. He grabs your neck and moves your face closer towards himself so he can kiss you properly. His hands are still busy kneading your boobs. He gives your nipples a bit more attention by softly pulling on them.
“Fuck Lan,” you whine when he pulls back from the kiss. He chuckles and let his hands slide down on your body. His lips are attached to your neck. “No more visible marks,” you instruct half jokingly, half serous. Lando grunts but moves his mouth a bit lower, making sure his new marks can be covered with summer clothes.
You’re surprised when you feel Lando put his finger on your clitoris. He shows you a small smile when he notices your surprised look. Slowly he traces circles on the sensitive bud, making you feel all kind of things. You let out a loud moan. Lando adds a bit more pressure. You try to increase your pace as well, but you start to feel worn out. Lando helps you, effortless he moves himself inside of you. Picking up a fast pace. It causes you to let out more moans.
“Fucking insane how good you feel,” Lando groans. He feels himself coming close to his orgasm, but he wants to feel you cum on his dick first. He increases his pace on both fucking you as on playing with your sensitive bud. Stimulating you as much as he can.
“Are you going to cum for me?” Lando asks you, “Let me feel how good it feels to have your pussy clenching around my cock.” You don’t react verbally. Lando keeps talking dirty to you. “So fucking tight.” “Such a good girl.”
“I’m close Lan,” you suddenly tell him, “Can I cum?”
Lando increases his pace as much as he can. “Please do babygirl,” he tells you. When he feels your pussy clenching around his cock, he lets go as well. When his cum enters your body, Lando tells you one more thing. “My good girl.” It makes you all flustered.
+++
Days are going by quickly. Before you know it, it’s already Sunday - meaning it’s race day again. This is the last race of the triple header, meaning that after this Lando and you will go back home. You don’t know how to feel about that. Last weeks you have spent al your time with Lando, sleeping in his hotel rooms and being together almost every moment of the day. It has been extremely nice. You like living with Lando like this. That’s maybe why you don’t like going back home tomorrow. Then you’ll be alone in your own apartment again, without Lando laying next to you in the bed every night.
“Good luck kiss?” Lando asks you. He holds his helmet. He’s almost ready to get into his car and to start with the race. You show him a small nod and press the standard ‘good luck kiss’ against his cheek. Like you always do when you’re with him at races. “Don’t know if that will bring me enough luck,” Lando jokes.
You show Lando a confused look. What does he mean? Before you can ask about it, Lando presses his lips on your for a small moment of time. It can’t have lasted longer then a second, but it was long enough to wake up the butterflies in your stomach. You look around you. Did anyone see it? It can’t be. You don’t more negative comments on your socials. Now that you think about it, what did just happen? Since when is Lando kissing you in public places?
Lando doesn’t say anything else, he walks off to his car. He can only think about what he just did. He realizes that if anyone saw, it will mean that you’ll get more hate. Maybe he should say something about it on his socials? He needs some help from his PR team. He wonders what’s going on with him. He just kissed you in a public place, practically on his work, where everyone could see. Since when are you doing that? If someone saw and shares it, the madhouse will be complete. He wonders what would happen if he would date you and share it online. People have been shipping the two of you for a long time, so some of them might be happy. But there are always so many haters. When he takes place in his car, he looks at the Alpine motorhome. He remembers Pierre his statements from earlier this week. Finally someone who understands that you’re not for him to take.
He really should solve this problem and make you his.
Then he remembers something else. Didn’t you have a date planned with some guy for after the triple header? He tries to forgot about it and focus on the upcoming race, but that seems to be hard form him right now. He can’t stop thinking about the guy who’s taking you on a date. Who is it? Will you fall in love with him? When he lines up to the start, he’s still thinking about the guy you’re going on a date with.
You watch Lando race. All of your focus is on him, nothing new now that you think about it. Only this time it doesn’t feel like it normally does. It’s because of some weird feeling that you can’t seem to shake off. It almost feels like something is going to happen. Something bad. It feels off. You don’t know why you’re thinking like this right now, but you can’t seem to stop. You can’t take your eyes off the screen which shows Lando his car all the time. Multiple mechanics are watching the fight for second place, but you can only focus on Lando. Even the way he races feels off. It’s hard to say without any knowledge about it, but he almost seems unfocused.
Then you see the reason behind your feeling. Lando misses his braking point. Within seconds he’s spinning into the wall. You let out a loud scream when it happens. Quickly you stand up and walk closer to the screen. All the attention of everyone in the motorhome is on the screen as well now. Everyone is waiting for Lando to say something. To let them know he’s okay.
You need to hear Lando say something. You need to know if he’s okay. The crash didn’t look massive, but still bad. It doesn’t take long for a safety car to show up on the grid, leading the drivers. Many drivers are coming into the pit to change their tires. You don’t notice any of it, you just keep waiting for Lando to say something. The stress doesn’t leave your body.
“I’m ok.”
You feel how you let out a lot of air at once with a relieved sigh. Thank god, Lando is okay. You watch how he climbs out of his car. It seems like he has no trouble with walking away from the track to get back to the motorhome. Within a couple minutes you see Lando showing up at the motorhome. The medical team is following him inside, you hear some talks about medical checks but you don’t follow it. All of your attention is on Lando.
While walking to Lando you almost trip over your own feet. “Fuck Lan,” you stammer while rushing yourself into his arms. Lando doesn’t react verbally, he just wraps his arms around your body and holds you closely to himself. You don’t even notice that you’re making his race suit wet with your tears. “Are you hurt?” You ask him.
“We would have known if he joined us for his medical checks,” someone tells you with an annoyed tone in her voice. You let go of Lando and look around you, only to see that the whole medical team is gathered around you.
“You didn’t have your check up yet?” You ask Lando confused. “No,” he replies. “Fucking hell Lan,” you mutter, “Go with them you idiot.” Lando shows you a boyish grin, “Sorry babygirl, I wanted to see you first.”
Lando and you are rejoined only a small hour later. He is still laying in a hospital bed. The medical team decided that he needed some rest before getting back out of there. The crash wasn’t hard and didn’t left much damage across for a few bruises and painful spots on his body. They gave him some pain medication, which causes him to feel a bit loopy. You’re sitting next to him, waiting until he wakes up. You have seen him on medication like this before, the Grand Prix in Las Vegas showed you how loopy and careless Lando can act with medication like this. You wonder how he will act this time.
When Lando wakes up, he’s happy to see sitting right next to him. He is quick to remember the way he crashed during the race. He feels ashamed when he realizes why he lost his concentration and how it ended his race, such a rookie mistake. And probably easy to fix if he finally gets the nerve to tell you about his feelings. He feels himself getting mad at himself. Before he can think about it any longer you’re already taking to him.
“How are you feeling Lan?” You ask him.
“Not great,” Lando sighs honestly.
“You scared the shit out of me,” you confess, “what happened?”
He can’t exactly tell you that he couldn’t stop thinking about you and the date you’re going on as soon you’re back in Monaco. That would be stupid. Although it is the real reason. Lando wants to make up some sort of excuse, but he is already talking again. Those fucking pain meds.
“Couldn’t focus,” he confesses, “I kept thinking about something.” He can barely stop himself on time from telling you that he was thinking about you and your date.
“About what?” You ask confused.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Lando quickly says before he can say anything stupid again. He needs to stop himself from confessing even more. “Okay Lan,” you softly say. You grab his hand and draw some figures on it. There’s a comfortable silence between you two. Lando enjoys your soft touches on your hand. He feels himself getting calm and almost falling asleep again. But right before he falls asleep, he can’t stop himself from saying something stupid again. He cam blame the pain meds, but he knows that he means every word.
“Babygirl?” He asks. “Yeah Lan?”
“Please don’t get a boyfriend,” he says. “And please don’t go on a date when you’re back in Monaco with anyone else then me.”
Fuck. Did he really just say that? How on earth will he fix this? Lando closes his eyes and tries to fall asleep instead of thinking what he just did. Lando doesn’t notice the way you have a small smile laying on your lips and how good you feel because of his words.
“I already cancelled that date,” you confess to Lando, “After we fucked I decided that it might be a better idea to practice a bit more.”
Lando opens his eyes and shows you a happy grin. “I don’t think you need a lot of practice,” he says, “but I’m happy to help.”
“That’s a deal.”
“My good girl,” Lando mutters before falling asleep.
part eleven
taglist: @booksandplushies @dinodumbass @formula1mount @words-are-cheap @allywthsr @inejghafawifesblog @chonkybonky @formulas-bitch @harrysdimple05 @vildetry06 @wherethefuckisthething @nonameishere @lauralarsen@meadhbhcavanagh @obliviatevamps @shy4turcs @fix5idiots @nightlockcornucopia @marialovesf1 @kapsylia @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @lanando4 @lauralarsen @leclercdream @agentadhd @rewmuslupin @allsouls-emma @iamshiningeuw @teenagedreams-cl@kiskso @loxbbg @vellicora @thomaslefteyebrow @avg-golden-retriever @amorydsmt @killjoynotes@barelytolerabled @starmanv @changetyre @kami10471633 @2bormaybenot @httpmrklee @buendiabebeta @aliceespector@ryiamarie @mickslover @sop-hie092 @miniemonie2001 @greymarvelskaikru @kapsylia@swiftiedrafts @thatchickwiththecamera @formulas-bitch @venisvendetta @t3a-3njoy3r @landowecanbewc
taglist p2: @chezmardybum @booksandflowrs @mineandneveryours @strawberryy-kiwii @noneofyourfbusinessworld @secretgal66 @trinity2058 @evieepepi08 @shutupmymomsc4lling @smiithys @nanamilkbread @hellowgoodbye @annie115 @random-1927 @sadmeal444 @christianpulisic10 @peachiicherries @toppersjeep @lovingaphroditesworld @kiskso @silentreader128 @lauralarsen @scopeiguess @trinity2058 @shy4turcs @moonlight-girls-posts @xjval @saachiep81 @leclercdream @adalynneva @swiftiedrafts @oscahpastry @customsbyjcg-blog @idontcare011 @f1fantasys @emyladia
#lando norris#lando norris x reader#lando norris x y/n#lando norris fanfiction#lando norris imagine#ln4#formula one#f1#lando norris imagines#lando norris smut
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Honey Girl. Chapter Five.
Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three. Chapter Four. Chapter Six. Chapter Seven. Chapter Eight. Chapter Nine. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.
Chapter Synopsis - Does absence make the heart grow fonder, or does it just make everything ten times more difficult?
Pairing - Dad'sBestFriend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au
Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol consumption. angst. mention of illness.
Age Rating - 18+
Word Count - 5.7k
Author's Note - it's here!! as always, I can't thank you enough for your love, support and patience with this fic. us writers lead busy lives, and i've been trying my hardest to find the time to write whenever I can, so it means so much that you guys stick with me - even when things take longer than expected. love you all. you're angels. please feel free to spam my inbox with thoughts and suggestions - it always makes my day when you're all so passionate. mwah.
as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3
Masterlist. Inbox.
The sand is warm beneath your feet, cooling breeze cascading across your skin. The waves caress the shore in repetitive motions, lulling you into calm.
Sunlight beaming down, you shield your eyes and look up, sighing in contentment at the shades of blue that paint the sky.
A shriek and a laugh come from somewhere on your right. You look over and see a couple and their toddler running after each other, sprinting down the beach and into the ocean. The little girl can't stop giggling, tripping over her own feet as she chases her parents. Something tugs at your heart, deep and visceral.
It's been three months since you left home.
It's been three months since you saw Bucky.
He calls every few days, trying to give you the space you need while also keeping in touch. You have to resist the urge to call him every ten minutes. It's an improvement, at least. It was five minutes when you first moved.
He texts you good morning and goodnight everyday without fail, just to let you know he's there. You can't sleep until you get his text. It's like a lullaby, reassuring and soothing. Like a chamomile tea, warming and calming you from the inside out.
You think about him the most at night time. Your days are spent running around preparing for the bakery. Testing, retesting, writing up recipes, measuring out quantities. You want it to be perfect.
The baking is taking your mind off Bucky, for the moment at least. You've thrown yourself into your new role, eager and excited. Stella's ecstatic to have you around. You love that you're still just as close as you were, despite the time apart. Friendships like that are rare.
Lacie calls you most nights. She demands to know what you did that day, who you spoke to, what you made. It's like therapy, sitting and decompressing together over videochat. She's a lifeline, whether she knows it or not.
And of course, the most supportive people in your life - your parents. Your Mom is desperate to come and visit, begging that you let her know when you're less busy so you can show her around. She loves the sunshine just as much as you. A woman after your own heart.
On the nights when the doubt creeps in, unwelcome and dark, you remind yourself how lucky you are. Surrounded by people who adore you, support you, love you unconditionally. And then the night doesn't seem so dark. The light pours through the cracks.
You walk home from the beach, warmed and carried by the knowledge of love.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
"This is ridiculous."
Stella's perched on the edge of your countertop, blush pink macaron in her hand.
"Good ridiculous?"
She scoffs, looking at you incredulously.
"Where did your confidence go? You never doubted yourself in school. Yes, good ridiculous. It shouldn't work, but it does."
Shouldn't work, but it does. Seems to be the story of your life at the moment.
"I need these on the menu."
"You don't think they're a little... pretentious? My best seller is a chocolate chip cookie. A honey and rosewater macaron isn't exactly a childhood favourite."
"Babe. That's the beauty of this. You can put whatever the hell you want out in your bakery. So what if they're unconventional? They're delicious. That's all that matters."
"Okay. Fine."
You relent, thinking about her earlier question. Where did your confidence go? When you graduated culinary school, you never doubted your abilities. Your technique, your flavours, your presentation - you had full faith in all of it. Now, you seem to be second guessing yourself.
You know it's because of your Tethering.
Before, you understood how the world worked. Good, bad, in between. Love, lust, the very clear difference between the two. You watched as other people found their forever person, and acknowledged their new journey.
And then you found Bucky. Or, Bucky found you.
Suddenly, the world you'd lived in before no longer made sense. The people, the places, the relationships, all impacted by the way you feel about your soulmate. Everything, everyone, everywhere, reminds you of Bucky. You're experiencing emotions you've never felt before. It's disorientating, confusing, complex. Your understanding of the world has changed completely.
It takes time to adjust.
No one ever talks about the way your Tethering turns your life upside down.
For some, it's completely positive. They enjoy the uprooting, revel in the change.
For others, it's a huge adaptation. One filled with tears, and confusion, and doubts.
Both are valid. Both are understandable.
You remind yourself of this every day.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
"There's someone in the café that wants to speak to you."
The youngest waitress, Isabel, stands in the kitchen doorway, looking at you hopefully. You set down your piping bag and wash your hands, talking to her over your shoulder.
"Who is it?"
"No idea. Some guy. He's kinda hot. Brown hair, tall, beard."
Your heart skips a beat, breath caught in your lungs. Bucky jokes sometimes about coming to see you, but would he just show up announced? Do you want him to?
You can't feel it in your chest, you realise suddenly. You can't feel the ease, the relief, the knowing. Maybe being apart for so long has weakened your connection. The thought makes you strangely emotional.
You inhale carefully and thank her, before making your way out. It's almost closing time, and there's no one around other than the man stood with his back to you.
He turns around, and you realise quickly that your hope was misplaced. You've never seen this person before. He is handsome, admittedly. But he's not your soulmate.
"Hi."
"Hey. Are you the baker here?"
"I am."
He holds out his hand for you to shake, stepping closer.
"I'm Rafael."
You tell him your name, and he smiles, nodding.
"Forgive me if this is weird, but I had to meet you. To thank you properly, in person."
You don't say anything, so he continues.
"Let me, uh, explain. Sorry, should have started with that. My sister is sick. She's going through treatment currently, and it's been super hard on her. She's had no appetite whatsoever, and she's losing weight rapidly."
He takes a deep breath before continuing.
"A couple of weeks ago, I picked up a load of stuff from this place because my Mom was coming to visit. My sister tried your earl grey and lavender cookie, and ate the entire thing. It was the first time I've seen her eat for weeks. So, I came back and bought basically all of them every day."
You laugh, coming to a realisation. You wondered why those cookies were selling so well all of a sudden.
"I just wanted to say thank you. It might not seem like a big deal, but it's really huge for us. I also wanted to explain why all of those cookies were suddenly going missing at like ten in the morning."
You gesture at him to sit, the both of you taking a seat at one of the tables nearby.
You talk for almost an hour, listening intently to Rafael as he tells you about his family. He moved to California to be with his sister Maria when she got sick, no one else around to care for her. He asks about yours, and you tell him about your parents and their constant encouragement. He's also interested in how you got into baking, so you tell him all about culinary school, and the dreams your Grandma gave you when you were a kid.
"You're really talented, you know."
"I bet you say that to all of the bakers around here. But thank you."
His fingers brush yours where they're resting on the table, making you shiver.
"I'll make Maria her own box, if you like. I'll leave them behind the counter, just tell Isabel who you are."
"You'd do that for her?"
"Of course," you smile. "The idea that I'm helping someone with my silly little creations makes me really happy. We can work out a schedule, and I'll make sure I bake Maria some extras when I do my usual batch."
"You're incredible. Seriously. Thank you."
He squeezes your hand and you squeeze back. The two of you are sat in the café as the sun sets, orange glow illuminating the room. You didn't expect to make a friend today. You're glad you have.
"Well, I should probably go and clean up the kitchen. You know where to find me, if you need anything. It was lovely to meet you, Rafael."
He rises when you do, smiling at you earnestly.
"You too. Nice to finally put a face to the cookie, so to speak."
You chuckle and show him out of the door, waving as he walks down the street. Suddenly, he turns around, striding back towards you.
"I'm so sorry if this is forward, and please feel free to say no, but... are you single? If you are, I'd love to ask you to dinner sometime."
The answer to that question is much more complicated than Rafael could ever imagine. So instead, you say,
"I'm not. I'm Tethered, actually."
His brows raise in surprise, but he's smiling.
"You are?"
"Yeah, I am. He doesn't live here, though. He lives back home, where my parents are."
"You guys are married?"
"No! Not yet. It's, uh... a complex... situation."
"Ah," he says, gentle, knowing look on his face. "I thought Tetherings weren't meant to be complex. Isn't that the whole point? That they're easy?"
You laugh, but it's not malicious. You're thinking about how sweetly naive he is, how he's got a huge storm coming his way one day.
"He's my Dad's best friend."
You're not sure why you're admitting this to a man you met an hour and a half ago, but you are. It's almost a relief, to get it off your chest again - to tell someone who's completely neutral, who doesn't know either of you.
"Woah."
"Yeah."
"That... is complicated."
"Yeah," you chuckle. "Understatement of the century."
Rafael leans against the wall, watching you intently. He's curious.
"How did your parents react?"
"They don't know yet."
His eyebrows raise almost comically high.
"Wait, what? How did you hide that? I thought it was supposed to be impossible to hide that you're Tethered. Although, I guess I had no idea, seeing as I asked you out."
"We wanted to figure it out for ourselves first, before telling anyone. And then I moved out here, so we're doing long distance. Like I said, complex."
"Understatement of the century," he laughs.
You look at each other for a moment, before he smiles.
"I'm sorry I asked you out. I wouldn't have, if I'd known."
"Please, don't apologise. I admire your... courage?" you grin. "And I appreciate you coming to see me today. I have like two friends here in Cali, so it's nice to feel like I've made another."
He smiles again, wider this time. Someone's going to be lucky to be Tethered to him one day, you think.
"I know it might surprise you, given my good looks and... courage," he chuckles, "but I don't have many friends out here either. I've been so focused on Maria, I haven't had time to socialise."
"The Universe works in funny ways, huh?"
"Sure does."
You wander back through the door, ready to close up for good this time.
"I'll see you tomorrow, for the cookies. And I'd love to meet Maria one day, if she's up for it."
"I'm sure she'd love to meet you. I'll bring her by."
"Thanks, Rafael."
"Of course. Thank you."
"Of course."
That night, when your Mom calls, you get to tell her you've made a new friend. That makes the both of you very happy.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
You're testing out a recipe in the kitchen of your new apartment when your phone rings.
"Hey, Dad."
"Hey, kiddo. You doing okay?"
"Yeah, I am, actually. I'm settling in."
"Good, I'm glad. I don't wanna keep you on the phone for too long, but I wanted to ask you something."
"Go ahead, Dad. Anything."
"How would you feel about surprising your Mom for her birthday?"
"What kind of surprise?"
"I know you haven't been gone all that long, and I know it's kind of last minute, but, I was thinking you could come back to... be her gift? She really misses you, you know."
"I miss her too," you say softly, trying to keep your voice even. "I'll talk to Stella, see if we can figure something out. I'd really love to see you guys."
"We'd really love to see you too, sweetheart."
"I'll call you back later, when I've organised everything. Love you, Dad. See you soon, hopefully."
"Love you, kiddo. Proud of you, you know."
"I know," you smile. "I know."
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
The journey always seems shorter when you know you're going home.
You make it back in record time, salty ocean breeze whipping through your hair as you cruise along the roads. You take a deep breath and sigh it out, relief filling your lungs. It's good to be back.
You can't let your Mom see you, so you head straight back to your apartment. Your Dad told you they're in the process of renting it out, but they haven't made much progress yet. For now, it's still yours.
You inhale the familiar scent, smiling gently. There's something so particular about the way a place smells when you feel like you belong there. It's like home and comfort and ease all rolled into one.
You unpack a little, folding your clothes and tucking them into the dresser. You told Stella you'd probably stay a few days, wanting to spend as much time with your family as possible. You're rifling through the refrigerator and thinking about a grocery list when there's a knock at your door.
You know who it is.
A feeling of relief washes over your body, tension melting from your shoulders. Your lungs fill easier, your breath falls deeper, everything is a little brighter, a little more colourful.
You open the door to be met with the sight of Bucky Barnes.
He's in work pants and a white t shirt that's stained with grease and oil, heavy boots on his feet. He must have come straight from the Garage.
He looks at you carefully, as if he isn't sure that you're real. You rake your eyes over his form, trying to drink him in. All the pictures you've taken and saved don't do him justice.
He exhales, beaming grin appearing on his face.
"You're here."
You can't help but smile back, his happiness spreading through you.
"I'm here."
Bucky rushes forward and scoops you into his arms, enveloping you completely. He wraps himself around you as he tucks you into his chest, his grip tight and unrelenting. You breathe him in, overwhelmed with emotion and sensation. You didn't realise how much you needed this. Three months is too long.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, slight shake in his voice. He's holding off tears. So are you.
"My Dad wanted me to surprise my Mom for her birthday. It's all a secret."
He smiles, before leaning down to capture your lips in a knee buckling kiss. A kiss that says I missed you. A kiss that says I need you. A kiss that says please don't leave me again.
"How did you know?" you whisper when you pull away for air.
"I felt it. I think I knew the moment you arrived back in town. Thought my mind was playing tricks on me, for a second. But there's no mistaking that feeling. I had to come and see for myself."
"We're getting pretty good at this whole soulmate thing, huh?" you laugh, unaware of the tears running down your face. "I missed you, Buck. So much."
"I missed you too," he murmurs, kissing you again. "Didn't think I was going to survive, some days."
"Me too. Do you know how many times I stood with my car keys in my hand, ready to drive back to you?"
He chuckles and then sniffles, emotion dripping down his cheeks.
"I did exactly the same thing. So many times."
You wrap your arms around his middle, reveling in the way he smells like gasoline and home.
"How long are you here for?" he murmurs, worried he'll disturb the peace.
"I'm not sure. A good few days, at least."
"Okay," he breathes. "I can do a few days. We can do a few days."
"Sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I didn't know, to be honest. It was all kinda last minute."
"It's okay, pretty thing," he mutters into your hair. "It was a nice surprise."
"You're coming tonight, right? To my Mom's party?"
"Wouldn't miss it."
You stay wrapped up in each other for a little while longer, savouring his warmth. He rubs absentminded patterns across the skin of your back, committing the softness of it to his memory.
"I should probably get back to work. I took off with no warning."
"You're the boss. You're allowed," you chuckle.
He laughs with you, and the sound lights up your nerves, illuminates your bones. It settles itself in the hollows of your ribcage, tangles itself in your heartstrings. It's like medicine.
"Can't wait to see you tonight," you whisper. "Wear something cute."
"I always do," he winks, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Miss you already."
"Miss you more."
He looks at you, smiling.
"Man, we're the worst."
"Truly."
He kisses you once, twice, three times before finally leaving, reluctant to let you go. You spend the rest of the afternoon floating on air, relaxed and at ease. You haven't felt like this in a while.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
Your Dad sneaks you into the house through the side door, hiding you in the kitchen as he ushers your Mom through to the back yard.
It's decorated with floral garlands and streamers, flowers in vases covering the table he's set up. The golden, warm fairy lights illuminate the space, keeping it soft and intimate. He's been watching, carefully observing the way that she does things. He's recreated her party style perfectly.
There's a few of her closest friends waiting for her, gifts littering the spare chairs. Your Dad walks her outside, hands covering her eyes.
"Surprise!"
You watch through the door as your Mom gasps, grin on her face.
"Oh my God! You guys!"
She runs into your Dad, wrapping her arms around his neck.
"I can't believe you managed to pull this off," she says in disbelief.
He sets her back down on the ground and kisses her gently.
"I got you something. I hope you like it."
That's your cue. You sneak out as quietly as possible, standing behind her.
"Happy Birthday, Mama."
She whips around to face you, shock written across her face. Her eyes well up, tears threatening to spill. Yours do the same, bottom lip quivering.
She throws her arms around you, tugging you into her.
"I'm so happy you're here, baby girl. I missed you so much."
"Missed you. You look beautiful."
"Not as beautiful as you! Look at you, all sun kissed and glowy. You look so pretty, sweetheart."
You grin at her and she does the same back, your Dad beaming at your identical smiles.
"You're the best gift I've ever received. Then and now."
You're overwhelmed, suddenly, by the realisation that no matter what happens, no matter what life throws at you, no matter how many miles are between you - your Mom will always be in your corner. Your Dad will always be in your corner. Bucky will always be in your corner.
You think, for a moment, that despite everything, you might just be okay.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
The night goes off without a hitch.
You drink, you laugh, you sing. You and your Mom dance to ABBA, Bowie, Donna Summer. Your Dad joins in, and can't help but grin every time he watches his girls together.
What a life, he thinks. I'm the luckiest man in the world.
When everyone gets a little past tipsy, your Mom changes the music to something slower, jazzier, richer. Your Dad pulls her into his chest, holding her close as they move to the melody. You're sat at the table taking off your heels when Bucky slides into the seat next to you. He pulls your foot into his lap and undoes the strap, sliding the shoe off gently. He rubs his thumb into your sole, smirking when you groan.
"Have you been avoiding me tonight, pretty baby?"
His cheeks are flushed slightly, top few buttons of his shirt open. He's been drinking a little, his walls lowered more than usual.
"I have to."
"Oh yeah?"
"I feel like I'm gonna burst into flames every time you look at me," you whisper. "I kinda want to rip your clothes off, baby."
He groans at the nickname. You know exactly what you're doing.
"It only takes one look for a minute too long to figure out how I feel about you, Buck. They'll work it all out instantly."
"Dance with me," he murmurs suddenly. "Your parents are too busy staring into each others eyes. Come on, honey. One dance."
His big blue eyes bore into yours, and you know you're fucked. You're never going to be able to say no to him.
"One dance," you whisper.
He takes your hand and leads you to the decked area, brightened by the golden lights. Bucky slides a hand over your back, resting there carefully. You intertwine your fingers with his and step into him, embracing the warmth that rolls off his body.
I'll Be Seeing You by Billie Holiday begins to play, and the two of you start to sway gently, eyes never leaving each others. Bucky pulls you in closer, and you melt into him. You don't care about the repercussions anymore.
Maybe it's the wine talking. Maybe it's something else.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
"That was close!"
Your Mom's giggling as your Dad holds her, having just saved her from tripping down the front steps. Everyone's giddy, both from drinking and from laughing.
"Sweetheart. Bucky. Come back for lunch tomorrow. Your Dad ordered too much catering, and we need help eating it."
"Mama, are you sure?"
"I want to see you as much as possible before you go, babygirl. You too, Buck. I feel like we don't see you as much as we used to."
"He'll be there," you reply before he can protest. "We'll carpool, and I'll bring a strawberry and cream tart that I made for you."
She kisses you on the cheek, your Dad leaning in to kiss the other side.
"Love you both."
"Love you," they say in unison, laughing and yelling jinx. "Get home safe, you two!"
"I'll take care of her," Bucky chuckles. "Always."
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
"Why don't you see my parents much anymore?"
You and Buck are walking home along the sandy coastal path, fingers intertwined and sides pressed together. You look up at him, frowning slightly when he hesitates.
"Don't lie to me, James. I can feel it, remember."
You place a hand on your chest to remind him, and he nods.
"It's not the same here without you."
You weren't expecting the sincerity. It knocks you off balance a little.
You stop when you reach a wooden bench, sitting down and pulling him with you.
"So you're isolating yourself from the people who love you?"
He smiles, sadness rife in his eyes. Your tough guy act is crumbling.
"Not on purpose. It just kinda happened."
"You promised you'd talk to me, Buck. Especially if it got too hard. You need to accept support from people, or everything is going to come crashing down."
"I know. I know. But every time I go to their house, I'm expecting you to be there. Every time I go to the beach, I'm expecting you to be there. Every time I walk past your building, I'm expecting you to be there, waiting for me to pick you up. Even when I'm sailing, I can't stop thinking about that day we spent on the boat."
"The other day I had to make three batches of buttercream, because I messed up the first two. I was so distracted thinking about you that I split them both."
He laughs, then, wholehearted and genuine. You can't help but join him, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all.
"Bucky, you have to promise that you'll keep going, even without me. You have to see my Mom and Dad like you used to, you have to still sail and go to the beach. You can't put your life on hold for me."
He takes a deep breath, sliding an arm around your shoulders to pull you in closer.
"Okay. I promise."
You whip your head around to look at him.
"Just like that?"
"Just like that, honey. You're right. I've been waiting for you to come back, so I can start living again. But life is still happening, whether you're here or not."
"Wise words, wise man," you smile. "Not a minute goes by where I don't think of you. You know that, don't you?"
"I know. I feel it."
You watch as he brings your linked hands to his chest, placing them there. You rest your head on his shoulder, lulled into calm by the steady melody of his heart. You swear it beats to the rhythm of your name.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
The two of you can't bear the idea of separating, so Buck comes home with you.
"Have you got a blanket?" he asks as he's kicking off his shoes.
"I have. What for?"
"The couch."
You process for a moment before it clicks.
"You're not sleeping on the couch, Buck."
"No?"
"No. I want your ridiculous, radiator-like body heat in bed with me."
He smiles, all giddy and lopsided, before striding across the room to you. Cradling your face in his rough hands, he kisses you with fervour. He's making up for lost time.
You tangle your fingers into his hair, tugging and pulling, smirking when he groans. He retaliates by grabbing your ass and picking you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He carries you through to your bedroom, lips never leaving yours.
Throwing you down onto the bed, he pulls his shirt over his head, watching you hungrily as you do the same with your dress. You're left in your underwear, leaving little to the imagination.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs. "Makes me want to cry."
You reach for him as he settles on top of you, your hand sliding along his stubbled cheek.
"I'm so glad you're feeling what I'm feeling," you whisper. "I'd think I was going insane otherwise."
Bucky kisses you again, before trailing his lips across your jaw, your ear, your neck. He's careful not to leave any marks, as much as he wants to. You glide your hands along the expanse of his shoulders, his back, his biceps. He's so strong, so broad. It makes you ache.
"So fuckin' pretty," he mumbles against your chest. "Like a goddamn dream."
You throw your head back as he attaches his mouth to your tits, nipping and sucking as he goes. Your hands are in his hair again, reveling in the way his groans vibrate through you.
Bucky slots his knee in between your legs as he kisses across your chest, smirking when you grind your hips into it. You chase the friction as best you can, moaning when it hits you just right.
"Needy baby. You don't want my fingers? My mouth? No? Just my knee?"
You nod, then shake your head. You're not sure what you're asking for, drunk on him already.
"Please, Buck. Anything."
"I'll give you whatever you want if you keep saying my name like that."
He makes quick work of pulling your underwear down your legs, swiping his fingers through your wet heat.
"Oh, fuck," he chokes. "Fuck, honey. Is this all for me? Hmm?"
"Yes, yes, yes."
"Yeah?"
"It's yours, Buck. I'm yours."
Bucky drops his head forward, bumping your nose with his.
"I think that's my favourite thing you've ever said," he mumbles against your mouth.
You reach up to kiss him, sucking his tongue before biting at his lips. You can't get close enough. Every inch of your skin is pressed to his, and you still want more.
Bucky crawls down the bed, situating himself between your legs. He nudges at you with his nose before diving in, lapping at you like a man starved.
You'd forgotten what people said about sex when you're Tethered, but it all comes back to you now. Everything is heightened, your senses on overdrive. It's like Bucky has the handbook to your body, and all he has to do is read the instructions the Universe has given him.
He's got you teetering on the edge in no time, right on the precipice. No ones ever made you feel like this. It feels like some sort of small miracle is happening, an otherworldly connection.
"Give it to me, honey baby," he murmurs into you. "Let me see how pretty you look when you come."
You tug at his hair as you reach your climax, the vibrations of his groan only prolonging your release. Bucky helps you ride it out, only ceasing his action when he's satisfied you're satisfied.
He rests his head against your thigh and looks up at you as you come down, breathing heavily.
"You good?"
"So good," you grin. "Never better."
"Me neither," he whispers, crawling up your body to kiss you again. You taste yourself and whine, desperate to feel closer to him.
"Need you," you demand against his lips. "Need you more than anything."
"I know, baby," he soothes as he smooths the hair back from your face. "Gonna give you everything you want. Anything in the world."
You're on the verge of tears again, completely overwhelmed. He's looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky just for him. You think maybe you would, if he asked you to.
Bucky slides home in one gentle thrust, easy as breathing. The both of you exhale, savouring the moment. It's like nothing either of you have ever felt before.
You pull his face down to you, resting your foreheads against each other.
"Buck, I-"
"I know," he breathes. "Fuck, I know."
"Need you to move, baby."
He nods and kisses you sweetly, before pulling his hips back and gliding forward. The angle is just right, both of you keening.
"Fuck, honey. So pretty. So tight. Fuck."
Bucky sets a steady rhythm, not too fast, not too slow. It's like he can read your mind, knowing exactly what you need. All you can say is his name as stars cloud your vision.
He slides his hand down your front, rubbing perfect circles on your clit with his fingers. You clamp down on him and he groans, low and gutteral.
"Need you to come, pretty baby," he whispers hoarsely. "Please. Waited so long for this. Please."
The desperation in his tone is what throws you into your release, muscles tensing and back arched. You grip his biceps, scratching your nails into his sun kissed skin.
Bucky can't hold on any longer, falling over the edge with you. The way he says your name as he does will be ingrained in your mind forever.
He drops his weight onto you entirely, no longer able to hold himself up. You wrap your arms around him, drawing absent minded patterns across his back. You're both sweating and panting. You're both completely content.
"Holy shit," he whispers after a while.
"You think it's gonna be like that every time?" you ask, grinning.
Bucky rolls off you and lands on the bed beside you, pulling you into his chest.
"Honey, just you wait. I've got moves you've never seen."
You snort, unable to hold in your laughter. You're floating on cloud nine, satiated and warm.
"You're the worst," you giggle, running your fingers over his abs gently.
The two of you stay intertwined for hours, enjoying the way your bodies fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. You both drift in and out of sleep, conversing in the gaps. At some points, you just lay in silence, completely comfortable. No one needs to say anything. You both know what the other person is thinking.
Eventually, the sun rises, casting the room in a golden orange glow. Bucky looks like an angel, illuminated by the morning light. You wonder for a second if he is, sent down as a gift to you.
Suddenly, you feel an intense sadness in your chest. You look up at Bucky from where you lay across him, and see a single tear drip down his cheek.
"I don't want you to go."
The only sound that can be heard is his sorrow hitting the pillow.
"I don't think I want to go."
He strokes your hair softly, taking a deep breath to try and get a handle on his emotions.
"You have to, baby. It's your dream."
Your bottom lip wobbles for a second, before the words come spilling out.
"You're my dream."
Bucky sniffles, and you continue.
"I could have nothing, but I have everything if I have you."
You sit up and Bucky does too, capturing your lips in a tear stained kiss.
"We'll be okay, my honey girl."
You crawl into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck, letting his warmth bleed into your bones.
"I know," you say, unsure if you're trying to convince yourself or him.
You know you'll be okay. It just doesn't feel like it right now.
You wonder how many times you can keep leaving and coming back before one of your hearts breaks for good.
tag list part one
@lillytracy6996 @securegorgon @roostersforevergirl @povlvr @val-writesstuff @dreadfulxives18 @1deadpool26 @abbygraceasd @nyutasgirl @mavrellover91 @winterslove1917 @f-this42 @skewedcherries @noisesinthedark @kandis-mom @black-cat-2 @harrystylesandthegoobs @vladsgirlxx @h0nestly-though @arienotari @nash-dara @wandaneedstherapy @galaxy-dusk @justherefortheficandsmut @cremebruleequeen @cjand10 @buggy14 @avengers-fixation @blueberrybambi @beautiful-loserr @sarah1barnes @miss-rebel-without-applause @ragingrainbowshipl @shamrockqueen @savemeroman @jenn-f @8crazy-freak8 @daddyjackfrost @openup-yourmind @adangerousbalance @mandijo17 @daddylorianisastateofmind @rcarbo1 @casa-boiardi @spideegwen @navs-bhat @mssbridgerton @asuni921 @middle-of-the-earth @mfrnchsk
#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes x reader fluff#bucky barnes x reader smut#dadsbestfriend!bucky x reader#dadsbestfriend!bucky#dadsbestfriend!bucky barnes#dbf!bucky barnes x reader#Honey Girl#soulmate!bucky barnes#dbf!bucky barnes#dad's best friend bucky barnes#soulmate!au#soulmate!bucky barnes x reader#dbf!bucky#bucky fluff#soulmate au
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Astarion x f!reader. We Shall Meet Again
Read on AO3
Astarion and Tav are talking about life and death and end up talking about children
tags: fluff, comfort, conversation about death and mortality
Astarion mentions he wants to step into the sunlight once Tav dies so consider it a trigger warning
Read on AO3
Masterlist
Headcanons
"Please, Astarion, I can walk on my own!" You try to free yourself, but the vampire drags you on his shoulders like a lifeless sack.
"No, you can't," he replies.
You let out a sigh of frustration. If only Astarion could see your expression, he would witness your disappointment.
The task seemed simple enough. The villagers promised a reward for getting rid of a troublesome troll. It should have been a routine quest for a pair of seasoned adventurers like you. And it had been until the troll hurled you against a tree. Astarion swiftly dealt with the monster, then hoisted you onto his shoulders, and now the two of you were making your way back to the village to get the reward.
"Please, just put me down," you implore.
"Your leg is broken," Astarion insists.
"No, it's not!" You let out a cry of pain as he touches the injured limb. "Fine, you win!"
Astarion chuckles softly as you continue to observe the grass and flowers below. Eventually, the fatigue overtakes you, causing you to black out. When you open your eyes again, you find yourself back in the village.
"We've agreed on five golden coins! Take your reward and go!"
"Yes, but my wife broke her leg, and now I must pay the healer," Astarion argues with a rogue smile. "Eight golden coins."
"Six! We haven't paid the tithe yet!"
"Seven. And your village healer cures her for free."
"Fine! But I don't want to see either of you ever again!"
"It can be arranged!"
The village chief throws a sack of gold to Astarion, and the vampire performs a theatrical bow as if on a stage. Then, he approaches you and gently kisses your forehead, his lips curving into a grin, though a hint of concern lingers in his crimson eyes.
"Don't worry, I'm too young to die just yet," you say as you caress his left cheek, and he closes his eyes, savoring the touch like a content cat.
"I know, but when that thing threw you at the tree, I thought for a second," he stumbles, his voice tinged with worry. "I thought you wouldn't get up."
You remember the wave of pain, the buzz in your ears, and Astarion kneeling beside you, carefully letting you drink a healing potion. He held you gently, his worry palpable as he waited for the potion to mend at least some damage.
He worries sick every time you get hurt. So do you - Astarion doesn't take physical damage easily.
The healer finally arrives, visibly annoyed that he was woken up in the middle of the night. He casts a spell on your leg, and you hear a gruesome sound as the bones fuse back together.
"You could at least be grateful for slaying that troll," you mutter.
The healer lets out a string of curses and leaves.
"Well, I think it's best if we find a spot to make camp before the sunrise," Astarion says.
"I don't think it would be safe to stay in the village anyway. They might start suspecting you're a vampire," you reply as the houses fade into the distance.
"Ungrateful lot," he chuckles.
You take his hand, and you together go into the night. It's been five years since you met at the shipwreck, five years since your unlikely union evolved into something deeper. You haven't grown tired of each other; if anything, you've grown closer, and you can't imagine spending a single night without Astarion by your side.
You are not even sure if you can fall asleep without him cuddling you.
You affectionately refer to each other as "wife" and "husband," even though there was no formal ceremony. One day, Astarion slipped a ring he'd found in a dungeon onto your finger, and you did the same after obtaining a similar one.
It was as simple as that.
… The two of you stop and set up a tent as the skies lighten. The tent is crafted from thick, black material and reinforced with a darkness spell - a perfect daylight shelter for a vampire.
You've grown accustomed to the routine. At sunrise, you both go to sleep. When you wake up well past noon, Astarion stays inside, engrossed in the books you've collected on your adventures, while you head out to hunt. But sometimes, you keep the vampire company as he reads aloud.
And once the sun sets, you hit the road again. Both of you share the desire to see the world, and you want to see it together.
Exhausted from a long day of walking and the battle with the troll, you immediately fall asleep. When you wake up, you see Astarion sitting beside you, reading one of his books. The rain is pounding the tent and you feel the cold.
"Good morning," you whisper, and he runs his gentle fingers through your hair. His crimson eyes are brimming with love, but you detect an underlying unease in him.
You've always respected his privacy, but you can't help but notice his recent unease.
"Is everything all right? Do you want to talk?" You sit up, peering at the small entrance tent, shivering.
"It seems I can't keep any secrets from you," he sighs in relief. "I just… got scared yesterday. When that thing threw you. When you fell. Damn, you looked like a ragdoll! Then the troll tried to pick you up to smash you again. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to save you. That you would die."
You say nothing, resting your head on his shoulder and listening to his steady breathing.
"That's stupid. You're here. Everything is great," he says.
You sense that he doesn't honestly believe it. Mortality. Your mortality is what's troubling him. He's undead, immortal. He can only die if someone kills him or if he steps into the sun. But you will grow old and eventually pass away if you're not killed earlier.
A sudden urge to leave the tent and return at sunset washes over you, but you suppress it. You both need to address this, no matter how uncomfortable it is.
"What do you think you will do when I die?" you ask him gently.
He stares at you in horror and disbelief, as if he can't believe you've broached this topic.
"I - I don't want to have this conversation," he mutters.
"Astarion, please. We have to talk about this. My love, I know it makes you uncomfortable, but we must discuss it."
He clenches his teeth. "You can't even comprehend how much."
"I actually can because you don't seem to care about your safety, and there's a very high chance I could end up a vampire widow."
You sit before him, taking his hands and gently tracing the knuckles.
He remains silent, and the only sound is that of raindrops outside. The comfort of the warm tent makes you decide not to venture into the rain.
"I will step into the sun once you die. It's not up for discussion," he says resolutely. "I'll bid you farewell, go outside, and see the sunshine one last time. Don't worry. I'll be with you till the end."
A knot forms in your stomach as you suddenly envision Astarion cradling your lifeless body, waiting for the sun to rise.
"Don't," you abruptly say. "Don't do this."
"Well, it won't be up to you to decide," he says, his voice sending shivers down your spine. Astarion turns his head away, a signal that he wants to be alone with his thoughts.
"Okay, I'll go for a walk," you suggest, wanting some fresh air, but he grabs your hand.
"Don't be ridiculous. I don't want you to catch a cold," he insists, pulling you closer. You rest your head against his chest and you sit together in silence, lost in your thoughts.
"Astarion," you whisper. "Let me tell you something."
"If it's about death again, I'm not interested."
You hug him tightly. "No, it's about… the opposite, actually."
You carefully choose your words. "My people… My people believe in rebirth. We believe that we don't stay dead forever."
You pause, studying Astarion's face, but his pale features remain unreadable.
"When I was little, I was told that our souls come back. In a century, in a millennium. Memories return, and an old personality reawakens. It only happens to some; some are forgotten and never return. That's why we tell stories about our deceased ancestors – to help them find their way back home. Their souls must feel loved to get back."
You hug him even tighter, fearing his reaction.
"Astarion, my love, please, don't step into the sun when I die. Live. I want you to live, see the lands we won't see together, and experience things we won't experience together."
He sobs, and you look up to see his eyes closed, silent tears streaming down his beautiful face. You gently stroke his white curls.
"I want you to talk about me, to tell people stories about my adventures, about who I was. You love me deeply, and if my people are right about souls and resurrection, your memories will be the most powerful beacon in the darkest sea of death."
You release Astarion, who still avoids looking at you directly, seemingly embarrassed about his tears.
"And when that time comes, I will find you. I will embark on a quest to seek my vampire husband, and we shall meet again. You will tell me everything about the places you've visited and your adventures. People you've met, quests you've completed. Everything."
You cup Astarion's face, making him meet your gaze.
"Promise me that, my love. Promise me you will keep living." You kiss his forehead, and your heart swells when you see his smile.
"I promise," he says. "I promise I will keep going."
He lets his tears go and you are proud of him for not concealing the emotions. Then he cocks his heads and grins.
"I'll take your word for that because if I'm reincarnated and never find you, I'll be truly upset," you playfully remark.
"So will I if I keep my promise and you never return," he chuckles.
You plant kisses on his cheeks and share a lighthearted laugh.
"Are you going outside?" he asks. "It seems like it's not raining anymore."
He returns to the book he was reading.
"Go, I don't want you to stay locked in here," he insists.
"Nah, it's too cold. I'd better stay inside with you. What are you even reading there?" You try to snatch the book from his hands, but he closes it and attempts to put it away. "Since when are you embarrassed about your reading preferences?"
You try to grab the heavy black volume, but Astarion catches you and playfully puts you on your back, causing uncontrollable giggles. Now, you can't get up but still manage to stretch your hand toward the book.
"What is this?" You open it. "Dhampirs share many qualities with vampires. They walk the line between living and dead, gain heightened abilities, and have a life-draining bite. Children of vampires and mortals, they are few in number…"
You stumble. Children of vampires and mortals…
Astarion blushes. "I found this book in the troll lair. I never knew that vampires could have children. Like, real children, not cursed spawns."
You open another page with pictures depicting a young human woman with vampire fangs.
"It's written that dhampirs aren't hurt by the sun" he continues. "And they don't need blood to survive. They can easily blend with mortals, but at the same time, they are strong as the undead," he pauses. "It's like being a vampire without downsides."
Half-vampires. Dhampirs. You vaguely remember hearing about them many years ago. Is it possible for you and Astarion to have a child? And would it be right to bring a dhampir into this world?
"Now you're thinking about it too," Astarion observes.
"Guilty," you admit, still lying beneath him. You touch his back, feeling the scars through his shirt. He smiles, enjoying the sensation.
"Speaking of mortality and my promise," he continues, "I think I'll find it easier not to step into the sunlight if I have someone to care for. It would be cruel," he kisses you. "To leave a child without both parents."
You giggle.
"Am I getting this correct? You want me to give birth to a silver-curled dhampir so you won't be lonely?" you tease, pressing Astarion tighter. He doesn't answer, too occupied with undressing you.
A child. Your mind pictures a little girl who resembles both you and Astarion. A progeny. Someone to carry a piece of you both into the future.
"I don't mind," you finally say. "I actually really want this."
#astarion#baldur's gate 3#bg3 astarion#bg3#bg3 fic#bg3 fanfiction#astarion x reader#astarion x female reader#astarion fic#astarion fanfic#astarion romance#spacebarbarian fics
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi hope you are having a good day
I wanted to know what would it be like if, Mihawk, Shanks and Buggy had a female s/o that was basically like inosuke from demon slayer, they are a bit dumb but will pick a fight with everyone, and they only wear a bandaged top with like shorts or smt.
You guys have been asking me lots of questions and making me feel loved so here is this!!! (And maybe more spicy things to come later this week 👀)
Characters: female reader x Mihawk, Shanks, Buggy
Wordcount: 850
CW: the last bullet point in all of them that are a little spicy
She’s Kinda Stupid, but…
Mihawk
This man is literally so tired. He’s so tired.
Will very often say things like “I didn’t know I was in charge of three children.” (yes Perona and Zoro are his CHILDREN okay) or “Are you acting your age today, or are we pretending you’re six years old again?” or “I’ve met dogs more behaved than you.” (it’s all coming from a place of love and he knows you won't take offense because you don’t take offense to anything)
You’re a brat and he knows it (and loves it). He loves you but god you are so much work when the two of you are out in public. He feels like he can’t take his eyes off you or you’ll end up in a fight with some random guy because he looked at you funny.
Most of the time he doesn’t acknowledge your shenanigans. When you fight with someone, he’ll grab your wrist and physically pull you away from them, usually with some kind of snide remark.
Sometimes you’re justified, though. And when that happens, he gives the guy who wronged you five seconds to apologize before he sets you loose. Most of the time the guy sees Mihawk and apologizes, but the swordsman secretly hopes the guy won't apologize. And on the few occasions they don't apologize, he smirks as he releases you.
He always has to pull you off the guy because you just don't know when to stop. In all truthfulness, it kind of gets him hot and bothered, but he always pretends to be irritated. “You’re psychotic. Do I need to teach you how to behave?” he scolds, his gold eyes scanning your body. “I can think of a few ways to get you to listen.”
Shanks
Shanks adores you. Cheers you on. Loves watching you cause absolute chaos. Why? Because you are him without a conscience.
Shanks knows when he needs to flip the switch from polite to fight, but you don’t. You are always at 100%, your most authentic self 24/7. And he absolutely adores that about you. Even if that means that sometimes you take it a bit too far.
Sometimes Shanks will even use your emotions to his advantage. “Can you believe that guy just did that?!” or “Talk about rude!” knowing full well you’re ready to throw down whoever wronged you or him.
The absolute only time that Shanks will stop you from fighting someone is when you all are in a building. He’s had to pay SO MANY owners back for you destroying glassware and furniture and plenty of other damaged goods. You learned pretty quickly that the first words out of your mouth should be “Wanna take this outside?!” because if you were outside then Shanks didn’t stop you.
The first few fights, he watched carefully, making sure he would be able to jump in if he needed to. The next couple of fights, he watched you with an amused look, excited to see how you were going to beat up the guy (and just to make sure you would win). Nowadays, he doesn’t even feel the need to go outside with you, but sometimes he does just to cheer you on.
After your victory, he always rewards you with a bunch of kisses and sings your praises. He pulls you onto his lap at the bar, making sure everyone knows you're his. “You did so well. I loved how you stomped that guy into the dirt,” he’ll coo, dotting kissing across your neck. “How about later I show you just how proud I am of you, okay?”
Buggy
You never cease in stressing this man out. He is always on high alert now because of you.
Stealth missions? Forget it. Normal day in town? Absolutely not. He BEGS you to be a normal human being in public. To have an ounce of self preservation. But you cannot comprehend that. People who talk shit deserve to get hit.
He is constantly running after you, screaming at you to stop fighting people for no reason. Sometimes he’ll even jump in front of your punches to try and de-escalate it (which of course doesn’t work and results in you just punching him in the face). You don’t even feel bad, you just scream at him to get out of the way and beat up the other guy even more since he made you hurt your boyfriend.
If anyone makes fun of him, he doesn’t even have a chance to scream at them anymore. You’re already pounding their face into the ground. And every time you do, he falls in love with you a little bit more.
“That’s right, that’s my baby!” he screams, watching you smugly walk away from some guy’s beaten body. “Let’s go celebrate, you can do whatever you want.” He grabs your hand, practically pulling you back to the ship.
#one piece#one piece imagine#one piece scenario#one piece x reader#one piece x you#hawkeye mihawk#mihawk x reader#mihawk x y/n#shanks#red haired shanks#shanks x you#shanks x y/n#shanks x reader#captain buggy#buggy the clown#op buggy#one piece buggy#buggy x reader#buggy x y/n#cozage#✧˚mihawk✧˚#✧˚shanks✧˚#✧˚buggy✧˚
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Give Me Another Chance
Summary: The five times Y/n asks Wanda to give her another chance and the one time Wanda says yes.
Warnings: Angst, No Happy Ending, Dying, No Part Two?
A/n: Was heavily inspired to write this angst after reading Marry Me by @just-aake Theirs had a happy ending to it so I highly suggest reading their lovely work.
Word Count: 1.6k
Masterlist
“Give me another chance, Wanda,” Y/n pleaded as the two walked through the compound late for their meeting. It was 8:30 am. The group was instructed to arrive for the mission briefing at 8:15 am. Wanda barely had time to brush her teeth before she ran out of her room and immediately bumped into the last person she wanted to speak to, her ex.
“Shut it, Y/n.” Y/n sighed as she kept her mouth shut. The headache coming from drinking too much poured into her head like a tsunami. “I blame you if we get the short end of this mission.” Before Y/n could respond, the two finally arrived at the conference room.
“You’re late.” Steve deadpanned. “We-”
“No excuses Y/n, you and Wanda are on backup duty. Stay in the quinjet until asked.” Wanda groveled silently as she was handed the mission file by Natasha. Y/n stood behind Bucky and peered over his notes.
“This was going to be a long day,” Y/n thought.
“Give me another chance, Wanda,” Y/n begged through the phone. She was walking through the bustling streets of downtown New York to find Wanda. The girl had mysteriously gone out for the night and decided to tell no one about her location. This was nothing new to the team, even Natasha knew it was something that Wanda did to feel better about herself after their breakup.
But tonight felt different to Y/n. It was already past midnight and Wanda hadn’t come back home. Y/n called again only for the phone to go straight to voicemail for the 10th time tonight. “Watch where you’re going asshole!”
“Sorry,” Y/n mouthed as she walked away. Realistically, Y/n knew that Wanda could handle herself even if she was impaired, her magic subconsciously protected her in situations like this. But the worry that pitted her stomach told her otherwise.
“Where could you be?” Y/n thought out loud. Looking around the surrounding buildings, Y/n’s eyes settled on the Chrysler building. Like a light bulb, a switch flipped in her head. Running to the nearest empty alleyway, Y/n called for her suit and flew to the top of the building.
In all her glory there was Wanda lying on the edge of the Chrysler building. Her cheeks were flushed as she held the near empty bottle on her stomach. The remainder of the six-pack lay waste on the floor. Wanda didn’t know how much time had passed since she started drinking. The near numbness in her lips indicated that it had been a while.
Y/n landed with a soft thud, not wanting to scare Wanda off. She checked her watch and it was already 2:00 am, a new record for Wanda. Leaving her suit behind, Y/n walked slowly to Wanda. Once she was within arm's reach, Y/n securely held her by the waist.
“What are you doing here?” Wanda didn’t have to turn her head to know who it was. The feeling of sensing Y/n was something she used to enjoy. Now it was just a constant reminder of their failed relationship.
“I’m here to take you home. It’s late Wanda.” Wanda sighed as she let Y/n gently grab the bottle from her hand. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
“You’re drunk Wanda.”
“And you’re the asshole that left me.” Y/n ignored the insult thrown her way and picked Wanda up bridal style. “You’re gonna get hypothermia if you stay out here.” Y/n looked down at Wanda when she didn’t respond back. The brunette was already deep asleep as she nuzzled her head into Y/n’s chest.
When Wanda woke up the next day, she refused to ask who took her home. Not when her thoughts already lingered about Y/n.
“Give me another chance, Wanda,” Y/n whispered as she held Wanda’s hand. The brunette was dressed in an all-black skin-tight dress with high heels. She even put make-up on to feel better for the occasion.
“You don’t deserve me.” Wanda walked away from Y/n and to the open elevator. Their eyes met again as the doors closed. Once she was fully out of sight, Wanda let a tear fall. “Why must you make it so hard for me to move on?”
“Give me another chance-”
“Are you serious right now?” Wanda was in disbelief. “You. Fucked. Up.” She poked at Y/n’s chest. “Not me. And now you want me to seriously give you another chance?
“I understand that I fucked up-”
“No! You don’t! You broke up with me and left me to sort things out by myself. And cowardly enough, you went on a mission just to avoid talking to me.”
“Let me explain-”
“Explain? What is there to explain? I’ve begged and begged so many times before for you to tell me the truth. Each time you would shut me out and disappear. You never had the decency to tell me anything. But now when it’s convenient for you, I suddenly am the bad guy for not hearing you out. “
Wanda shoved Y/n out of her room. “All you did was make me wonder why I ever deserved that type of treatment when all I ever did was love you.”
“I’m sorry I keep messing things up,” Y/n groaned. The bruises on her chest made it hard to breathe or maybe it was the blood she could taste in her mouth. Regardless, everything hurts. “I wasn’t really thinking when I broke up with you back then.”
Wanda ignored the burning feeling in her chest as she continued to rip apart the indestructible chair Y/n was cuffed to. “Are you serious right now? Y/n please use your fucking smart brain and help me get you out.”
Wanda concentrated back on her powers to try and rip apart one of the steel cuffs. When the cuff didn’t give, Wanda stopped in frustration. “Why isn’t this working?”
“‘Cause they knew you would be the one to get me.” Wanda furrowed her brows, not understanding who “they” was. “What are you talking about?”
A loud pitch echoed through the chambers as the intercom turned on. “Countdown commences. Ten minutes till detonation.” The large screen behind Wanda flickered as the countdown was displayed in bright red.
“Tony! I need you to locate the bomb. Y/n is stuck in this chair and I can’t get her out of it.” Wanda looked around the room once more but the lack of controls and buttons made it feel useless.
Wanda hurried back to Y/n at the sound of her coughing up more blood. “What did they do to you dekta?” Y/n tried her best to grin, not wanting to show Wanda how much pain she was in.
“You’ve done worse to me in training,” Y/n joked but none of it sat right with Wanda’s conscience. Using her shirt, Wanda wiped part of the blood that came out. She used her free hand to locate the source of the bleeding.
“Wanda,” her green eyes focused on the brown eyes she loved. “I think I’m dying.”
“Shh shh - don’t talk like that dekta.” Wanda located a small tear inside Y/n’s organs and used her magic to pause the bleeding. “We’re gonna get you out of here.”
“I’m sorry for all the times I’ve failed you.”
“What-”
“And I’m sorry for leaving you.”
“Now is not the time-”
“We’re out of time my love.” Y/n glanced to the screen in front of them. Only five minutes left before it detonated.
“Any updates Tony?! We have five minutes left!” Wanda yelled.
“I’m trying my best here. We’re swarmed!”
“Wanda - I need you to listen-”
“No!” Wanda declared. She looked at Y/n with a deadly stare. “Stop acting like that - like this is our last chance.” Wanda refused to believe that the world would be cruel to let the love of her life slip past her. Not when they haven’t sorted everything out. Not when things are still bad.
“I love you,” Y/n whispered with a tired smile. Wanda could feel Y/n’s energy draining by the second. The longer she went without medical attention, the slimmer her chances of survival grew. She gripped on Y/n’s shirt, trying her best to keep her cries at bay.
“Don’t-” Wanda sobbed as tears fell down her face. “This isn’t how I wanted you to confess. I deserve a confession where dying isn’t involved.”
“One minute remaining,” the announcement said. Y/n’s eyes started to droop. Her consciousness was slipping by the second. Wanda cupped Y/n’s cheek and lightly tapped her face.
“Wake up dekta.” Y/n slowly opened her eyes. “Ask me again.”
“What?”
“Tell me you want me back.” Wanda pressed her forehead against Y/n’s. “Tell me to give you another chance and I will. I’ll give you all the chances in the world so just ask me.”
“Wanda…will you give me another chance my love?”
0:00
The world slowed down as the bomb deep under the building blew up. Wanda could feel the blast reaching to them as she created a magic barrier that surrounded her and Y/n. And as it continued to explode around them, Wanda leaned in and kissed Y/n hoping that the last thing the dying girl felt was her love.
Taglist: @halobaby @arelyitsherec8 @blackxwidowsxwife @cristin-rjd @madamevirgo @trikruismybitch @paradiselost916 @mmmmokdok @morbid-gaymer @dailyavengering @itsnottilly @helloalycia @randomshyperson @tomy5girls @daenerys713 @ensorcellme @lezzzbehonesthere @imagine-reblog
@sighsam @olsensnpm @tquick99 @feolok @emilyprentisslittlewhore @mvddison99 @iamapotato @yuhloversxx @mjaudrey @upsidedowndanvers @somewhatgreatexpectations @wandavixen @magicallymaximoff @username23345 @coollemonsaresour @littlewinchester15 @aimezvousbrahms @afuckingshituniverse @am-just-a-cosmic-joke-to-me
@ohmygooddamnbisexualmood @diaryoflife @s7uts @newyork1432 @the-anxious-stargazer @hello-mtf @marvelousbelladonna @ima-gi–na-tion @obsessed-with-wandamaximoff @the-camilucha
@itsnottilly @171611 @kaitlynroseb @daisybri7 @drpepperobsessed @bemyvitamin @musicinourlips @marvelousbelladonna @gingerbreadcookieforlife @xastrydx @chasethemoon @naixia00 @lostandsearching @stupidsapphicsstuff @haechanana @the-camilucha @severepeanutartisanhands @owloftheshadows @somewhatgreatexpectations @ywuen @mixed-fandom-mess @loomontoia @ilovemarvelwomen @coxmicbabygirl @cyanide-mustard @mrs-avenger3000 @prentisshoe @andrea-stark @simpforwandanat @abimess @randomshyperson @yourtaletotell @magically-queer-stuff
@imapotatao @iliketozoneout @maximoffbrossupremacy@olsensnpm @psychadelichues @whitelotus00 @taliiiaasteria @tynix @autorasexy @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @hiiraya
#wanda x reader#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff angst#angst#marvel#Give Me Another Chance#Mionemymind
596 notes
·
View notes
Text
౨ৎ voicemails lee jihoon leaves you while he’s on tour - fluff (with a pinch of angst), established relationship, gn!reader (pet names used: babe)
...one: hey babe, i’m just calling to say we landed safely, and we’re on our way to the hotel. i’ll try calling you again when we get there
...two: i feel like an idiot. i think i called you like ten times yesterday after we got to the hotel, but i forgot about the time difference. i really hope i didn’t wake you up
...three: the weather is so nice here. i even went on a walk today
...four: i just saw the photos you sent earlier. i was busy so i couldn’t respond, but i’m so happy you enjoyed your day. you looked lovely by the way
...five: do you think i should cut my hair? it's so long now, i'm not sure if it still looks good on me. no, soonyoung i'm serious. yes, i want to cut my hair. can you just piss off, don't you see i'm busy? anyway, let me know what you think, babe
...six: i’m really sorry i didn’t call you yesterday, we got back from the venue late at night, and i got an idea for a beat, and i just lost the track of time. i’ll make it up to you, promise
...seven: how was your day? did you remember to eat? by the way, if you have the time tomorrow, do you mind going to my studio and check if i left those black headphones you got me for our anniversary there? i can’t find them anywhere. and i also left my hoodie there, so (pause) you can take it if you want
...eight: is there anything you want me to bring back home? don’t worry about the price, just tell me what you want
...nine: make sure to clear your calendar for this saturday evening, i booked a table at the restaurant you have been talking about, so we can go out after i come back
...ten: i love you (pause) and i miss you
taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @soul-is-a-strange-kid @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @chillseo @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @aaasia111 @tomodachiii @veryfabday @lilmochiandsuga @asasilentreader @mrsnervous @bewoyewo @sharonxdevi @wondipity
#seventeen#seventeen imagines#seventeen reactions#seventeen x reader#seventeen x you#svt reactions#seventeen fluff#seventeen carat#seventeen kpop#svt fluff#seventeen headcanons#seventeen reaction#svt#gose#woozi#woozi x reader#seventeen woozi#svt woozi#woozi fluff#jihoon#jihoon x reader#jihoon x you#jihoon x y/n#svt x reader#boyfriend!jihoon#jihoon fluff
618 notes
·
View notes
Text
ten things seo changbin says when he thinks you’re asleep — fluff, established relationship, a little angst
chan | lee know | CHANGBIN | hyunjin | han | felix | seungmin | jeongin
one. happy one year anniversary, my love. ah, i don’t think i can fall asleep for a while. my heart feels like it wants to jump out of my chest because i’m so happy right now. it’s so crazy to think back to a year ago. did you know i cried when you said yes to being mine? i tried to keep it together in front of you but i sobbed the moment i got home. thank you for giving me a chance, and for continuing to give me a chance. one year, huh?
two. i never thought i’d feel this way again. i thought no one could possibly love me, but then you came in the form of the biggest contradiction. ah, (name), thank you for loving me.
three. i love your moles. you always say you hate them, but i love them because it’s yours. i love them because it’s so potently you. i love everything about you.
four. the boys joked around about marriage earlier, how i’d probably be the first one to tie the knot, and i know they were teasing, but it got me thinking. i genuinely do want to marry you. i think about it all the time. i think about how lovely you’d look in white, and whether or not you’d prefer a beach wedding or a fall wedding. you always told me how much you loved them. and god, who would my best man even be? felix would kill me if it isn’t him. and our first dance… would it be exactly like the way we dance in the kitchen at midnight? ah, sorry, i’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t i?
five. i hope this isn’t just all in my head, that i’m not just making you up. you’re too good to be true sometimes… do i really deserve you?
six. honey? i’m sorry. i should’ve never yelled at you. i know you were coming from a place of concern, and a tiring day is a horrible excuse for my actions. i’m sorry. please sleep well. we’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay?
seven. you got a haircut yesterday. you didn’t tell anyone, but i noticed. you look very pretty, ah what am i even saying? you always look pretty. everyone adores you, but not as much as i do, kay? i love you.
eight. my arms are always open for you, my love. i will catch you if you fall, even if i have to do it over and over again. just don’t give up.
nine. i feel like i’m losing you. please don’t go anywhere. i— i don’t know what to do without you.
ten. i always thought i was hard to love. thank you for making it seem so easy. i love you. i can’t wait to ask you to marry me tomorrow. ah, let me sleep now so tomorrow comes faster. i hope you say yes.
#k-labels#seo changbin x reader#changbin x reader#stray kids x reader#stray kids blurbs#stray kids drabbles#stray kids imagines#stray kids scenarios#stray kids changbin x reader#changbin x you#changbin x y/n#stray kids fluff#changbin fluff#changbin drabbles#changbin imagines#changbin scenarios#changbin fic#kpop imagines#kpop scenarios#seo changbin fluff#seo changbin scenarios#skz x reader#skz x you#skz drabbles#skz blurbs#skz fluff#skz imagines#skz scenarios
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
reader making nate jealous and him putting her in her place😵💫
"YOU JEALOUS?"
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!nate x reader
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your boyfriend nate isn’t fond of the gesture you’re doing for your work friend.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUTTY SMUT, swearing, slight arguing, possessiveness, jealousy, spanking if you squint, p in v, unprotected sex (don’t be stupid!), marking, choking, stomach bulge, overstimulation, hair pulling, edging, dacryphilia, a little degradation, cream pie, ROUGHHH
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,171
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: ALL THAT NATE TALK LAST NIGHT >>>>
so, ask for a nate fic… get a nate fic!
the aroma of chocolate chip cookies makes the kitchen smell delicious.
smiling widely, you watch through the window of the oven at the dessert, the ticking of the timer getting you even more excited.
after five or six more ticks later, the timer goes off. you clap, grabbing an oven mit and opening the oven. you carefully grab onto the pan and place it on the stove to cool.
you wipe your hands on the pink fabric of your apron. moments later, the front door clicks open.
nate’s been out with the triplets all day, but he always finds time to see you as much as he can. “smells good.” he exclaims, taking his jacket off and putting it on the hook.
“i made cookies,” you say as he walks into the kitchen and kisses you on the cheek. he rubs his hands together, going to grab one before you swat his hand away. “they aren’t for you.”
he blinks, standing there for a beat before speaking. “then who are they for?”
“you know that guy i work with?”
he snarls. you tell nate everything about work and one of your coworkers is always brought up in the conversation. “yes.” he says coldly.
“well, it’s his birthday tomorrow and the team is throwing a party for him. i thought i’d contribute and make some cookies as a gift.” your boyfriend stands there with his arms crossed, not looking very happy. “what?”
“is this the same dude that eye-fucks and flirts with you every chance he gets?”
rolling your eyes, you place a hand on your hip. then, you smirk. “you jealous?”
“no.” he lies, but you can see right through him. he’s not fond of your idea of a gift.
sighing sympathetically, you untie your apron slowly to take it off. “okay. then i’ll just pack these up and give them to—”
in the blink of an eye, you are now dangling over his shoulder. despite him being shorter than the average male, he’s still strong. a hand makes contact with your ass a few times while he goes up the stairs to where your bedroom is.
he throws you on the bed, wasting no time to unbuckle his pants and remove his shirt. “you think you’re so damn funny.”
a hiss comes from your lips when he rips off your panties and throws them on the floor. he licks his lips when he realizes how wet this is making you. “does my girl like to be thrown around?” he asks, pulling down his boxers.
you pout, moving your head to the side before you gasp when a hand wraps around your neck. “did you hear that? my girl. not his.”
you pout again, moving your hands down to his dick, desperately wanting him inside you. before you can reach it, he takes the hand that’s not on your neck and pins yours above your head.
he chuckles. “i’m not even fucking you yet and you’re already speechless.”
your breath hitches once you feel his tip move up and down on your slit, but he keeps it that way. you start to squirm beneath him, his grip tightening on both your throat and hands which causes you to stop.
humming, he leans to suck marks onto the top of your breasts, before moving down and sucking at the spot you’re most sensitive. on top of that, he’s still teasing your entrance, and this alone can make you cum.
god, you feel useless.
“i think… i’m—”
“no,” he says harshly, leaving one final hickey on your tit. he hovers his face over yours, noses touching and lips only centimeters apart.
his hips start to thrust into you, your face contorting into different looks of pleasure, and he makes sure to watch it all happen.
the way he snaps harshly into your pelvis has you moan loudly. thank goodness your parents aren’t home.
“faster,” you whisper, nate listening and going quicker, causing him to hit deeper than before. your legs spread wider, whimpers and squeals exiting your mouth with each thrust.
that’s when your eyes start to roll back, but he doesn’t like that. “look at me.” he demands, releasing pressure on your throat when you listen.
finally, he releases his hand and moves it to your stomach, pressing down on the bulge that’s protruding.
the sudden pressure makes you twitch and moan. “feel how deep i am in this sweet cunt? might have to fill it.”
you nod pathetically, making sure to not look away from his eyes, the blue in them darkening the more he ruts into you.
the way both of your bodies rock have the headboard banging loudly on the wall. your eyes start to water, and that makes him even more turned on.
you clench repeatedly around him, silently saying that you’re close. instead, he lets go of your hands and pulls out, flipping you over on your stomach.
pulling your hips toward him, he rails into you like before. if not faster. “nathan! o-oh, nate. ho-holy shit!” you yelp out, grasping for dear life onto the comforter.
he forms a makeshift ponytail with your hair, pulling your head up. “sorry, who? i couldn’t hear you.”
a sob of pleasure loud and clear rolls past your lips, the air in your lungs getting knocked out of you. “n-nate.” you whimper embarrassingly.
“that’s right.” he says, letting your head plop back onto the mattress. “i’m the only one who can fuck you this good. do you understand?”
you sob once more, the pleasure hurting but feeling amazing at the same time. your poor clit is puffy and red, so badly wanting a release. “yes, fuck.” you drag out both words, eyes crossing and mouth hanging open with no sounds coming out. drool drips down from your chin to your neck.
your brain is turned off, specks of white flooding your vision. tears stream down your cheeks. trying to get out of his grip, he notices instantly and holds your hips down to arch further.
and he found a new spot.
you bite down on a pillow, muffling your screams of pleasure. “too late to run from it now, baby. you’re going to keep taking my cock like the pretty slut i know.”
the way you squeeze around him tight has his dick twitching, the thought of filling you with his cum making him closer to his high.
you’re so brain-dead. you can’t think about what’s happening anymore, but it has your toes curling.
“going to stuff this perfect pussy with my cum. how does that sound?”
you moan incoherently, feeling nate stop behind you and pump ropes of cum into your tight hole. “see? look at that.”
he watches as you swallow his release, before pulling out causing some of it to spurt out and onto the sheets.
it takes you a bit to come back to your senses, but you realize something; although you could see the punishment coming from a mile away.
nate never let you finish.
𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!
@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @sturniolotriplettoplover @stars4matt @freshsturns @loverrsposts @sturnlcvr @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @luv4kozume @ivyyyyyysposts @mirxcle1 @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @catalina-island @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @pinkfarts @slut4mattsturn @thesturniolos @vickeyzloserz @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @bellasfavbisexual @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @crazychrisl0v3r @riasturns @chriscamopants @chr1sgirl4life
#✎ ⤾ haleigh’s requests!#nate doe#chris sturniolo#matt sturniolo#nick sturniolo#nathan doe#christopher sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo imagine#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo smut#nate doe fanfic#nate doe smut
501 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
wildflowerfiction77
california artist
squiggleteeth
squiggle teeth
sweetlittlelunatic
YOUR FAVORITE ASSHOLE 💩🔥
hairycock83
Untitled