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heartsofminds · 7 months ago

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if you could see my thoughts, you would see our faces

“I do a lot of things you don’t do. Doesn’t mean you should be knockin’ yourself out to try ‘em.” or Carmy takes an impromptu smoke break and you're begging him for a drag.

A/N: just a sweet little blurb that's been sitting in my back pocket for a while. hope y'all love it as much as i loved writing it!

Smoke breaks never last forever.

The cacophonic slam of a door, the pliable edges of a pack of American Spirits, the grooves of a lighter’s spark wheel, the mix of brisk Chicago wind smacking your face, and the heat of a silently shameful cigarette caressing it in a false sleeve of comfort – The world is silent during a smoke break.

Until the door opens and someone asks to bum a light. Or until you get called back in because everyone and their goddamn mother in River North decides to come in to try the dinner special, yet pretend like they’re actually fucking curious to know what you think the best thing on the menu is. Or until the ignored panic in the back of your mind knocks the wind out of you when taking a particularly long drag that leaves you stifling a deep and hearty cough.

The small moment of peace before it all still remains good. The moment of peace is fine. The moment of peace is all you can afford to get sometimes.

A smoke break never lasts forever, but the temporary solace it provides is enough for Carmen, whose brain never seems to stop spinning no matter how fast or slow the world is turning without him.

He’s gotten better, he thinks, about voicing his discomfort and finding ways to “cope” with his feelings of metaphysical spiraling. He’s still getting the hang of this whole “finding meaning outside of the kitchen” thing, but he figures that twenty-eight years of having your worth summed up in how well something was chopped or seasoned or sautéed or whatever the fuck is ridiculously hard to disengage from.

His therapist would kill him if she knew that he credited a portion of the advancement of his well-being to you. He can hear Erin tell him that he can’t rely on people to make him feel better; that the only person who can determine Carmen’s worth is Carmen himself, but quite frankly he doesn’t give a fuck.

And then he remembers that not giving a fuck is him making his own decision about his life (which he was never allowed to do before, which is why he thinks he was damned to hell to pick the profession he has), and his heart swells a bit with pride. He cares about something for once that has all to do with him and the meaning of life and living and being alive and in charge, and that idea is no longer a room with a false ceiling that can cave in at any moment.

He doesn’t give a fuck because he does give one, and he has never known that something as simple as being loved, fully and authentically, was something that would make all the difference.

Despite not being stressed out nor having a “real” reason to smoke (except for the fact that he’s a creature of habit, and you seem to love the word “addicted” even though he disagrees), he finds himself lifting the window near the fire escape of his apartment and stepping out onto the rusted steps that are less than functional and whips out his lighter and the red cardboard package harboring his cigarettes.

The lights are off in the apartment and the soft whistling of the heater helps him make sense of the foggy window glass. Chicago is nightmarishly cold in November, yet his body doesn’t seem to mind the teen-digited temperature that plagues the indigo-hued 1 AM sky.

Carmy loved in living in the city (and the actual city of Chicago and not Naperville or Joliet or Downers Grove like all the other self-proclaimed “Chicagoan” jagoffs that littered the outskirts of the city for sleep, but polluted it for play).

He liked living in New York City but he loved living in Chicago. New York was too noisy which, he knows, is so fucking ironic given the fact he lives in the heart of all things bustling and boisterous.

But New York had the kind of noise at night that was isolating; the sounds of cars honking and the squeal of the subway telling the stories of a million different lives of a million different people that he didn’t know.

New York City is the largest city in the United fucking States, yet a twenty-two-year-old Carmen could not have felt lonelier while he was there. New York City is the perfect city in the United fucking States to go soul-searching in, and yet a twenty-two-year-old Carmen could not have been more clueless about who he was at the time.

And he’s still figuring out this “thing” called having an identity and finding peace, and he’ll never feel like he knows a whole lot about anything, but he does know two things for certain.

He fucking loathes feeling lonely and he fucking despises feeling clueless.

Chicago is noisy, but the kind of noise that sends an irritated streak of comfort down your spine; the hatred of your twin bed and its mismatched sheets in your childhood bedroom, but the comfort of knowing a refreshing and safe sleep is to follow that night. It was the kind of noise that filled living rooms on Christmas Day or the backyard on the Fourth. It was the sound of a vacuum cleaner running on an early Saturday morning during the first week of summer break and the ticking of kitchen timers and arguments and laughter and tears of all kinds.

He was always reluctant to come back. His pride is something he holds close to his chest but wears with quiet confidence. He would rather die than it seem as if he ran away from New York back home with his tail between his legs. He would rather die than admit to himself that Chicago is where he was meant to be and where he should have always been. He would rather die than admit that through his fucked childhood and even fuck-ier adulthood (Thank you Mikey and Mom and NOMA and Chef David), the city is his safety blanket.

Carmen hasn’t been back to the house since the incident five Christmases ago. Everyone mutually (and very silently so as to not piss his mom off even more than she always perpetually seemed to be) decided that Christmas Eve dinner is much better suited for Uncle Jimmy’s house. When Natalie called on the phone to let him know about the change of venue the following year, he had known from her tone that another Richter scale meltdown had occurred once their mother found out.

From then on he found ways to stay away; to stay put and to put his life on hold and it was the closest thing he could get to not breathing with, you know, still actually fucking breathing.

And it worked for a while. It worked for one thousand eight hundred and twenty-five days, to be exact.

But then Mikey died and then there was a restaurant and then there was every relative that had ever known of his existence knocking down his door and begging him to let them in; asking him if he was okay and prodding him with questions about any and everything in between his mom driving her car into the fucking house and his brother deciding croaking was better than sticking around this hell hole.

And it’s crazy, he thinks, how him simply observing the weather and thinking about possibly smoking a cigarette before bed created this rabbit hole of what would usually be the beginning of an anxious spiral.

Fucking Christ, I need a cigarette.

His fingers create an unrecognizable beat on the package of cigarettes in his hand and he takes the first step out onto the fire escape.

Carmen’s body weight bares down on a piece of the wired metal and it groans in protest. The sounds of tires passing through slush on the road create soothing white noise for his ears. The thin blue henley shirt he has on does little to shield the wind from icing his skin, but he doesn’t mind.

He can’t chance going back inside to fetch his jacket. The coat rack near the front door lies at the end of a pattern of creaks from your apartment’s shitty floorboards. You’re not a light sleeper in any sense of the word (nor are you entirely sober right now), but he knows that he never places that one particularly decrepit plank of wood right, and the noise will jolt you out of your slumber.

His nimble fingers swiftly pull a cigarette out of the carton. He cups it with his left and uses his right to cradle the flicker of his lighter. The orange flame disappears as fast as it had been kindled and he inhales deeply and his exhale is shallow.

Carmen had been smoking since he was fifteen, but he never really had a reason to do it other than Mikey did, and it was a way to spend more time with him. It was their little secret; something that was his and Mike’s and something that seemed like a big deal at the time but would mean jack shit the second he turned eighteen. He never really loved the way cigarettes smelled. He could hardly stand the taste and the constant health class lectures about them being bad for your lungs freaked him out.

But now that he knows what it feels like to have no thoughts in his head and be left alone in the solace of smoking a cigarette in the dead of night, he thinks he gets it.

The silence is cut in half by the sound of the rickety floorboard groaning out in a warning. He doesn’t have to peek his head inside and look around to know that it’s you. You never sleep well after a night out and even though he had to carry you up the stairs, drag a damp washcloth over your face to remove your makeup, and bribe you to stand up long enough to take out your own contacts, he should have known better than to be anywhere but in bed next to you.

Your drunkenness has started to fade and you’ve gone down on the meter from “off your ass” to “slightly tipsy.” Him picking you up from your girls’ night at one of the clubs downtown was more than two hours ago, but he figured you would’ve came and found him by now.

You have such a fear of missing out and while it’s not Carmen’s favorite thing about you, it does warm his heart to know that you want to spend time with him or that you’re scared he’s doing something interesting without you around. He wishes your ‘fomo’ was based on some issue that he could tangibly fix and not on what he knows is your badly bruised self-esteem. It makes his chest heavy that sometimes you can’t see how great you are; that sometimes you don’t understand why he wants you around and loves you so dearly.

He can hear your footsteps approach the window ledge and he wordlessly holds his arm out for you to grab onto. Your fingers come out from under the blanket you’ve thrown over yourself like a shawl and grasp his like a lifeline.

Your body effortlessly molds to him; your front pressed to his back and his unoccupied arm pulling you closer like a seatbelt on your waist. The subtle pressure on your midsection comforts you and your body lodged into his helps alleviate some of the sting he’d been suffering from the cold.

“You’re mad at me,” you speak. Your voice is small and soft; gentle just in case he really is mad at you and this isn’t something your drunk mind conjured up as you lay in bed alone.

He sighs and turns his head to take another drag from his cigarette. He makes sure that your hair is out of target of his smoke exhale. A subtle whine leaves your throat as he steps away from you and he grins. Carmen loves when you’re like this; when you’re clingy and being near him is never enough to satiate you.

“M’not,” he says. You shift from one foot to the other and his eyes momentarily gaze down to make sure you put on socks before you come out here to join him.

Even though he can’t see your face, he knows that the corners of your mouth are posed in a frown. You hate it when he doesn’t elaborate. It makes you feel shut out. He’s not helping his case of denying your accusation. You may just burst into tears if he doesn’t provide more dialogue.

Your nasty habit of feeling like everyone is upset with you all the time is swelling. His nasty habit of smoking more cigarettes a day than he knows he needs is bulging.

Another drag from his cigarette. Another exhale of smoke. Another attempt at trying to be better for you.

“Can’t ever be mad at you, baby. Not with a face like that,” he croons. The words come out of his mouth so easily; endearment dipped in honey and love warmed by sunshine. Adoration is easy when it comes to you. He’s never known a peace like this.

“Sly dog,” you mutter. The brain fog from the four tequila lemonades you downed earlier makes you slow in finding a smartass thing to say. Carmen fights the urge to poke fun at you because he knows that you’ll take him seriously.

“I love you. I love you. I love you,” your words silently praise.

“You make it easy,” his hold on you acknowledges.

Your face is numb from the cold and the alcohol making its way through your system. The lips pecking a kiss against your temple can barely be felt, yet you contently hum once the damp seal of them releases the affection you’ve been longing for. He never makes you work hard for his undivided attention when he readily has it. Wordlessness crafts a cradle of comfort for you both. Soulmates in ways that soulmates usually aren’t.

Another drag from his cigarette. Another exhale of smoke. Another show of actually being better for you.

A beat of silence passes with the whistling of the wind.

“Can I try?” your voice is small with unacquired confirmation of what his answer will be.

He giggles and you’re mesmerized by the way the smoke exhales with each minuscule twitch of his chest. You turn around at the feeling and press your palms to his torso. It’s impossible not to admire him. You’re always starstruck but he makes it easy to be that way when he looks so peaceful and sweet and good.

Good for you. Good for your heart. Good for each other.

You make a mental note to tell him that he should wear this shirt more often but know deep down that you’ll forget to do so until it comes back clean in the laundry basket in a week. You need to work on that, you think; telling him that you love him when you feel it. Moments like this don’t last forever, and you fear for the day that the ooey-gooey feelings of love in its purest forms are fleeting. You know that Carmen makes it impossible, but you can never be sure. Much like he, you’re always half expecting the ceiling to cave in.

“Sweet baby wants to be a smoker?” he chides. He doesn’t feel bad when you flash him a pouty frown.

“Carm!” you gripe. Your cheek presses to his pec. You hate when he does this; when he can’t give a straight answer. It isn’t something that needs an answer, but the satisfaction of having one, of being connected to him and the inner world of his mind he tries so hard to keep from everyone, would feel nice.

Carmen’s tattooed hand snubs the cigarette out on the dish left on the ledge of the window. His fingers curl to let his knuckles brush the hair on the top of your head. You try your hardest not to melt into his touch. He’ll have a field day if you let him have the satisfaction of making you visibly weak in the knees.

“Didn’t even say no yet, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, but you’re being mean. Just tell me “no” instead of making me suffer.”

He quirks his eyebrow and brings a gentle hand to guide your chin upwards, forcing you to make eye contact with him.“Well, m’gonna if you don’t lose the ‘tude, baby.”

The shift in his tone of voice and the forced eye contact sends a beam of warmth down to your stomach. He has a way of leaving little leeway for negotiation and argument. It’s abstract to his everyday life, but that was complicated, you know. When it’s you and him and him and you, there is never a need for a fight for dominance or a clarification of authority. You both understand each other on a level that is molecular. There is never any need for guessing.

His finger flicks your lip playfully before swiping a calloused thumb gently on the plush of them. You had fought him so hard earlier when he tried to swipe the lipstick and liner you had put on earlier off with a washcloth. He finds it wild that you’re wide awake and coherent after witnessing the mild temper tantrum you had thrown about it not even two hours earlier.

Carmen spots the gentle gleam in your eyes and his heart instantly softens. He sighs, momentarily taking his hands off of you and reaching back in his pocket for his carton of cigarettes and lighter.

“Fine, but you gotta light it.”

The aforementioned cigarette sits unlit between his lips, the end sticking out like an invitation and the filter hid between his teeth like a dirty secret. He half expects you to chicken out when he hands you the lighter. You always freaked out a little about the flame being so close to your fingers. Something about feeling the heat so close to your hand made you insanely nervous and he could never seem to fully understand.

His expectations are exceeded when your thumbnail crafts friction with the spark wheel and the illuminated peach of his lighter of the month spurs to life. You don’t cup it with your hands to shield it from the wind. You let it grow and shrink as you lift it up to the unlit butt sticking out of his mouth.

Your eyes watch in childish awe as the wrapped paper gives way and reveals the hearty smell of tobacco and a sunburst of ashes upon making contact with the manufactured heat. You had watched Carmen smoke hundreds of times, but something about seeing it now right in front of you kindles a spark of curiosity deep in your belly.

“Can’t believe my sweet girl wants to puff on a cancer stick,” he says. You know that he’s joking, but his trying to get you to change your mind strikes a nerve deep within you.

“You do it so why can’t I?” you huff, agitated with him seemingly withholding the cigarette you so desperately crave.

“I do a lot of things you don’t do. Doesn’t mean you should be knockin’ yourself out to try ‘em.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s just one. Don’t be so mean.”

He pulls the stick from between his lips and creates a perfect “o” ring with the smoke in its wake. A dopey-eyed grin plants a home on his face and his eyes look deep into yours.

Fucking show-off.

“All it takes is one to get addicted,” he continues to smoke and the cigarette butt starts to diminish with each puff he takes, “You sure you wanna bite, sweetheart?”

“One won’t hurt.”

His gaze lowers to your lips and back up to your eyes. “Don’t wanna end up like me. All sad and addicted to cigarettes.”

“Carmen, please. I just want one,” you huff, lightly pushing his chest away. He moves slightly with your force and has to stifle a laugh.

“They ever show you Teri the Smoker in health class?” Carmen takes the cigarette out of his mouth and pretends to examine it, faux and forced curiosity at the cylindrical tube sitting between his lithesome fingers. He’s not giving into you on purpose, you know, and he’ll give in eventually, you also know, but him trying to delay the gratification of getting what you want is starting to annoy you more than it usually would.

“Yes? What does that have to do with anything?”

He pops it back in his mouth and takes an obnoxiously long drag. “Nothing,” he breathes out the smoke with his statement, “Just funny that you know that and here you are, damn near hands and knees, gagging for a cigarette.”

“Carmen.”

He laughs and you can’t help but love the sound.

“You know, it’s real fucked up of you to ask for a drag from my cigarette that I get with my hard-earned money,” he says and you roll your eyes, “You should know I love you too much to let you stick a cancer stick in your mouth.”

“It’s just one!” you plead.

“It’s never just one, sweetheart.”

“Well, who says’m gonna get addicted like – like you and Teri the Smoker?”

“The nicotine content on the carton. That’s who.”

He’s not paying you any attention and it’s starting to ache your heart a little. You know that he’s distracted; that he’s just trying to prevent the ashes from getting on your blanket and from getting the smell of smoke in your hair, but him biting at your insistence a little less than he was previously sends a pang of gloominess through your chest.

“You smoke all the time, and if you get a hole in your throat because of that then you’re so mean.”

His lips upturn in introspection.“M’mean?”

“Very,” you answer dryly.

“Humor me.”

“Because then I’ll have to live the rest of my life without hearing your voice again and then I’ll be so sad.”

He shrugs, half knowing that you’re joking but half expecting something more to come out of what you’re getting at. “Ehh, don’t think anyone at the restaurant would miss it.”

“I would!”

You smack at his chest again lightly and he remembers how touchy and wild you get after you’ve been drinking. It’s never bad or out of control, but you’re more affectionate than usual and less gentle than you normally are.

“Yeah, baby? Gonna miss my voice?”

“Mhm,” you purr, leaning up to get closer to his ear, “Gonna miss how you call me a good girl. And how you whine when I pull your hair and how you tell me that I’m the tightest and wettest little th-”

“Jesus,” he laughs, playfully pushing the side of your face away as your teeth nibble a tiny bite on the thick of his palm, “Fuck off.”

You like to play around, too. That’s also something he sees more of after a night out. He never indulges; knows you get too riled up and in your head when it goes somewhere he’s not comfortable with, but he loves it nonetheless. Being together has helped the other not be so scared of permanence. Moments like this confirm what he knows, and he realizes that you’re a saint and he wants to marry you.

The stuff that comes along with it has been plaguing his mind as of late, but he realizes how little it matters when he sees you all happy and grateful to be around him and doing the most mundane of things. He’ll get you that ring and that house and those babies and the happiest fucking life in a heartbeat, and he’s oddly comforted by the fact that he knows you’ll let him.

Carmen’s never been the best at not wearing his feelings on his face and you know he’s deep in thought when the banter dies and the whistling of the wind takes its place. You hope he isn’t spiraling. He tends to do that a lot. You tend to feel powerless when it happens.

Your eyes study his face; the lightness of his irises, the spiral of curls, the slope of his nose. The tequila from earlier remains in your system, but it doesn’t change the fact that you love him so deeply.

“You know, it’s bullshit that you’re giving me hell about putting a cigarette in my mouth.” Your voice cuts through the quiet and he starts to grin again.

“Hey, s’only bullshit because you’re sittin’ here beggin’ and then telling me I’m gonna have a fuckin’ hole in my throat from smoking too much.”

“I never said that it was gonna be bad, Bear. I just said I was gonna miss hearing your voice is all.”

His free hand comes out to sit on the base of your neck. A calloused thumb draws small semi-circles on the bottom of your hairline.

“You know, her quality of life was probably amazing,” he speaks, “Like didn’t she have kids and grandkids and friends and shit? Health class is fucked up for making her out to be the ‘throat hole lady’.”

“You shouldn’t say that,” you grimace and he plants his lips on your forehead.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

You make him softer. If it was anyone else, he wouldn’t think twice about how insensitive it had come off. His therapist is always saying people can’t make you better, but she clearly hasn’t met you.

“But that was kinda the whole point? You shouldn’t want to be like her?” you pause and the frown lines in your eyebrows write “pensive” on your face before you even realize it, “. . .Because she does have a hole in her throat. And her quality of life was just very. . .different?”

Carmen nods. “They’re fucked up for that.”

“Jesus, Carm. Do you think smoking is bad or not because you’re giving me soooo many mixed signals here,” you sigh, your forehead moving forward faster than you intended and hitting the bony composition of his collarbones.

He hums softly; part listening to what you’re saying and part acknowledging that he wants to move on from what you had said.

“Did you know that your life expectancy goes down by eleven minutes or some shit like that each time you smoke a cigarette?” he swiftly changes the subject.

You pick your head up and narrow your eyes playfully. “Oh, you don’t even love me enough to let me smoke one so I can be put out of my misery a whole eleven minutes earlier when you die from smoking a gazillion packs a day and leave me all lonely and wrinkly.”

“I think you’d be hot wrinkly,” he replies matter-of-factly.

“I think you’d be hot if you let me smoke one.”

“You’re probably not gonna like it.”

“Okay.”

He realizes that the cigarette has pretty much burned itself out. There’s possibly one or two more drags left before he has to ash it out completely. He debates on whether he should let you have at it or silently take the last two and usher you back inside. If he chooses the former, he knows that he’ll feel bad if you don’t like it, and he worries that your realization will kickstart the unraveling of something almost perfect he’s found for himself. He can’t bear to take another loss in his life. If he chooses the latter, he knows you wouldn’t even be aware that he had smoked it entirely by himself, and that you’ll gripe and complain for the rest of the night and table the conversation for another time when he’s in a less resistive state.

“Carm, you have to give me a puff from it,” you complain, snapping him out of his thoughts.

He’s giving in to you. He always does. He doesn’t know why he pretends like he has free will when it comes to you.

“C’mere,” he beckons your face closer, “And don’t use your hands. You have that blanket on and I don’t wanna have to call Chicago Fire tonight.”

Carmen lifts his hand up to your mouth and gently laughs when you go cross-eyed to eye the filter sitting in between his pointer and middle fingers.

“You just inhale, hold it, and then breathe back out,” he instructs. He feeds the filter to your lips before suddenly pulling it back. “Don’t choke yourself out though. That uh – that won’t be good and then you’re really not gonna like it.”

Your neck extends to get closer to Carmen’s hand and you do what he says. You inhale, hold it, and exhale. You don’t think you’re doing it right (and he knows that you didn’t, but doesn’t say anything because he knows it’ll make you whiny) but you’re satisfied that he trusts you enough to try.

“Took it like a champ, baby,” he cheers, “So proud!”

He pushes the butt of the cigarette into the dish and your blanket-covered hands come up to palm his face gently. The plush of the cover feels soft against his stubble-covered cheeks, and your gazes catch each other’s.

A moment of tranquility. A moment of peace. A moment of love.

He so desperately wants to marry you.

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darlingillustrations · 2 years ago

Photo

My name is Erin Darling, and I’m a queer watercolor artist form Tacoma, WA. I paint original anthropomorphic characters and storybook scenes. Or I used to. Then the pandemic happened, and it hit me kinda hard. I couldn’t paint for a couple years, and I spent all my creative energy writing fanfic and roleplaying on discord servers.

I am finally starting to make art again, and I want to share my art here, but I only have, like, 17 friends following this account.

Evidence of my 17 friends:

So I thought: what the heck? Why not do a tumblr blaze and see what happens??

Please come be a part of my art with me, especially because I am doing something very new. I took my newfound love of writing and my old love of storybooks and I’ve been trying to make something I haven’t done before: my very own story that I am writing and illustrating.

Allow me to introduce you to Calico Jill and the Search for Cheese, a story about a little pirate who goes on a big adventure in a new city, in search of the tastiest of golden treasures: cheese! The story is a little bit about food deserts and a lot a bit about hope. She runs into obstacles and makes friends along the way. And I’d love to share her story with you! A new chapter is coming out each month, and you can read the first two chapters here:

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Please give me a follow and share any of the art on my blog that resonates with you. I really want to create heartfelt queer art that is a part of a community. I want my stories to touch your heart and strengthen you.

#calico jill #the adventures of calico jill #cheese #tumblr artist #zines #queer artist

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slutforwholesomeness · 1 year ago

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Mindless Pleasure

CW: CNC, edging, hypnosis, TFxM

Laying on her bed, Erin eagerly waits for her boyfriend to pick up the phone. They've been in a long-distance relationship for a year, but she still gets butterflies at the thought of hearing his voice. The ping of him joining the call makes her smile, as his voice comes through her headphones.

"Well hello, is this the pretty girl hotline?"

She can't help but giggle. It's a line she's already heard a dozen times, but he delivers it so sincerely it almost makes her blush.

"Yeah it is sir, how may I help you today?" she replies, trying to hide the smile in her voice.

"Well, I was hoping to speak to the prettiest girl of them all? I think her name was Erin? She's got a super pretty voice, and she's so cute, and she's got such a hot body..."

Erin squeals a little at the praise, trying to ignore the neediness building between her legs with each compliment. "Tobyyyyyyy, stoppppppp!"

He chuckles on the other end of the phone, his voice a husky purr in her ears

"So adorable... I love you so much, sweetheart~"

Erin bites her lip. Gosh, even his pet names make her heart flutter...

"Yeah well, I love you too!" she declares back, the stress of work today sliding off her shoulders a little. She feels so safe with him, and so beautiful... Something must have changed in her voice, because his next question is dripping with lewd intent.

"Baby, you sound a little stressed... would you like me to hypnotize you?"

She shivers. Hypnosis had always been a more niche kink of hers, but Toby absolutely loved it. He'd sent her a file that helped her sleep, but she suspected that it was also planting triggers deep inside her head. God, she hoped he was planting triggers deep inside her head...

"Yes..." she whispers, rubbing her thighs together.

"Good..." His voice is hushed, whispering seductively. This is the voice he used to hypnotize her, and her body knows it. Her clit twitches and she obeys his commands as he gives them "... now get comfortable for me, and close your eyes... let your breathing slip into a deep, even pattern, whatever is most comfortable..." It's almost instinct at this point. Her head feels light and fuzzy, and he begins to relax her body. "Focus on my voice... just like that..."

It feels so good to obey his commands. It makes her feel owned, in the best way. And he begins to drop her into trance.

"My voice is like a warm, weighted blanket... it wraps around your body, holding you down, so heavy, but comfortable... and while it pins you down, it squeezes alllll the tension out of your muscles... no more tension, no more stress, no more worries... and despite this heavy, warm weighted blanket, letting go of that stress makes your body feel so light and floaty..."

Her head is fuzzy. That means it's working for sure. She listens to his words, drifting away as the warm, comfortable sensation glides up her body, from her toes to her heels, heels to knees, knees to thighs, thighs to... waist... to chest... to shoulders... to... neck... to...

"Drop Deep"

...

Erin shakes her head sleepily. A glance at her phone tells her it's been twenty minutes. She lets out a soft moan.

"Darling? Are you there?" Toby asks.

Erin nods groggily "Mhm..."

"And how do you feel?"

Erin blinks, waking up more with each passing second. She feels sleepy, but also...

"H-horny" she gasps "horny and n-needy..."

Toby giggles. "Yeah? Needy? Does my needy puppy want her vibe?"

Moaning, Erin almost falls off her bed, scrambling to reach her hush. She grabs it, then slides the vibrator into her panties, positioning it against her clit just right...

"Please, please, I'm ready..." she begs, and he answers her pleas with a steady, pulsing pattern that makes her squirm and pant. For a minute, they both just bask in it, their dominance and submission perfectly intertwined as Erin's gasps get increasingly heated. "M-more, please turn it uppppp Master..." She whines. Toby obliges with a small giggle.

"So desperate... you're a needy slut, aren't you?" Her moan is the only reply he needs, sliding the pattern up from low to medium, the Lovense buzzing louder. Erin has to cover her mouth to stop her loud moans from leaking past her fingers, but GODS why did this feel so good today?

"Now darling, I'm going to say something very important, so it's means a lot if you'd listen to me, okay?"

Erin nods, then moans, then lets out a quiet noise of affirmation. Toby's voice cuts through the pleasure, through the noise in her mind, reaching something deep inside.

"Good Bimbo~"

With those two words, her brain goes blank. Her hips buck into the endless buzzing pleasure, trapped between her panties and her drooling clit, and it's all she knows. Everything is bliss. Everything is pleasure. Her mind is totally empty. She giggles between moans, but it's still not enough. "M-m-moreeeeee~" the Good Bimbo groans. And Master gives her more, forcing her to the brink of orgasm is seconds as the vibrator ramps up.

All she does for a moment is gasp and squirm, before words blurt from her lips. "Close, close, I'm close, Master I'm closeeeeeeee~"

And the vibe shuts off, leaving the pretty bimbo edged and dumb and drooling. Master whispers to her, telling her what a Good Bimbo she is, and how happy she makes him. He asks if she wants to be edged again and she giggles.

"Lyke, yeah! But uhm, only lyke, one more time? Uhm, yes please master!" The uncontrollable bout of giggles that leaves her lips feels so right, as does Master responding in her ear, reminding her what a Good Bimbo she is, before the vibe turns back on, nice and high. She reaches edge in no time, begging and panting for him to turn it down, she's so close, so so close Masterrrrr, and he does as she asks. And he explains something for her.

"Now, you said just one more edge? Are you ready for one more edge?"

Something inside her silly brain didn't think that was right, so she told him, but Master just laughed it off. "You're just a Good Bimbo, remember? Let me be the smart one, you're too pretty to be smart~" He was right, of course, she was sooooo pretty, and that makes her sooooo dumb. She giggles, so glad that Master can tell her what to do, as the vibe starts up again.

...

Just... just one more time... the bimbo reminds herself, as another edge buries her mind in pleasure. Just... one more edge... Master's voice interrupts all her dumb, bimbo thoughts, and her clit twitches in response.

"You've been such a Good Bimbo for me... I think you deserve your reward... my Good Girl~'

Oh gods, those words... It felt like an electric current of pure pleasure just surged through her body. Her dumb clit spurts out another few drops of pre, expanding the damp spot on her panties. She gasps in mindless bliss. And the vibe starts up again, barely. The speed is slow, weak teasing pulses to really melt her into a messy little pet for Master... All the while, he whispers delicate triggers in her ears, "Good Bimbo, what a Good Girl, you're such a Good Bimbo, my Good Girl~"

The praise and triggers and vibe slowly get louder, and her minds gets messier, one thought slipping into her empty head. Good Girls don't cum... without permission. So as the edge approaches again, she begs and babbles and whimpers, oh PLEASE Master, please let me cum I've been so good, such a Good Bimbo and such a Good Girl and I need to cum I'm so needy I know I'm a slut so just let me cum, let me cum, LET ME CUMMMM, and Master's voice purrs back, that she's right, she's been a VERY Good Girl and so she should cum, cum for me, cum right now, that's it, Good Girl, cum for me, cum for Master, and now the vibe is on full intensity, her legs are shaking and her clit is aching from so much edging but she cums, her dumb clit drooling all over itself as the sensation of finally cumming blanks her mind entirely and...

...

She comes back to her senses begging him to turn the vibe off, her overstimulated clitty can't take any more, and her sweet, kind, wonderful Master turns it down, then off completely, and the compliments start flooding in, of how well she did, how proud he is. Despite the distance, she can feel his arms around her, snuggling her until her mind is less fuzzy, and she can think for herself again. Master becomes Toby in her thoughts again, as they exchange "I love you"s and kisses in her blissful afterglow. Everything is okay. Everything is alright. Go grab a drink of water sweetheart, we can keep talking when you get back. As she leaves the call to get a drink and clear her fuzzy head, she smiles, and giggles, and knows that she's truly found her soulmate ❤️

#soft cnc #mindfuck #edging kink #wholesomensfw #hypnok1nk #hypnosis #hypnosub #trans nsft

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tastesousweet · 10 months ago

Text

⭒ the girl with the tattoo (x) - pt 1 pt 2 p3 p4 p5 p6 p7 p8 p9

matt sturniolo x fem!oc / reader

summary : after three resentful weeks apart, only matt and y/n could find themselves more fond of each other.

warnings : angst, fluffy, mentions of alcohol and weed, sort of proofread

mickey speaks : THANK U FOR UR PATIENCE SWEET ANGELS HERE’S THE 10TH PART FOR YOU!!! tgwtt is already in double digits 🥹 only like 8 more parts to go

THIS IS PART TEN GO READ THE OTHERS FIRST PLEASE!!!

"COME on y/n we'll have so much fun!"

you haven't had a night out in weeks.

following matt's party, you swore off alcohol until your own birthday in mid-september, afraid of the amount you'd allow yourself to consume now that you're feelings are supremely hurt and bitterness coated your tongue.

it was difficult to turn down the first week, despite the smell and taste of any drink making your stomach turn you craved the drunken effect and secretly wanted to run into matt- just to see what he'd have the nerve to say to you. but the mature, wiser part of your brain knows there is nothing good to come from spiteful drinking. so you've declined every weekend.

you know in your heart that your friends only want you to feel good and have fun with them. it's the only reason you've tolerated this current conversation for so long.

"i believe you! but i'm just saying i'll have just as much fun with this bowl of strawberries and my bed," you reach into a cabinet for one of the many off-white glass bowls.

"baby you haven't been out with us in so long, we miss you!" remi beams kicking her legs as she sits atop your counter, fully dressed and decorated for her night out (contrasting the bare face, oversized tee, and panties you wear).

you sigh and look over to the three girls huddled in your kitchen, "no, you guys know 'm not drinking right now," you shake your head and push off of the counter heading towards the fridge in search of your berries.

"i'm just confused on why you're suddenly so strict on drinking? and regardless of the drinking you could have fun without it if you loosen up a bit..." erin replies while resting her body against the wall next to remi's spot.

you roll your eyes while your face is still in your fridge before shutting it back, "i don't understand what's not clicking erin, i don't want to go out at all! i want to stay at home and be away from drunk people and watch something brainless and then i wanna go take a fucking bath. i'm so tired of having to explain and repeat myself. please go, please have a good time, and please- respectfully, mind your business."

you run water over your strawberries and andrea's eyes widen as she turns back towards the counter to pour herself another shot.

"alright, whatever.” erin shakes her head, “dre, remi, i'm gonna go wait outside this is annoying. she can stay bitter," she walks out and whispers, "bitch," under her breath before shutting the door.

it's silent for a second as you begin to harshly cut the stems off of the fruit, remi comes behind you and wraps a caring arm over your shoulder for a hug, "are you okay?"

"yes, i'm fine, you can go have fun..." you turn to face her and offer a strawberry.

"i really do miss you,” you kisses your shoulder and bites into the strawberry, “love you," she reminds you as she grabs her bag and dismisses herself to check with erin. you nod your head and continue to stare blankly as you repeatedly cut.

andrea speaks up after hearing the door fully shut. she breathes heavily as she stares down at her hands on the counter, "cariña ("honey"), you’re not a bitch.”

“i know…” your voice is small.

“i know you do. i also know something’s hurting you badly right now and i selfishly wish you’d fucking tell me so i could help.” she licks her glossed lips, “but as long as you’re being kind to yourself, i can deal with you keeping this to yourself.”

your eyes brim with salty tears and when you let out a broken sniffle she's immediately by your side. "nooo don’t cry, i’m already pre-drunk! you know i will too!" you try to continue preparing your fruit but andrea turns your body to make room for a warm hug. you're quick to tuck your face into her perfumed neck and let out your feelings through cry's.

you had always thought that what andrea (or anyone) didn't know about your sex life with matt wouldn't kill her, but quite frankly it's killing you. you want to tell her everything he’s ever made you feel- for all andrea knows matt was once a silly crush and currently a little less than a friend to you.

but at the same time you just know she would tell you to stop seeing him if she knew everything. she would remind you that at your core you are far too caring and attached to handle recurring casual sex with him in the first place.

"i'm so sorry, drea. i really wanna tell you but i’m not ready." you croak pitifully.

not ready to accept the embarrassment of wanting him to like you this bad.

and for someone as willingly vulnerable as you, you’re especially not ready to hear her scold you a little for somehow hurting your own feelings and putting your friendship with erin on a thin line over some guy.

your words only confuse her brain more, but she can only continue to rub circles into your back and silently pray you didn’t do something illegal or, like, morally cruel.

౨ৎ

matt would love to say he hasn’t thought about you since you bitched out on him the night of his birthday, but he could never just blatantly lie.

he can say he has gone the past few weeks without reaching out to you- which mostly speaks to both of your stubbornness and pride.

in fact, you’re part of his reason for having his own night in tonight- though it’s far less sadistic of a reason than yours. he’s simply grown bored of the repetitive night life he and his friends have.

you were always there for him to tease and secretly fuck around with whenever your friend groups would combine for the night. but as of late he’s left sitting at the bar swigging down beers and scrolling on his phone (sometimes he’d get irrationally irritated at you for not posting on your instagram or snapchat stories, feeling a as if it was a direct punishment to remove him from knowing any details about your life) or until the rest of the group throw the towel in.

on the worst and most irritating of nights he’ll take an uber home by himself. and those were the nights he would get so close to being irrational- showing up to your house and confronting you was oh so enticing. but he’d talk himself out of it and go home to fuck his fist like you’d probably tell him to do.

and on the most horny and pathetic of nights he'd end up in the backseat of his car finger-fucking erin with her tongue in his mouth. it ended at that though, matt's skin started to crawl thinking of when you rode him in the front seat not too long ago. he had pinched his eyes shut and pulled erin's hands away from his zipper, swaying her with some sweet "i just wanted to make you feel good s’all" and a kiss before she left and he awkwardly drove himself home- pondering how little self control he had to be desperate enough to do even get that far.

so, he didn’t even bother to go out tonight. when chris and nick asked him through his closed door, he told them he’ll stay in for some “peace and quiet.” really, he just couldn’t stand to be disappointed by the guaranteed lack of you being there.

he sits in his desk chair, legs spread casually, and sketchbook held against his thigh as he scribbles around to formulate a few rough outlines for upcoming clients. somewhere in the mix he begins to sketch out a familiar cartoon cat, which only irritates him and makes him close the book abruptly, shoving it into his desk’s drawer.

matt rubs his hands over his face a few times and lifts himself from the chair, heading straight for his bedside table. he bites at his lips while digging through the drawer, eventually finding the pretty red hot blunt you rolled and gifted him.

he makes his way out to the patio, not bothering to turn the outdoor lights on; blunt, lighter, and phone in tow. he slouches into one of the many chairs near the glass door and places the blunt between his lips, shuffling as he digs in his back pocket for his lighter.

the spark of the bright flame highlights his focused face for only a few seconds while he pricks the end of the misshapen yet smoothly rolled blunt. he breathes in the smoke immediately, throwing the lighter onto a table nearby. he tilts his backwards to blow out swirls of smoke above him.

matt initially wants to wait to call you until he feels high enough, mostly to give him an excuse for calling in the first place because he knows you’ll be expecting one. but he can't fucking wait, he wants to know what you're doing right now.

matt continues to effortlessly inhale and exhale several hits as he searches his phone for your contact.

his thumb hovers over the dull button that would change a lot for him. calling you means looking like a dumbass, as if he can't handle not knowing you (apparently he can’t but he wouldn’t admit to it). calling you means he’s breaking this implied break up- for complete lack of better terms.

but who’s to say you’ll even answer and give him a chance to do any of that? and suddenly his phone is vibrating in his hand as he raises it to his ear.

it takes four rings for you to answer, though you're completely silent on the other end. he waits and you wait. he truly didn’t think this far ahead. you only give him a few extra seconds to be silent before you hang up all together.

matt kisses his teeth and redials. when you eventually answer again he speaks through the smoke in his lungs, "hi. why'd you hang up?"

"matt, don't call my phone and expect me to speak to you first." your voice has a bite to it that still surprises matt a little. it's so infrequent for you to be harsh or upset (as long as matt has known you, you've been nothing but cheerful and well… sunny) that it's oddly pleasant to see how you handle negative emotions- it reminds him that you’re not always good, something he’d always weirdly envied about you.

he releases more smoke in the air around him, "my bad, sweetheart."

"just tell me why you’re calling. are you drunk or ...?"

"no. i just wanted to know what you're doing."

you sigh heavily, "why does that concern you...?"

his eyes pinch as he stares out into the dark backyard, "why're you bein' so difficult? 'm just trying t-"

"matt. get there, please." you rush, though you secretly are enjoying hearing his voice and the romanticized idea that he must care a little if he’s reaching out again.

“yeah.” he takes a breath, “i don’t know. i’m just, like, here…by myself, and i wanted to remember what you sounded like.”

you smirk to yourself but drop it immediately, “okay…well, this is what i sound like.”

“yes, so soothing, i could fall asleep right here,” you can hear him audibly stretch.

“oh, i’m putting you to sleep?” you tease.

“yeah, i need you to come over and wake me up,” he inhales once more.

you’re silent and he breathes out again, “fuck was that too much- i’m sorry.”

“definitely. i need you to calm down, sir.”

“oh i’m so calm, baby,” he moans out playfully.

“matt, i’ll hang up-”

“woah! let’s not make such rash decisions?!”

“okay then.”

“thank you for answering,” his voice is muffled, “you could’ve blocked me- i talked to you so crazy that night and i do feel bad about, i want you to know.” he pauses and you silently process as he continues to compliment you, “you’re the only woman besides, like, my mother, who is just classy as fuck and way too kind to everyone whether they deserve it or not.”

you could never have expected to hear any words of admiration from matt in regards to you. “oh my god, are you near a couple of trees right now? how’d you get so sappy all of a sudden?”

matt takes a second to register your joke before his entire face crinkles and he shakes his head, giggling, “bad joke. such a bad joke.”

you let yourself laugh a little as well before pulling together, “thank you for apologizing, i honestly didn’t expect that from you.”

“well i don’t hand them out like that so i guess you’re lucky or something.”

“i guess i am…” you smile into your words a little.

“what have you been doing?”

“like the past few weeks or right now?”

“i was talking about right now but you can say both.”

“just was checking! i don’t want to talk to much, i know you’d hate to listen to it.”

“heyyy! really? throwin’ some shit i just told you i didn’t mean right in my face like that?”

“i’m sorry i had to!”

“you were holding on to that one, huh?”

“just a little.”

“okay, tell me everything and i’ll listen.”

“i know i made it seem like i’ve been doing a lot but i’ve honestly just been working a bunch. it’s not as much of a nightmare as it sounds though- working long shifts has helped me fall asleep quicker. i’ve also started cooking a lot more whenever im bored which andrea looooves. and… um, right now i’m taking a bath.”

matt’s eyes widen and he chuckles, “dammit! i knew i should’ve facetimed instead!”

you bite your lip to hold back a laugh yourself, “what are you doing, matt?”

“guess.”

“i mean, i know you’re smoking but you could be in a random bedroom at a party or like, at some other bitch’s house…i don’t know, i’m just guessing!”

“never that,” he laughs- which you can’t decipher as a sarcastic or genuine one -and explains further, “‘m at home, outside with that perfect little blunt you made.”

“oh, for real?”

“uh huh, she’s treating me real good.”

“i’m glad. can you finish telling me how you’ve been?”

“yeah, um-”

“mattttt!” a very drunk nick suddenly yells while sliding open the glass door.

matt literally jumps and is immediately annoyed, you can hear it in his voice despite it being muffled now, “dude, you scared the shit out of me! what do you need?”

“hello to you too, ugh, i forgot you’re all moody right now. what are you even doing it’s all dark and shit?” nick hangs on the door has he peeks outside.

matt gets up to close the door again, “mind your business, nick. move, you’re in the way.”

“hmm, you are so weird.” nick squints his eyes and turns away yelling chris’ name in a blood curdling scream (for absolutely no reason besides the fact that he thought it’d be funny to see chris drunkenly run into the living room).

“hey, you still there?”

“mhm, yes”

“nick and chris just got back from the bar so i’ll have to help them chill out, um, yeah. i wanna hang out again. not even just to fuck if you aren’t cool with that yet, if we can be friends around our friends we can be friends by ourselves.”

friends? you and matt? hm. “that’d be nice, do you wanna just come over like usual?”

“i mean i could but we can do whatever you want, seems like you’ve been home a lot so, you know.” his voice gets more distracted as he speaks

“okay, i’ll let you know. good night.”

“sounds good, sweetheart.”

౨ৎ

MATT - 6:30 PM

Are you done yet?

Y/N - 6:52 PM

yes i’m coming now

“i’m sorry again for keeping you so late y/n, you really didn’t have to stay and help me close!” your coworker, angela, beams as she follows you out of the back door with a trash bag.

“don’t worry about it,” you smile to her as you walk with her to the large dumpster on the side of the building.

she throws a bag the size of her torso into the bin with a mumble of ‘ew’ before turning to you, “don’t say that! i know you have that date thing tonight, i don’t want you to be late.”

“i told you it’s not a date! we’re hanging out as friends.”

she rolls her eyes while putting her travel sized hand sanitizer back into her purse, “y/n don’t start with that…it’s totally a date from what you’ve told me.”

you both continue to walk towards the back parking lot,“trust me, he’s made it clear he’s not that kind of guy.”

“then why waste your time?”

right when you go to defend yourself you hear a car door shut, drawing your attention to the man of the hour, who’s locking the doors of his sleek black suv as his jaw works a minty piece of gum.

his black tee exposes his tattoos and his jean shorts are held up with his favorite black belt. you can see his light eyes are squinted due to the sun’s undying brightness from where you stand.

angela turns to you with a full smirk and softly slaps your arm, whispering and giggling, “girl, he’s hot!”

“oh my god!” you have an uncontrollable smile as you look at her, “stop it!” you look over again and this time matt is leaning against his car, ready to catch your eye and send you a wave of his fingers with his eyebrows raised.

you wave back then turn away once more, “‘kay i should probably go but i’ll see you wednesday, right?” you lean in for a hug.

“yes i’ll be here,” she smiles into the embrace as you kiss into the air to the side of her head, “you’ll have to give me all the deets!”

“mhm,” you hum as you both part ways, “bye ang!”

you approach matt without any rush and he takes the time to gaze over your complexion (far more radiant than the last time he’d seen you) and the way your mini jean skirt compliments the blushed red top you’re wearing. “hi sunny,” he grins and reaches a hand out to bring you into a hug, only for you to set the handle of your small purse in it. he kisses his teeth playfully, “it’s still like that, huh?”

“like what?” you condescendingly look up at him.

“alright, girl,” he dismisses, “where are we goin?“

“it’s a surprise for a reason matt!”

“okay… then i’m assuming you’ll drive?”

“not exactly..” you spin on your heel and walk away from him as a hint to follow you.

he wraps an arm around your shoulder as the two of you walk down the busy sidewalk, he gives a couple of glances down at your phone while also navigating the two of you. “metro?” he reads aloud.

“mhm,” you reply and smile to yourself while adding the tickets to your apple wallet.

“wow, you really planned this shit out.”

“i’ve never half-assed something in my life,” you say as you both stop at a cross walk.

“never? you have a brother, right?” he asks and you nod, “i’m sure he’d be able to come up with something.”

“probably,” you shrug and grab his wrist when the walking sign lights. “we’re gonna make it just in time, the bus comes at 7:10.”

౨ৎ

the seating on the bus is comfortably squished; you sit in the window seat and matt next to you, moving his limbs inward to give room to those walking in the isle.

you reapply a faded shade of red, black cherry to your lips while using your phone camera. matt watches with his lips pursed in awe. “that shade looks nice on you,” he says softly.

you’re already feeling giddy internally and he’s forcing you to blow your unbothered cover at this point, “thank you,” you smile and turn to see him already close to your face, looking at your eyes then lips. you just have to close the space by giving him a small kiss, mumbling, “it looks good on you too, see,” you move your phone so that he can see his lips outlined with the stain of you.

he laughs and pouts his lips while checking himself out in your camera, making the risky move to take a photo of himself, before giving your cheek a kiss.

౨ৎ

“jesus, for forty fucking minutes you better have brought me to an all inclusive resort!” matt complains while dramatically stretching his back.

the sun was now peeking down and the flashing lights of santa monica pier were extra enticing. “stop, we’re gonna have so much fun! look!” you point at the energetic strip with a childish grin.

“alright, let’s go then,” he tilts his head towards the fair.

౨ৎ

“definitely could have gone without that last ride- wayyy too many dips,” matt holds his stomach dramatically.

“i could tell, you were screamin’ like crazy,” you smirk as the two of you stand in the line at one of the many food trucks. two hours into being there and you’ve rode almost all of the rides, it was expected for matt to ask to stop for some sort of food eventually.

“barely.” he rolls his eyes, “what do you want?”

“i’ll have a water and one of those bomb pops,” you tell him.

“that’s not really food, are you gonna be good with that for right now?” he clarifies.

“yes, matt. thank you,” you smile and matt waves you off as he approaches the tall window to order.

“hey, what’s up man? i’ll just have a water, one of those fourth of july a bomb pops, medium fry and a modelo in a can please,” he flashes a smile and pays quickly.

you thank him and the cashier as you take hold of the items you asked for. “can we go walk on the beach?” you ask him.

“yeah, it’ll be dark as shit, but yeah,” he responds lightly and shoves a few fries into his mouth.

౨ৎ

“when i was younger my mom would bring me and my brother to the pier every summer since i was seven maybe?” the waves crash softly in the background as matt lays between your legs, despite the scratchy denim of your skirt. “when i was eleven my brother would want to go off with his friends in high school and my mom wasn’t a fan of the rides, so she would bring me to walk on the beach with her instead.” you recall out loud after matt had asked what made you want to come here today.

“mmm, reminds me of east coast beaches when i was a kid. we’d make a whole day out of it and pack up my mom’s minivan.” you stretch his scalp hypnotically, “just being rowdy and annoying as hell on the ride there and sleeping on the way back. being a kid is, like, the best and we never realize it when we’re there.”

“isn’t it kind of sweet that we don’t? kids don’t even understand the concept of missing childhood or being nostalgic until they’re older. if eight year old me were constantly dwelling on what’s passed i know she’d go insane. i mean, even now, everyone is always chasing previous feelings and never fully in tune with the one present.” you look out at the waves that softly build up and crash repeatedly.

matt licks his lips and opens his eyes, sitting up from your lap, “holy shit, sunny,” he kisses you and pulls away to laugh, “you just made me sound like a dumbass.”

he keeps a hold of your face, “matt you’re not dumb, everyone is nostalgic for something,” you kiss him again to seal your words.

matt pulls away and you stands up and begin to remove your shirt leaving you in a lacy bra, “come on,” you tilt your head and matt immediately stands up to cover you.

“the fuck do you mean, ‘come on’?” he starts to laugh while looking around for anyone around.

you roll your eyes at his protection and unbutton your skirt, “take a dip with me.”

“no?! y/n, that water is freezing...”

you pull down your pants to reveal a small pair of matching lacy panties that matt can barely see in the dark but he just knows would send him over the edge.

“matttt,” you pout and bring his hands to your exposed ass, lifting his chin to capture his lips in your own, “please?” you look up at him.

he pinched his eyes shut, “baby, put your clothes back on…”

“alright be lame,” you take his hands off of you and run into the empty beach with a freeing laugh.

matt stands there, not wanting to yell and draw attention to you both, but also not wanting to freeze to death.

“matt! the water’s not even that cold, come here!” you exclaim, wading in the shallow water.

“no, i’ll just wait here until you’re done cooling off…”

“matt, please! what if i-” you pretend to fall backwards and start to fake a drowning scene that has him undressing to his boxers quickly.

he ignores the rush in his blood from the surprise of the water’s temperature in favor of getting you out of there. he calls your name over and over, the pitch black look of the ocean doing absolutely nothing to help.

he’s pretty freaked out when you come back up and jump on his back yelling, “you saved me! you saved me!” with a cackle.

matt immediately groans and slaps the water, “fuck you, why would you ever do some shit like that?!”

you giggle and he throws you off his back easily, turning around to be face to face with you as you wipe your eyes, “oh my god matt, my mascara’s gonna run!”

“maybe we should think of these things before running into the ocean?”

you stop wiping underneath your eyes to forcefully push him under the water, giggling at the sound of the crash and his “don’t-!” right before.

“no more,” he spits out water and scolds you when he comes back up, inching closer to you and holding you by your hips as you wrap your legs around his waist.

“okay,” you agree and go to kiss his wet face just as he quickly unhooks you and throws you back under.

“matt!” you squeal as you resurface to hear him laughing, “dude, i’m gonna kill you.”

“truce, truce, truce!” he repeats and backs away from you.

“yeah, you better run,” you threaten.

౨ৎ

“your eyelashes are like sooo long when they’re wet,” you compliment as you stare at matt under the moon’s light.

he pulls you closer him to stop his mouth from chattering due to the cold, “i’ll give you my lash routine,” he jokes.

“i realized something when we got off the phone the other day,” you bring up, as your eyes run over each of his facial features.

“tell me,” he rolls his icy lips into his mouth.

“i never said sorry for being nasty to you on your birthday.”

matt’s eyes squint, “it’s fine, i’m not hung up on that shit. we said we’re good, right?”

“yes, but-”

“alright then,” he shrugs and squeezes your ass in reassurance.

a smile graces your face and and you let your head fall to his shoulder, whispering, “matt…i’m cold now.”

“i’ve been waiting for you to say that, oh my god!”

౨ৎ

you both suffer as you put your clothes back on over your wet skin. you’re both chattering messes and simply cannot stop laughing about it as you make your way back to the boardwalk’s strip of raging bright lights.

you don’t get far before you’re begging matt to win you an oversized faux fur leopard print coat, “it’s just what i need, please!”

and he’s spent almost two twenties replaying this stupid game over and over again. you’re a pretty good cheerleader though.

“come on matt, you got it this time! no pressure! it’s only like i’m dying of hypothermia!” he deadpans as he looks over to you, “what?”

it was a simple game of ring toss- that was most definitely rigged, but besides you reminding him this and saying you didn’t need the coat that much, the stand runner’s comments doubting matt was enough to fuel him to continue playing until he wins.

and somehow he tosses the perfect ring, watching it land and swivel around the bottle in victory. you both outwardly celebrate with screams and a very public kiss, that the two of you just can’t stop sharing today.

“congratulations,” the employee boredly says.

“thank you sir, thank you.” matt then obnoxiously turns around and yells out a speech to the random passersby “i wanna thank my mother, my grandmother, brothers, dog, and you people for giving me this opportunity to win something so grand for my sweet sunshine!” you stop giggling to give a royal wave to the many people judging the two of you, “thank you santa monica!” he blows a kiss and you both spin around to claim your prize.

“you two are like cartoon characters,” the stand runner says. and as soon as you start to grin at him he corrects, “that wasn’t a compliment.”

“whatever man, just give the pretty girl the fucking coat,” matt blinks at him. as the man walks away to grab the fluff off of the rack a few people stop by the table and matt warns them, “if i were you i’d keep walkin’, this guy’s a first-class hater.”

you drag matt by his arm back over to you, “did you take your socially-overbearing pills today?!”

“i have no clue, i think im too cold for my brain to process embarrassment anymore.”

“here’s that coat,” the man hands you it with a shake of his head.

“thank you, sir!” you exclaim and immediately fit your arms from the sleeves, “this is everything i’ve ever wanted!” you say as your jaw goes slack.

“you look good,” matt agrees, “you also look warm, so now i’m jealous.”

“let’s go get you something warm, baby.”

౨ৎ

after a trip to a random gift shop for a hoodie, matt whined about needing real food so bad.

so the two of you stand at the hostess stand in a small mexican restaurant on the strip.

“for two?”

“yes, thank you.”

“i’m gonna go to the bathroom real quick, okay?” matt speaks close to your ear and you simply nod and watch him walk off.

you wait a few moments before the hostess offers to take you to your table, “did you want to go sit now or wait for your boyfriend?” she asks kindly.

you try not to make it so apparent that you enjoy the idea of you being matt’s girlfriend, “yeah, i can sit now, he’ll find me.”

౨ৎ

“i’ll have the chicken burrito please with extra rice,” matt orders as he sits across from you.

“and i’ll have the four birria tacos please,” you hand her the menu kindly.

you both are bundled up ridiculously with frizzy hair and barely-dry clothes, you’re surprised anyone agreed to serve you.

“alright, that should be out shortly!”

when she walks away matt asks, “why didn’t you get a drink? i’m just curious.”

“i swore off drinking until my birthday,” you shrug and fall back into the plush of the booth.

“mm, not smoking either?” he sips his water.

“i mean i haven’t smoked since early august but no i didn’t purposely stop.”

matt nods, “well if you were to drink, what are you ordering? i usually go for a corona but i wanna try something different.”

“oh strawberry margarita, a hundred percent. hits everytime.”

“i’ve never had a margarita so i’ll try it.”

your jaw drops, “hell yeah you’re gonna try it, i can’t believe you!”

“what can i say?” matt shrugs.

౨ৎ

matt plays with the toothpick in his mouth as you both sit in your spots for the bus ride home. he got to enjoy his first margarita and you took multiple pictures to document it, he bought you churros to go, and now you both are the most tired you’ve been in a while.

you quietly respond to texts that andrea sent you hours ago, asking what you’re doing and if you’ll be home soon, while matt lays his head on your shoulder sleepily.

eventually you shut your phone off and calmly rest your head against the chilled window for the rest of the ride.

•

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets fan fiction #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets smut #matt sturniolo x black!reader #matthew sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo

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bonefall · 4 months ago

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Honestly I kind of. Like. When a character has to grapple with the fact they still have some love for a person despite that person being a complete piece of shit that hurt them and other around them. Remembering the good moments they had despite the hatred they feel, not being able to replace them entirely by what they think they should feel.

Basically I wish Berryheart died a death deserving of the cunt she actually is, but I was soooo hoping Sunbeam would have character growth of going from "I loved her even if she was a bitch she was still my mom" to trying to paint over that love with righteous anger for what she did to her siblings and father, and not just "my mom was actually great she just had hate in her heart but she was a good mom :((("

(Ok no, I kind of also want Sparrowtail and Spireclaw to have worse consequences but this is not about them)

Anyway, that's what also disappointed me. What about you Bones? What's the Berryheart stew brewing like so far?

(note: it's hollowspring, not spireclaw, but i know what you meant)

Our stew is the same stock. I LOVE complicated parental relationships, imo, it's one of the most interesting types of connection to consider. But I don't think it's so interesting because it's "magical blood connection" the way the Erins seem to

In fact, I don't think it's really the genes you share that tie you, at all-- it's that a parental bond is irreplaceable. You're only a kid once and you WILL model your caretakers, so these people inevitably teach you how to approach life. Whether the person who takes on that role is a relative, a guardian, or a peer who never should have had that responsibility in the first place, that connection (or lack thereof) gave you that first impression of the world.

It's just a shame, at the end of the day. They had an incredible opportunity here to have Sunbeam unpack the fact her mother was toxic, experience firsthand what it feels like to be part of a supportive family in the Firekin, show Berryheart doing the selfish and violent thing over and over... and STILL have Sunbeam struggling with the fact she loves her.

She can try and quash it with righteous fury. Play back the memories in her mind and understand that many of those "jokes," those "good times," were thinly veiled cruelty. See her mother for the fearful, angry person she truly was... and still not be able to change the desperate pit of longing in her stomach.

(Sunbeam: "...It's like that show, BeckerClan. You know, with Teddansonheart?")

I don't know if Berryheart's Redemption Death was because of the Erin bioparent worship, OR because they didn't want to have Sunbeam contradict Nightheart's feelings about his own mom, OR just their unhinged amount of sympathy towards bigoted characters... but, we had three fascinating setups here, and each one ended in the worst possible way.

I think that makes it PRETTY clear what my intentions are there. There is no chance in hell I'm keeping Berryheart's Tom Moment.

I flatly refuse to end the arc of a character whose most noteworthy action was attempting to hatecrime her in-laws with "awww she loved her daughter." Get OUT. I'm making her WORSE.

#BB!Berryheart #BB!ASC #Asc spoilers #Star spoilers #It's ok because it was only her *daughter*-in-law she tried to kill with a snake LOL #You just Know that if Nightheart's life had legitimately been endangered the narrative never would have let her live it down

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uptondixon · 8 months ago

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Upstead Foster Daughter

Did you ever wonder how Upstead would be as foster parents for a teenage girl? Like Hank and Erin, Hailey and Jay welcomed Olivia to their home when she was 16. Olivia holds a lot of grudges and is full of mischief, but she is also incredibly sweet and has a tremendous need to feel like she belongs. To her surprise, Hailey and Jay will give her exactly that.

Masterlist

[Chapter II] “You’re on your own, kid, you always have been”

No one expected to hear a stranger's voice through their radio, let alone saying that Jay was bleeding out on the pavement.

“Who the hell are you?” Voight’s surprised voice came through the radio.

“My name is Olivia Rivera, I'm with your officer Halstead and he's been shot! I'm sorry I couldn't call an ambulance but I don't have my phone with me,” Olivia said everything so fast they almost couldn't understand it.

“Shot? What the hell?” said Hailey in exasperation. She was driving with Voight after Jay left by himself.

The whole team was checking the crime scene from their current case when Jay got a call from a CI. Hailey was busy interrogating a witness when he got the call. She told him to wait for her but he was so eager for whatever information his CI had to give that he decided to go by himself. Turns out it was a trap. Hailey did not know the details yet, but she couldn’t help but think that this would have not happened if she had been with him.

“Wh-where are you?” Hailey asked, already feeling her heart start to beat out of her chest.

Olivia told her the address as slowly as possible in her state; after that, Hailey started bombarding her with questions she did not know how to answer.

While they talked, Voight rushed in passing the address to dispatch requesting an ambulance and some patrol cars. The rest of the team followed behind.

“Is he conscious?” Hailey asked.

Silence followed her question, leaving them both tense.

“Olivia! Is he conscious?” Hailey repeated.

“I- He- He was until now when I called you.”

“Does he still have a pulse, Olivia?” Hailey guided her to check.

“Yes, he does!”

“Okay, okay, keep putting pressure on the wound.”

“What's the ambulance ETA?” Voight's rough voice questioned dispatch.

“We're close, hang tight Olivia,” Hailey said, trying to calm the girl and herself down. He would make it, he always made it. This was not his first time being shot, but she surely hoped it was his last. She couldn't do this last time and she especially can't do it now.

“He'll be fine, Hailey,” Voight's voice invaded her thoughts. “Halstead’s strong, he'll get through this.”

Olivia didn't like hospitals. She felt trapped, unsafe, and overwhelmed. Probably because of the amount of people coming and going, the voices overlapping each other. There was too much going on and she shouldn't even be there in the first place.

After Jay's co-workers got to them everything happened in a blur. The ambulance got there seconds later, along with the other members of the team.

When Hailey and Voight arrived, Hailey came running in Jay and Olivia’s direction. She stared at the teenager with a mix of desperation and gratitude. Olivia stepped away as Hailey took her place. As others approached, Olivia stepped more and more away from the scene, ending up a little far away from it all.

She watched the scene unfold before her eyes in a trance. Jay was put into an ambulance and taken to the hospital, with several police cars following behind. Should she leave? She wants to know if he is going to be alright, of course. On the other hand, she feels like she was not supposed to be there.

“Hey! Olivia, isn't it?” a tall man appeared in her field of vision, his eyes were gentle and his voice calm.

“Yes,” Olivia answered.

“Name’s Kevin, Kevin Atwater. This is my friend, Kim Burgess,” he pointed to the woman beside him, and she smiled softly. Both officers looked shaken but they masked well, Olivia thought. Of course, this was not easy for them. Seeing a colleague hurt like that, almost lifeless.

“There's someone we can call for you? Your mom or dad?” Kim asked.

The girl didn’t answer. Kevin and Kim exchanged a look.

“Well, just come to the hospital with us then, okay?”

Voight watched them from afar, getting ready to enter the car and head to Med. Jay was the priority now, but they all were grateful for the girl, she saved Jay’s life after all. He made a mental note to thank her personally later.

Olivia debated for a moment. She decided it was better if she went with them and found a way to leave later without them noticing.

She nodded and followed them to the car.

“You can get cleaned up there,” Kim said after getting in the car.

Kevin started the drive to Med. Olivia didn’t answer the officer, suddenly feeling hyper-aware of all the blood on her. The adrenaline was wearing down.

“Are you okay, Olivia?” Kim asked softly.

“Yeah, sorry… I'm fine.”

“It’s okay, we will get to the hospital soon.”

Sitting in the doctors' room in Chicago Med a couple of hours later, Olivia was clean and waiting for a chance to leave. The really nice nurse called April who helped her clean up and gave her some food came by minutes ago and told her Jay would be alright. She left again when another nurse called for her so now was the perfect time for Olivia to leave.

She did not need to be discharged since she was neither a patient nor a suspect, right? Olivia got up and left the room, bringing some of the snacks the nurse gave her.

“Don’t worry Hails, we’re getting the bastard who shot Jay,” Kevin said firmly, looking at a very distressed-looking Hailey. Olivia got to the hospital’s lounge and saw Jay’s team reunited talking. They had their backs to the door she entered and could not see her.

They started to talk about the man who shot Jay and what they were doing to find him, most of which Olivia did not understand or did not care to try to understand. She stopped paying attention and started to plan how she would get out of there. There was only one way out and she could not leave without them seeing her.

Olivia was scared. She knew she wasn’t in trouble or anything but they were still police so she might as well be in trouble if they got to know more about her. Hell, they might as well already know.

“Stay with your husband Hailey, we’ll get him,” Voight's words drew Olivia's attention. Husband? That explained why Hailey was the most distressed of them all. The look on her face when she saw him lying on the pavement.

“Oh! Olivia, there you are,” said April, the nurse who helped Olivia earlier. Olivia's name caught the group's attention and five heads turned to look in her direction.

“Olivia!” Voight said, approaching the girl. “How are you? I need to properly thank you for helping my detective, I don’t know what could have happened if you weren’t there.”

“I… well, he was…” Olivia did not know what to say, so she came with a simple “You’re welcome” and a shy smile. She didn't expect to talk with anyone, let alone have all the attention on her.

“Well, I’m Sergeant Hank Voight and this is my team,” he went on introducing each of them. “You met Officer Kim Burgess and Officer Kevin Atwater. Detective Hailey Upton was the one you spoke with on the radio. And that is Officer Adam Ruzek.” he pointed to each one and they gave her a nod or a small smile.

After the introduction, he turned to look at her again. He spoke in a more serious tone, “We’re going to need your statement.”

Shit. That is exactly what she was trying to avoid. “I can’t!” was the first thing that came out of her mouth.

“It’s okay Olivia, we checked your file and we’re going to call your foster family on the way to the station,” Hank said.

So they know about her foster family, but they did not know she had run away yet. That was why she was in that alley, in that part of town, by herself.

Olivia thought about running but she could never get far with this many cops around. On their way to the district, she thought about jumping from the moving car but that was too stupid even for her. She laughed at the thought. Sitting in the car with Kim and Kevin again, she accepted her fate.

All her effort running away was for nothing. She was back to square one.

Slow, I know, but this is me trying guys. I love this OC so I hope I can keep writing her story even though I'm slow af. Thank you so much for the likes and reblogs on chapter one! ♡

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kezdispenser · 2 months ago

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Breaking Character pt7/?

Summary: You are the new cast member of 'The Boys' and you play Butcher's cousin and Soldier Boy's new love interest 'Solene'. You're introduced to the cast by the director at a dinner and you're seated next to Karl and Jensen to "bond".

Pairing: Jensen x reader

Warnings: language, fluff, smut maybe

The air on set was thick with unspoken tension, suffocating and heavy. I couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone knew something was off between me and Jensen. I avoided looking at him, avoided even acknowledging his presence as much as possible. Every step I took felt like it weighed a ton, and my heart seemed to be beating in double time, a reminder of how everything had spiraled out of control over the past week.

And now, they had to shoot an intimate scene. The one where Solene comforts Soldier Boy after a brutal fight. Simple enough on paper—two characters, broken in their own ways, sharing a moment of mutual vulnerability. But with every glance exchanged, the underlying tension made it unbearable.

“Places, everyone,” the director called, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts.

I walked to my mark, my feet dragging with every step. Jensen was already in position, standing there like the fucking rock he always was, but there was a crack in his façade. His eyes avoided mine, his jaw tense, his posture stiff.

The scene was supposed to be intimate, but it felt like we were acting for the camera, not for each other.

he director called for the first take, and I moved toward Jensen, my steps measured. I was careful not to get too close—no unnecessary touches, no stray glances—but the second my hand brushed against his, the heat of his body sent a jolt through me. I barely registered the next few lines, lost in the way his skin felt under my touch.

"Soldier Boy," I whispered softly, almost breathlessly. My heart thudded in my chest, and all I could think about was how goddamn real it felt.

Jensen looked at me, his eyes stormy and unreadable. His lips parted, but no words came out. He simply swallowed hard and nodded as if to say, "I’m here, but I’m not really here."

And that was it.

"Cut," the director said.

I instantly stepped back, my breath uneven, my hands trembling as I wiped them on my pants. I didn’t look at Jensen as I retreated. I couldn’t. Not with the crackling tension hanging between us. Not after everything that had happened.

I didn’t even bother going to my trailer. Instead, I found myself walking aimlessly, trying to shake the feeling that the world around me was crumbling. My feet took me to the break room, and as I passed the kitchen, Erin Moriarty caught up with me.

“Hey,” Erin said, her tone concerned, her eyes full of that familiar, sisterly worry. “You alright?”

My heart sank. I knew I had to pretend, to lie, but the words didn’t come out right.

“I’m fine,” I said, my voice too high-pitched, a forced smile pulling at my lips. "Just... just tired."

Erin arched an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. “Bullshit. You’re avoiding him, aren’t you?”

My gaze flicked away, trying to hide the truth. “What are you talking about?” I asked, my voice just a little too defensive.

Erin crossed her arms, unyielding. “Don’t act like I don’t know you, Y/N. You’ve been avoiding Jensen all week. What the hell happened?”

My shoulders slumped, the weight of the conversation finally crashing down on me. “Nothing happened,” I muttered, but it was more for myself than for Erin. “It’s just... I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending things are okay when they’re not. It’s just... a fucking mess, you know?”

Erin’s gaze softened. “I get it. It’s not easy. But avoiding him isn’t helping. It’s just making it worse. You two were close. Whatever the hell happened, you need to talk about it. Bottling it up like this? It’s not going to end well.”

I took a deep breath, my throat tightening. “I just... I can’t. I don’t know if I can do it again.”

“Do what?” Erin asked, her voice gentle, though the concern was evident.

“Trust him,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I’m scared I’ll just end up getting hurt again.”

Erin sighed softly, her eyes full of understanding. “I know you’re hurting. I get it. But you can’t just run away from everything. You need to talk to him, Y/N. You need to figure this shit out.”

I nodded, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything more. Erin had no idea what had really happened, and there was no way I was going to explain it now.

The set was alive with the usual chaos—lights being adjusted, crew members barking instructions, and actors running lines. I stepped onto the soundstage, clutching my script tightly, trying to ignore the ache in my chest that had been there since my talk with Erin. Across the room, Karl and Jensen were already in place, their banter subdued but still present.

Karl spotted me first, his sharp eyes narrowing as I approached. “Morning, love,” he said, his voice warm but edged with concern. “You look like shite. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I replied quickly, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”

“Bull-fuckin’-shit,” Karl shot back, folding his arms. “What’s going on? You’ve been off all week.”

“I’m fine, Karl,” I insisted, my voice firm.

He frowned but didn’t push further, though his gaze flicked to Jensen, who was standing nearby with his hands shoved in his pockets. “You good, mate?” Karl asked Jensen, his tone sharp now, almost accusatory.

“Fine,” Jensen replied, his voice clipped, his jaw tightening as he avoided Karl’s glare.

Karl didn’t buy it for a second. “Right. And I’m the bloody Queen of England.” He turned back to me, lowering his voice. “You let me know if this arsehole’s done somethin’, yeah?”

“Jesus, Karl,” Jensen muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Don’t ‘Jesus’ me, Ackles,” Karl snapped, his voice low but heated. “She’s been out of sorts, and I’m bettin’ it’s got fuck-all to do with anyone but you.”

“Can we just focus on the damn scene?” I interjected, my voice tight.

Karl hesitated, but the director called for everyone to take their marks, saving me from further interrogation. I moved to my position between Karl and Jensen, my heart pounding as we prepared to dive into the scene.

The dialogue crackled with tension, my character locking horns with Butcher before Soldier Boy stormed in to stir the pot.

“You two done yappin’?” Jensen sneered in character, his tone dripping with contempt. “Or should I come back when you’ve sorted out your pathetic little pissing contest?”

Karl turned on him with a snarl, getting right in his face. “Say one more word, you cocky fuck, and I’ll knock your shiny arse into next week.”

I stepped between them, delivering my lines with a fire I didn’t have to fake. The tension in the scene mirrored the chaos in my head, and by the time the director yelled “Cut!” I was ready to bolt.

“That was gold, people,” the director called. “Reset for the next take.”

Karl turned to me as soon as the cameras stopped rolling. “You all right, Y/N?”

“Yeah,” I muttered, avoiding his gaze.

Karl wasn’t buying it. He looked over at Jensen again, his expression dark. “If you’ve done somethin’ to hurt her, mate, I swear to fuck—”

“Back off, Karl,” Jensen cut in, his voice low and strained. “This isn’t about you.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” Karl shot back. “She’s like a bloody little sister to me, and I won’t stand by while you fuck with her head.”

“Enough!” I snapped, my voice breaking. Both of them turned to me, guilt flashing across Jensen’s face and frustration etched into Karl’s. “I don’t need this right now, okay? Just drop it.”

I stormed off the set, leaving both of them behind. I could feel their eyes on me, but I didn’t look back. The weight of everything—Danneel’s words, Jensen’s silence, Karl’s protectiveness—was too much. I needed space before I fell apart completely.

I barely made it halfway to my trailer before Karl’s voice stopped me in my tracks.

“Oi, Y/N. Hold up a sec.”

I sighed, trying to keep walking, but his footsteps quickly caught up to mine. He stepped in front of me, blocking my path with a calm but determined expression.

“Alright, spill. What’s goin’ on with you?” he asked, his tone softer than usual, though still laced with concern.

“It’s nothing, Karl,” I mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

He tilted his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t give me that shit. You’ve been off all week, and it’s written all over your face. So unless you want me to keep askin’ in front of everyone on set, maybe just tell me now?”

I hesitated, but the weight of everything I’d been holding in started to crush me. “It’s just... stuff,” I muttered weakly.

“Stuff?” Karl raised an eyebrow. “Alright, now I know it’s bad. You’re not exactly the type to get bent out of shape over ‘stuff.’ Who pissed you off, love? Or do I need to guess?”

I glanced at him, chewing on my lip, and he sighed. “It’s Jensen, isn’t it?”

“It’s not his fault,” I blurted, defensive. “Not really.”

Karl groaned softly, running a hand down his face. “Look, I’m not tryin’ to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong, but you and Jensen—you two had this thing, yeah? And now you’re avoidin’ him like he’s got the bloody plague. So what gives?”

I looked down, my voice barely a whisper. “It’s Danneel.”

He frowned, leaning closer to hear me better. “What about her?”

“She called me a gold digger,” I admitted, my throat tightening as I spoke. “Told me I’d never be good enough for Jensen or his kids. And then... I walked in on her trying to—” My voice broke, and I looked away, ashamed. “She was trying to get him back. She was all over him, Karl.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, his tone laced with disbelief. “That’s bloody low, even for an ex.”

I wiped at my eyes, feeling the tears start to spill over. “And now I can’t stop thinking about it. What if she’s right? What if I really don’t belong in his world? He’s this big deal, and I’m just... me.”

Karl let out a heavy sigh, his voice softening even more. “Y/N, listen to me. Danneel’s full of shit. You don’t need to listen to a damn word she says.”

“But—”

“No buts,” he interrupted, his gaze steady. “You’re smart, talented, and honestly one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. Jensen’s bloody lucky to have you, and if he hasn’t made that clear, that’s on him—not you.”

I sniffled, my chest aching with doubt. “But she—”

“She’s scared,” Karl cut in. “That’s all it is. She sees how happy Jensen is with you, and it scares the fuck outta her. So she’s doin’ everything she can to mess with your head. Don’t let her win, alright?”

I managed a shaky smile, his words sinking in a little. “Thanks, Karl. You didn’t have to say all that.”

“‘Course I did,” he said with a crooked grin. “You’re like family to me. And I don’t let family deal with shit like this alone.”

I laughed softly, the sound a little watery but genuine. “You’re too nice for your own good, you know that?”

“Don’t let it get around,” he teased. Then, with a wink, he added, “Now go on. Figure your shit out. And if Jensen’s got half a brain in that pretty head of his, he’ll sort his shit out too.”

I nodded, feeling a little lighter as I turned back toward my trailer.

Karl watched me go, muttering under his breath as I walked away, “Fuckin’ gold digger, my ass.”

The knock on my trailer door was soft but insistent, pulling me out of my thoughts. I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I was ready to face anyone, especially him.

“Y/N? It’s me,” Jensen’s voice came from the other side, gentle but firm.

I sighed, dragging myself off the small couch and shuffling to the door. “What do you want?”

“To talk,” he said, his tone almost pleading. “Please, just... let me in.”

I hesitated before opening the door just enough to peek out. There he was, standing with a massive bouquet of flowers in one hand and a carefully arranged basket in the other, filled to the brim with snacks, chocolates, marshmallows, crackers, and—of course—a bottle of Jack tucked neatly in the corner.

“What’s all this?” I asked, my brows furrowing as I stepped back to let him in.

He walked in slowly, setting the basket down on the tiny table before turning to me. Without a word, he closed the gap between us, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead. The warmth of it caught me off guard, and I froze, my heart pounding against my ribs.

“It’s an apology,” he said quietly, stepping back just enough to look me in the eye. He held out the bouquet, the colors vibrant and beautiful against the dim lighting of the trailer. “I’m sorry, Y/N. For everything.”

I took the flowers hesitantly, my fingers brushing against his. “Jensen...”

“Let me say this,” he interrupted, his voice soft but insistent. “I know I messed up. I know I let shit get out of hand, and I didn’t do enough to stop it. But I swear to you, I never wanted to hurt you. I hate that I did.”

I looked down at the bouquet, my fingers tightening around the stems. “You let her get in my head, Jensen. You let her make me feel like I don’t belong in your life.”

“I know,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “And I fucking hate myself for it. Danneel... she doesn’t know you, and she sure as hell doesn’t know us. But I do. And I know that I need you in my life.”

I swallowed hard, trying to keep the lump in my throat at bay. “It’s not that simple. You have a whole life, Jensen. Kids. Responsibilities. And I’m just... me.”

“You’re not ‘just’ anything,” he said fiercely, taking a step closer. “You’re everything, Y/N. You’re kind, and funny, and strong as hell. And you’ve already brought so much good into my life, more than I deserve. I can’t let you walk away thinking you’re not enough. You’re more than enough.”

I blinked back tears, my walls crumbling bit by bit as his words sank in. “This isn’t easy for me,” I admitted. “I’m scared, Jensen. Scared of being a burden. Scared of not being able to handle all of this.”

“You’re not a burden,” he said softly, reaching out to take my free hand in his. “You’re my peace. My fucking sanity in the middle of all this chaos. And I’m sorry I let anyone—especially her—make you feel otherwise.”

I stared at him, my heart aching with a mix of hope and doubt. “How do I know this won’t happen again? That she won’t try to come between us?”

“Because I won’t let her,” he said firmly. “And if she tries, I’ll shut it down. Every time. I promise you, Y/N, I’m all in. Whatever it takes to prove that to you, I’ll do it.”

I let out a shaky breath, my grip on the bouquet loosening as I looked up at him. “You really mean that?”

“Every fucking word,” he said, his green eyes filled with nothing but sincerity.

After a long moment, I nodded, a small smile breaking through despite the tears threatening to fall. “Alright. But you owe me more than flowers and snacks. You owe me tacos.”

A wide grin spread across his face, and he let out a laugh that made my chest feel lighter. “Tacos, huh? Consider it done.”

Before I could respond, he pulled me into a warm hug, his arms wrapping around me like a safety net I didn’t know I needed. For the first time in weeks, I let myself relax, resting my head against his chest as the faint smell of his cologne surrounded me.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

“For what?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“For not giving up on me,” I said, pulling back just enough to look at him.

His smile softened, and he leaned down to kiss my forehead again, his lips lingering for a moment. “Never.”

The knock on Danneel’s door was loud and deliberate, with just enough force to make a point. I stood beside Jensen, arms crossed, already bracing myself for whatever venom Danneel was likely to spit. Jensen’s jaw was tight, his free hand resting lightly on the small of my back.

“Last chance to back out,” he muttered under his breath, his tone laced with irritation but softened just enough for me.

“Not a chance,” I replied, meeting his eyes briefly. “We’re doing this.”

Before either of us could say anything else, the door swung open, revealing Danneel in a loose cardigan and a scowl that deepened the second she spotted me.

“Well, look who it is,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain as her eyes flicked between us. “Didn’t realize you needed backup, Jensen.”

“We’re here for the kids,” Jensen said flatly, ignoring her jab.

“They’re fine,” she snapped, leaning against the doorframe like she had all the time in the world. “You didn’t need to come storming over here like some fucking knight in shining armor.”

“They called me, Danneel,” Jensen shot back, his tone hardening. “They’re not fine.”

“They’re kids, Jensen. They’ll get over it. They always do.”

I couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “They shouldn’t have to ‘get over it,’ Danneel. If they’re uncomfortable, it’s your job to listen to them. Not force them to put up with it.”

Her gaze snapped to me, her lips curling into a bitter smirk. “Oh, and here it is—the lecture from the wannabe stepmom. Let me tell you something, sweetheart,” she said, her voice sharp and condescending. “You’re not their mother. You’ll never be their mother.”

“Enough,” Jensen barked, stepping in front of me slightly. “We’re not doing this shit, Danneel. Just get the kids.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms. “You think this little arrangement of yours is going to last? You think she’s ready for what it takes? Please. She’ll be gone the second it gets hard. Or the second she realizes she’s playing house with someone else’s family.”

“That’s enough!” Jensen’s voice was firm now, his anger barely contained. “You don’t get to talk to her like that. Ever.”

Danneel rolled her eyes but turned back into the house. Moments later, JJ, Arrow, and Zeppelin appeared, each carrying their backpacks and practically vibrating with relief.

JJ ran straight to Jensen, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “Dad!” she exclaimed before turning to me with a big smile. “Hi, Y/N!”

“Hey, kiddo,” I said, crouching to hug her. “You ready to get out of here?”

“More than ready,” she said, her voice muffled against my shoulder.

Arrow and Zeppelin were close behind, their little faces lighting up when they saw Jensen. Arrow crossed her arms, glaring back at the house. “I hate him,” she muttered.

“Who?” Jensen asked, crouching to her level.

“Mom’s boyfriend,” she said, her tone defiant. “He’s mean, Dad. He yells all the time and tells us we’re annoying.”

“And he ate my cereal!” Zeppelin chimed in, his voice small but indignant.

Jensen’s face softened as he reached out to ruffle their hair. “You don’t have to deal with him anymore, okay? You’re with me now.”

“And me,” I added, smiling at them.

Arrow grinned. “Can we have pancakes for dinner?”

“Hell fucking yes, we can,” Jensen said, making the kids burst into laughter.

Danneel reappeared at the door, her expression icy. “You’re just going to let them talk about me like that? Real mature, Jensen.”

“Maybe if you listened to them, they wouldn’t have to,” he shot back.

Her gaze snapped to me again, the disdain in her eyes almost tangible. “Don’t get too comfortable,” she said, her tone low and venomous. “This little fantasy of yours isn’t going to last.”

Jensen didn’t reply. He just turned, his hand on the small of my back again as he led me and the kids to the car.

As we drove away, the tension in the car began to melt. JJ was already chattering about a new show she wanted to watch, while Arrow and Zeppelin argued over music choices.

I glanced at Jensen, his grip on the steering wheel relaxed now, and gave him a small smile.

“Thanks for coming with me,” he said quietly.

“Always,” I replied, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

As we drove through the quiet streets, the kids’ voices were the only thing breaking the silence, but I could tell Jensen’s mind was still spinning after everything with Danneel. I couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d said, but there was something else eating at me too.

“Jensen,” I started, my voice quiet, but I knew he’d hear me.

He glanced at me briefly before focusing back on the road. “Yeah?”

I let out a sigh, my fingers tapping nervously on my knee. “As much as she hurt me... I don’t want the kids to hate their mom.”

Jensen’s grip on the wheel tightened for a second. He didn’t say anything, but I could feel the tension coming off him. “You sure about that? After everything she said to you?”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “I don’t want them growing up with that resentment. I’ve been there. My childhood was a mess, Jensen. Watching my parents tear each other apart, and I ended up stuck in the middle of it. I don’t want the kids to feel like they have to choose sides or grow up with that kind of bitterness. I can’t do that to them.”

He glanced at me for a second, his eyes softening, but he didn’t pull his gaze from the road. “You’re one hell of a person, you know that?” he muttered, his voice thick. “I get what you’re saying. I don’t want them to carry any of that weight. I’m not gonna let that happen.”

I looked out the window for a moment, letting his words sink in. “I just don’t want to be the one who makes things harder for them,” I said quietly, almost to myself.

“You won’t,” he said firmly. “They’re my kids, and I’ll always do what’s best for them. But I can’t make that happen if they feel like they have to pick sides.”

“I know,” I muttered, and we fell into a comfortable silence. It wasn’t sappy or dramatic—it was just two people who understood how important this was.

“I’ve got their backs,” he said finally, his voice steady. “And I’ve got yours.”

After we tucked the kids in, the whole vibe in the house shifted into this warm, cozy kind of energy. Jensen and I took our time, making sure each kid had their favorite blanket and stuffed animal. The whole thing was so normal and comforting that it felt like something straight out of a dream. As we moved between their rooms, Jensen kept his arm casually draped around my shoulders like he wasn’t even aware of how perfectly he was handling everything—like it was just second nature for him to be the best dad in the world and a sweet, considerate partner all at once.

We walked back into the hallway, the quiet after the kids’ laughter almost making the house feel like it was holding its breath. Then, as if on cue, Jensen turned to me and raised an eyebrow, that playful grin tugging at his lips. “Wanna do the thing?”

I grinned back, practically giddy. “You’re damn right I do.”

“Alright,” he said, reaching for my hand with that soft, reassuring grasp of his. “One, two, three…”

And then, like we’d done this a thousand times, we both walked up to Arrow and Zeppelin’s door, ready to deliver our bedtime routine for the millionth time—except this time, it felt even more important. It felt like we were doing something special. With a dramatic flair, we leaned into their rooms together.

“Time for the goodnight kisses!” Jensen announced in his best, most dramatic voice, making me laugh.

Arrow giggled, her face lighting up with excitement. “Goodnight, Daddy!” she called out, holding her arms wide for her hug.

Jensen knelt down to scoop her up with a smile that could melt the coldest hearts. “Night, sweet girl,” he whispered as he kissed her forehead, his eyes soft with affection.

Zeppelin, already under his blanket and half-asleep, raised a hand up and mumbled, “Goodnight, Dad…”

I stepped into the room with him, smiling as he reached up to give me a sleepy hug. “Goodnight, buddy,” I said, kissing the top of his head, and then gently tucking him back into bed.

Jensen looked up at me, giving me one of those looks where I could tell he was thinking exactly what I was thinking. “We’re doing a damn good job,” he said, voice low and soft.

I smiled, feeling that overwhelming affection for him again. “You’re doing the best job. Look at them—they’re so lucky to have you.”

His hand lingered on my arm as we walked out of the kids’ rooms together, and it felt so right, so comfortable. As we reached the bottom of the stairs, I leaned in closer, letting my head rest against his shoulder for a second.

“You know,” I said, voice quieter now, “you’re pretty damn perfect.”

Jensen’s laughter was light and airy, and he nudged me gently. “Nah, I’m just winging it. But having you around makes it a hell of a lot easier.”

“Stop being modest,” I teased. “You’re literally the best dad. You’re patient, and kind, and you make them feel like they’re the most important people in the world. Not everyone can pull that off.”

He shook his head, pulling me in closer. “Just doing my thing, that’s all.”

I couldn’t help but smile even more, if that was even possible. “Well, you’re doing a damn good job of it.”

He leaned down and kissed me on the forehead in that sweet, gentle way that made my heart skip a beat, and I practically melted into him. “You’re making me blush, stop it,” he whispered, but I could tell it made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

We stood there in the quiet, just enjoying the soft glow of the house, the kids tucked in bed, and the perfect calm of the night. It was all so simple, but it felt like we were building something that was far beyond anything either of us had ever had before.

“Okay,” Jensen finally said, his voice playful again. “What do you say we go grab some snacks and watch a movie?”

“Hell yeah,” I answered quickly, already feeling my excitement building at the thought of just being with him, no pressure, no drama—just the two of us, chilling out. “Let’s do it.”

We made our way to the kitchen, and Jensen immediately started rummaging through the cabinets, pulling out chips, cookies, and everything else we could need for the perfect late-night snack binge. “You good with all this junk?” he asked, holding up a bag of chips with an exaggerated look of seriousness.

“Hell yes,” I replied, snatching the bag from his hand with a grin. “You’ve got all the best snacks.”

As we both made ourselves comfortable on the couch, Jensen pulled the blanket over us, getting as close as possible, our legs tangled up together. He grinned at me, a little mischievous glint in his eye. “What movie are we watching?” he asked, like it was the most important question in the world.

“You pick,” I said, settling in against him, feeling perfectly at ease. “But nothing too serious. Let’s keep it light.”

He laughed, pulling up a random action movie. “Alright, light it is.”

And then, just as the opening credits rolled, Jensen reached over and casually brushed his lips against my cheek, making my heart skip. I leaned into him, letting myself get completely lost in the moment—this perfect little world we had carved out for ourselves, where we could just be ourselves without any of the outside noise.

It was one of those rare moments where everything felt right, and I knew, without a doubt, that this—us—was something worth holding onto.

--------------------------

A/N: I realised that i was making danneels own kids hate her, so i just wanted to add that its not what u think. OH and tell me if you want me to add something with Jared and Gen.

@justwhisperingfantasies @impala67rollingthroughtown @deansimpalababy @jackles010378 @winchester @barnes70stark @nancymcl @oceean @spnaquakindgdom @ladysparkles78 @sexyvixen7 @spxideyver

#jensen fucking ackles #jensen x reader #jensen ackles #jensen ackles fanfiction #anti danneel #karl urban #erin moriarty #the boys #the boys fanfic

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penwieldingdreamer · 10 months ago

Text

A Shot in the Dark ~ Prologue

Well, welcome to my latest obsession - FBI and OA Zidan. This is a crossover between FBI, FBI: Most Wanted & Blue Bloods. Let me know what you think and if you'd like to be tagged in any future chapters.

I do not own any of the characters of the FBI Franchise and Blue Bloods, they belong to their respective owners

Summary It's said, you'll always meet twice in life. But you never thought it be in a hostage situation with a gun pressed against your head.

Warnings: hostage situation, canon typical violence, coarse language, smut in later chapters

The human mind is really the scariest thing of all.

Life in general is scary, and yet you step out of your home each day and face it. You imagine how a situation might turn out if you just changed one thing in your day to day life. Sometimes it’s the sandwich they didn’t have at the bakery and sometimes it’s the choice you make on the job.

“Andrew, drop the gun and let my sister go!” Detective Danny Reagan called, his own weapon trained on the former NYPD officer, voice shaking as he looked at you, seeing his own fear mirrored in your eyes. “She’s got nothing to do with this. You want me. Let the kids and her go.”

Shaking his head, former police officer Andrew O'Sullivan pushed the muzzle of his gun harder against your temple. "They are all the leverage I need to get you to do what I want."

"O'Sullivan! This is Agent Scott and Agent Bell with the FBI. Surrender your weapons and let the hostages go. We will make sure that your demands are met, but you need to let the kids and Miss Reagan go."

You could feel the tears running down your cheeks, but you knew you had to be strong for the children. Their parents put you in charge and you, as their teacher, needed to make sure they'd get out safe. “Please Mister O’Sullivan, you got me, let the children go home. They don’t have anything to do with this.”

Your heart was hammering in your throat watching your brother desperately trying to get Andrew to drop the weapon, the ground feeling like it was going to be pulled from underneath you. And here you thought it was going to be a good day today.

Five hours earlier, 9:15 Bluestone Lane Tribeca Café

"So, heard anything from tall, dark and handsome? You looked cute together."

“Erin!”

“Mom! You’re embarrassing her.”

The lawyer grinned into her coffee mug as the three of you sat together for breakfast. "What!? I saw pictures from way back when. It's been more than four years now, just thought maybe you'd have a run in with him again."

"Nope, haven't seen him since before he started training at Quantico and you would know that. I'm practically living with dad and pop again after those idiots living above me wouldn't have smoked weed and forgot to shut off the water."

Nicky only rolled her eyes at her mother trying to play matchmaker – as always. “You should leave Y/N alone. Danny would have a field day if she came home with him.”

“Thank you, Nicky, I knew why you were my favorite niece.” You took a bite from your chocolate croissant. Usually you’d be getting the breakfast sandwich the café was famous for but today they were all out.

“I’m your only niece, so that’s not a hard feat to do.”

“Yet.” You pointed a finger at the younger woman. “And I don’t even know where he is. I’ll not be running after him and use dads resources to find him.”

“All I’m saying is that you should get laid, you can’t just stay a single workaholic forever."

Sending your sister a disapproving look, you could see the disgust on your nieces face. She was old enough to be part of that conversation and already had one boyfriend, yet you knew she was absolutely embarrassed by her mother's choice of breakfast conversation.

"Mom! God! I'll be heading off to work or you'll start talking about dad and yourself." Nicky, so much like Erin grabbed her purse and to-go cup, leaned over to kiss her mother's cheek before she moved next to you. With her arm draped over your shoulder, she leaned in as if to whisper into your ear but still spoke at normal volume. "Don't let her bully you into looking him up. You do you, Auntie, but she's right, you need to get laid."

Slack jawed at her gall, you turned accusatory eyes on the lawyer. "That's definitely on you, Erin. You taught her to be like that."

"Well, she's definitely got that from me and she'd make a great lawyer like that."

Letting out a sigh, you leaned back in your chair.

Damn, they were right.

Quickly apologizing to God under your breath, you try to anchor yourself to your mug. It had been years since you had seen Omar. You had met him outside a bar in the Financial District, after a date had dumped her right before dessert, telling her she wasn’t worth his time.

“He’s a dick, he wasn��t going to know what to do with you anyway.”

You sat together at the bar and talked about random stuff – friends, hobbies, only things that wouldn’t compromise him as you later found out he was undercover for the DEA.

“You’re quiet, what are you thinking about?”

Blinking, you watched your sister with a small, wistful smile, something she had seen so often when you had gone out to have breakfast with Nicky and her every Saturday morning. “Nothing.” You shrugged your shoulders, but the secret smile that barely turned up the corners of your mouth was still there and the lawyer knew that one, she had seen it often enough.

Erin took a sip from her coffee, narrowing her eyes at you. “Don’t give me that shit, Y/N. It’s Tall, Dark and Handsome isn’t it?”

“Maybe.” You admitted quietly, looking down at your fingers, busy playing with the white napkin under your croissant.

“You should get Eddie to look for him, maybe he’s in town.”

Shaking your head vigorously. “No, I’ll not be looking for him. We would have seen each other, probably...maybe.”

“New York is huge, you think you’d just walk down Broadway and bam! There he is? Y/N, I can assure you, that’s not how it works.” She laughs, knowing all about it with her ex-husband Jack. “You want him, you need to look for him, he’s not just going to turn up if you snap your fingers.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want to look for him, maybe it wasn’t meant to be if I haven’t run into him by now. Or maybe he’s somewhere in D.C., happily married with 1.93 kids, living in the suburbs and chasing the bad guys.”

Chuckling, the lawyer shook her head at you. “You got it all figured out now, huh? Maybe he’s still single, thinking about that maybe with you. He was really nice when he came around for lunch that day.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me, Eddie wouldn’t shut up about him for a week straight.” Just then your phone chimed, letting you know that you needed to get ready to get to your Junior High class for their field trip to the museum. You would meet them together with their parents right in front of the museum. “Shit, I’m late! Sorry Erin, I got to head off.”

“We’re not done talking about him!” She called after you as you raced out of the cafe to the next Metro station.

An hour and a half later you remind your seventh grade students to be nice and listen closely to the lady showing you around the National History Museum. “There’s going to be a test on Monday next week, so you guys should take notes on all of this.”

A groan ripped through the hall and I knew they hated me for this. “But Miss Reagan, you said we could have fun today.” Jimmy calls from the back, a frown on his cute face.

Giggling, you shook your head. They were still thinking it was just going to stay easier from there on out. “I did, but it doesn’t mean you guys can slack off on your school work. This is going to help you with your Science project.”

Groans, followed by sighs from your students were the end of that conversation. You and the group of thirteen-year-olds followed Mrs. Langdon as she talked about the museum, which exhibitions had already been part of the building and what was waiting for the boys and girls of Lower Manhattan Middle School. They were in the Early Adolescence stage and it was absolutely normal for them to act like that. With Nicky, Jack and Sean you had been exposed to that stage early on and you loved them for it.

You entered the Saurichian Hall of the museum, awed by the skeletons, the hairs on your arms starting to raise from the goosebumps at the imagination of having lived back in time, 66 millennia’s ago. But somehow, it wasn’t the only thing that gave you the shivers. At the entrance of the museum you had seen a guy, dressed like everyone else. But you had been around police your whole life and listened to your bothers to know that something was definitely wrong with him. His head was down but you saw his eyes darting about like he was searching for something – or someone.

Getting to the next section, you slightly turned your head away from your students excitingly listening to the tales of each dinosaur exhibited at the museum.

There he was again, the backpack slung low on his shoulders and it looked like he was sweating. Was he sick and needed help? If so, wouldn’t he have asked the people at the front desk or even stayed at home.

Danny had always told you to be vigilant about suspicious people roaming about and this guy fit the description. Should you text Danny or Jamie? They were probably busy with their cases and if he was just a creep you’d make a fool out of yourself and maybe your dad in extension.

Police Commissioner’s daughter accuses visitor at the National History Museum to be a creep and makes a laughing stock out of the Reagan family.

Now that would be the headline of the week.

Turning back to listen to Mrs. Langdon and your students with a sigh you missed him pulling out a gun from under his jacket, pointing it at your back before slightly lifting it up and pulling the trigger.

11:40, Joint Operations Center

“Alright guys, we've got a hostage situation at the National History Museum. Twenty-two students from LoMa Middle School and their teacher. This is high profile. Detective Reagan with the NYPD called it in about fifteen minutes ago.” ASAC Jubal Valentine’s voice rang out through the JOC. He motioned to Elise, one of the Analysts to put every information on the screens. “This is Y/N Reagan, she’s a teacher at the school and also the daughter of New York City Police Commissioner Frank Reagan.”

Your picture popped up on the screens, a happy smile on your face as you sat together with your father and your brother Jamie at a city function.

“You know, now that I’m done with my trainee-ship as teacher, we could make it official. Dad wants me to tag along at this function or other and I’d like to take you as my plus one.” You smiled at him, your arms slung around his neck as you lounged together on his bed.

Omar ran his fingers from your shoulder to your elbow and up again. He loved the feeling of your soft skin under his hands, slightly roughed from the army. “It would be nice, I’d love to finally show you off to my family as well. Erin has been nagging me like a hen to know who the guy is making me smile all day.” He smiled, nuzzling her neck and listening to her giggles as his nose and beard rubbed up and down against that point where her neck met her shoulder.

"I'd like that. I bet your sister isn't the only one nagging." He chuckled, burrowing closer and pushing his lower half against yours earning a soft groan from you.

Your fingers raked over his head, feeling the short cropped hair tickle the palm of your hands. “Pop and dad are already giving me those penetrative looks, you know the ones where they are acting like cops and trying to read a suspects thoughts.”

Closing his eyes, the former army ranger breathed in your scent. It was the one thing that grounded him on days his mind sent him back to Iraq. “From what you told me I’m more afraid of your brother, not your father and grandpa.”

Omar moved next to Maggie, a soft Shit leaving his lips as his eyes swept over the screens. It had been a few years since he’d last seen you, only a few days short of leaving for his training at Quantico. Seeing your face, tear track staining your cheeks with the suspect pressing his gun to your head.

The brunette watched her partner, the fingers of his left hand anxiously playing with his ring. A sign that he was nervous. A sign Maggie had learned in the beginning when they first were partnered up.

“You know her?”

He sighed, “We, ugh, we dated for a while before, before I went into training. I...broke it off, because I thought she’d be better off without me.”

“Gosh, OA.” Maggie murmured, scratching a fingernail along her eyebrow thoughtfully. She knew her partner had been in relationships before – he was Muslim, not a virginal saint, but she had never seen him this distraught or anxious.

It was clear as day that you were still important to him and it took everything in him to not run out the door and drive off toward the museum.

"What do we have on the suspect?" Isobel questioned, coming to stand next to her 2nd in charge.

"Suspect is 40 year old Andrew O'Sullivan, former police officer with the NYPD, 54th Precinct and bomb specialist with the Marines. Detective Daniel Reagan, Y/N’s older brother was part of the investigation against him.” Kelly Moran, an analyst at the JOC spoke up, tapping hastily on his keyboard and sending the pictures of their suspect to the bigger screens. “He took drugs from evidence and tried to sell it on the street. O’Sullivan needed it for his daughter, she has leukemia and he was going to take the money to pay for her treatments.”

The analyst pressed a key to show the picture of a little girl, maybe ten years old, grinning at the camera. “Lena O’Sullivan, she”

“His daughter died two days ago, that’s why he’s doing it. He wanted to save her from it and we took the money that would pay for her treatment. Andrew has been angry with me for a while and called me after Lena died.” A new voice sounded from behind them, strong and authoritative, yet they could all hear the pain laced into his words. “He has my sister and if you guys don’t get a move on, Andrew is going to kill them all.” Detective Daniel Reagan had made his way to the JOC, knowing he couldn’t make a move against O’Sullivan without the people of the FBI. You were his little sister and he’d be damned just sitting around at the precinct when he needed to get you to safety. More so when Erin would have his head for being the reason the former officer had you and your kids as hostages.

#oa zidan x reader #oa zidan #reagan family #fbi #fbi most wanted #blue bloods #reagan sister!reader #danny reagan #fbi cbs imagine #blue bloods imagine #fbi x blue bloods #fanfic #fanfic writing

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sunshine-theseus · 1 year ago

Text

El Viaje | Sam Kerr x Reader

Words: 2.3k Summary: Sam’s done her ACL and the journey proves to be tough

“Sam? It’s 12:30 in the morning, what’s wrong?” my voice is groggy and hoarse as I pick up the phone.

Nothing is said in reply but a small shuttering gasp trickles through the speaker. I was very familiar with that sound. The one of Sam trying not to cry. It alarms me, so I scurry to sit up against the hotel headboard and turn on the lamp, as if it will make me concentrate better on the conversation.

“Chicka? What happened? Shouldn’t you be in training?” the Chelsea team had travelled to Morocco for some hot weather training, leaving them only 1 hour ahead of London but 9 hours behind Brisbane, so the timing was odd.

“I-” she chokes on her words and my heart clenches, as if I could feel whatever pain and sadness she was feeling.

“I won’t be going back to training. Not for a while.” my fiancé’s usual candour isn’t anywhere to be seen as she drags out the admission.

“Sam what are you going on about?”

Another one of those almost silent cries escapes her mouth.

“Sam please telling me what the fuck is going on or I’ll call Emma.” I grow even more worried as I flick through all the possibilities of what could have happened in my mind.

“Can we facetime? I want to see your face, it’ll make me feel better.” I’m requesting the facetime call before she can even finish, and it takes no time at all for me to be met with her face.

Her solemn, tear stained, lip quivering face. I nearly start crying just looking at her. I’ve only seen her look so defeated a small number of times, but it never gets easier. I desperately want to magically transport to Morocco and just hold her.

“Oh Sam, please tell me what’s wrong.”

“I did my ACL.” The words don’t process in my head for a moment. She can’t possibly have said what I think she said.

“What?” it’s a whisper of disbelief but her face shows me everything I need to know. I feel sick as I stare into her eyes. Eyes that are usually so full of light and joy, dark and sullen in pain.

“I’m flying to Morocco. Next flight out.”

“No, we leave the day after tomorrow, it’d be a waste.”

“Sam-”

“You’re spending time with Sharn and Tameka, I’ll be okay.” The mention of my best friend and our Matildas teammate nearly makes me want to laugh.

“I’ve been here for 5 days; I went to their game last night, they’ll understand. Sharn’s coming to England in a couple months anyway. Say the word and I’ll fly out, whenever you want.” I can see the fight on her face.

“Please fly home, to England. I need you.” Tears well up in her eyes and I can feel them fighting on my waterline as well.

“Of course chicka.”

My flight gets in an hour before the team’s is supposed to. I sit in the secluded hallway I know they’ll eventually make their way down, leg bouncing non-stop and hands sweating. I’ve seen Sam injured, I’ve nursed her back to health, I’ve done everything you can imagine, but an ACL is different. Worse in every way.

Soon I begin to hear the chatter and footsteps often associated with the Chelsea team and rapidly stand up to greet them. Emma is the first one around the corner, closely followed by Jessie and Zećira. Each of them greet me and pass on a sorrowful smile before continuing down the hall.

It takes a little longer for Sam to make her way around, surrounded by Millie, Guro, and Erin; all of them are laughing and smiling at something Erin said. It takes me a few seconds but I’m taking off down the hall to meet the group who don’t notice me until I’m right in front of them. Where I usually would pick Sam up and spin her around, I have to stop myself, the crutches serving as a reminder to why I’m back early.

“Chickadee!” she smiles at me with that beautiful, joyful smile I’m used to, and I can’t help but lean forward and press a kiss to both her cheeks. Eventually she presses her own lips to mine, clearly sick of waiting.

“How’re you feeling?” Sam rolls her eyes, knowing I’m going to start fussing over her, and the girls around us laugh.

“I’m good. Millie’s been nursing me.” The friendly giant blonde grins proudly at us at the comment.

“Good, but now you have an actual nurse to look after you.” I grab Sam’s bag that Erin has a hold of, and the backpack that’s in Guro’s hand.

When we get home, I heave both lots of our bags through the house before cautiously trailing behind Sam who makes her way to our bedroom. She drops down onto the bed and I get nervous at the way her leg bounces as it absorbs the shock. I kneel down to start untying her shoes as she peels off her Chelsea travel jacket.

“I can do it you know?” Sam was ever the stubborn individual, and rarely wanted to accept help.

“Let me look after you.” I press a soft kiss to her injured knee before I continue taking off her shoes and socks.

I grab one of her oversized sweaters and shorts for her to slip into then head into our bathroom, running the warm water into the tub. I light some candles and turn off the lights, knowing she prefers the mellow light in times like these, before I hear her making her way on her crutches. It takes a little adjusting but I eventually help her slip into to sudsy water, then leave her to relax as I order some food for dinner.

Not long after I exit the room, I hear a splash and a groan of frustration, and race to see what’s happened. Sam’s body is still deep beneath the surface of the water but there’s a large puddle that slowly disperses at the base of the tub.

“What happened?” I pull my towel off the rack and begin to clean up the mess.

“I tried to get out.” the defeat is clear on Sam’s face, and it helps dampen the flame of anger that bubbled in my chest.

“Sammy-”

“I can’t do that, I know. I just… I don’t want to rely on you for everything.”

“Darl, I know it’s hard, and it will be hard for the next 9 months, but I’m here for you. I want to help you. You’re not alone.” Gently, I run a hand through her drying hair, occasionally massaging her scalp.

I can see the cogs turning in her head as I wait for an answer. The only thing I get is her leaning over and resting her head on my shoulder. It’s not comfortable for either of us but it’s the gesture that matters.

~~~~~

A few days later Sam has to go in for surgery. I have a shift at the hospital, so I drive her in, and take a goofy photo of her before she gets prepped, before I start my rounds. I find it hard, lacking my usual charm and overly-kind demeaner as I visit Carl, a 63 year old Irish man who came to spend a few years in England after retiring from teaching history in Australia, before going home to Ireland. He doesn’t stop talking. I don’t mind though; his stories never disappoint. He came in for a hip surgery but due to some complications he’s had to stay a little longer, and come in for regular stays every few months.

“You’re worried about something.” He likes to study me as I move around.

“Not when I’ve got you, hey Carl?”

“You’re pouring yourself a cup of tea. You don’t like tea. Which is appalling by the way.” I relax my shoulders and take in a deep breath. He knows me too well.

“It’s my fiancé-”

“Sam! Oh how is she!? I love young love.” A warm and reminiscent smile flitters across his face.

“Yes, well, she tore her ACL during training in Morocco. She has surgery today.”

“Bloody hell the poor thing! She’ll be okay love.” Carl pats my arm in reassurance, and I hate to admit I feel much more at peace.

Around 4 hours into my shift, I get called to take over a new patient for one of the other nurses who had to leave after their surgery. I walk down the fluorescently lit hallways, my shoes squeaking against the linoleum. Sam should just about be finished surgery too.

I pushed open the dark wood door but come to a stop when I see who’s snoring in the bed. My fiancé, ever so peaceful and beautiful, yet still looking so tired. There are band-aids over different points of her knee, barely propped up with a roll of cloth.

I check her vitals, not yet giving her more pain meds, and take a seat beside her. I take her hand in mine, rubbing my thumb back and forth over the dark vein, and admire her. Despite the hospital attire and the ruffled hair that falls out of her hair-tie, she looks so handsome.

I get paged to visit a few other patients before Sam gets the chance to wake up, but by the time I get back, basically the whole Chelsea team is sitting around her room or in the hall.

Jessie’s the one talking Sam when I walk back through the door, vials and food in hand.

“Time for lunch and meds!” I scoot in beside Emma and LJ to have access to her IV after she finishes the food, the girls around us greeting me.

“Chickadee! You’re here.” Sam reaches a hand out for me and puckers her lips but I stand back.

“Nuh uh. Here we’re nurse and patient, not fiancés. Now I need you to eat some food so I can give you your medication.” I can see her desire to fight back on her face, but I know she won’t ignore the orders when I’m actually on the clock.

When she finishes the horrid food, I put clean gloves on and fill the new needle with morphine, then turn back to her. I have to fiddle with the IV for a moment but eventually manage to inject the medicine.

“You might get sleepy; I’ll be back soon to see how you’re doing and adjust the dose if need be, okay? There’s the emergency button if you need me sooner.” I bid her and the team adieu.

~~~~~

I don’t get to take Sam home with me after my shift, instead having to pick her up the next day.

While she’s wheeled out to the car, crutches resting on her lap, I carry her brace and compression bands and whatever else she’s been given. Sam sits across the backseat, making sure to keep her knee elevated, and I make sure to drive as safely as possible.

When we get home, we find ourselves in bed, Sam’s head resting on my chest as I play with her hair, Derry Girls playing on the TV.

“I love you so much, thank you for being my nurse.” A kiss is pressed lightly to my collar bone and I smile.

“I’ll always look after you, my beautiful girl.” She looks up at me with those big chocolate brown eyes and I think I fall in love with her all over again.

I lean down and attach my lips to her’s but as we pull away, she turns serious.

“You owe me a lot of kisses for refusing to kiss me in the hospital.”

“Of course darling.” I simply kiss her again. Anything for my beautiful girl.

~~~~~

“You don’t have to baby me Y/N for fuck sake!” so much for ‘thanks for looking after me’.

“I’m not babying you Sam! I’m making sure you don’t push yourself too far!”

“I can lift things without you hovering over me!”

“You were trying to lift boxes that I can barely lift at full health!” she was really getting on my last nerve.

“I just want you to leave me alone for 5 fucking minutes! God I’m so sick of you!” that makes me pause, pain encapsulates my heart and tears floor my waterline.

My mouth opens and closes but nothing comes out. What am I supposed to say to that? So I turn around, picking Helen up on my way, and head to our bedroom. The door slams shut behind me, rattling the walls, the artwork threatening to drop and shatter to the floor. Not dissimilar to my heart.

I hear Sam groan but nothing else echoes down the hall for a while. Until I hear a crash. Without a thought I’m opening the door and rushing across the wood floors to find the girl I’m angry at.

All I find is her sitting on the ground, surrounded by piles of wood. She’s untouched.

“Sam…” it’s more of a sigh of relief than anything else.

“I just- I wanted to make it myself to apologise. And also to prove myself right.”

“You don’t need to make a whole fucking bookshelf for me. You shouldn’t. Your words hurt, but I don’t want you hurt.” I slowly help her get up, although it’s a struggle.

“I’m really really sorry. I didn’t mean it, that I’m sick of you. I could never be sick of you. You’re too kind.” A kiss is pressed to my cheek.

“And pretty.” Another to my opposite cheek.

“And perfect.” She kisses my lips, love flowing between us as I kiss back.

“I don’t deserve you. You’ve done nothing but take care of me and I’ve been all ‘Oscar the Grouch’ on you.” I lead her over to the couch and pull her against me.

“You could turn into Oscar the Grouch and I’d still love and take care of you. I will find you in every lifetime, and love you endlessly.”

#woso x reader #woso #womens soccer #woso fanfics #wsl #the matildas x reader #the matildas #chelsea fcw #sam kerr x reader #sam kerr #cfcw

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