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darylsfavoritegirl · 1 month

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Hi i love how you write! could you please write some headcanons about daryl and reader being enemies to lovers?? like if they hated eachother in the beginning like at the quarry and by the end they are utterly in love and they would do anything for eachother

hey anon, first of all thank you :))

+ i think daryl would have biases towards you for things so little, maybe the way you carry yourself and he thought you were too bougie and a show-off -considering how much of a cranky person he was in the first few seasons, i doubt it would take much to annoy him-

+ he'd try to shrug it off, hating how much you take space in his mind because "who even r' yea?"

+ you'd eventually -wouldn't take much of a time- catch on that this man is irked by you for whatever reason and you'd stand your ground -which would mess things up even further-

+ i mean, after all, it's the apocalpyse, you don't know half of the people you're surrounded with at all times, even having to share tents with some of them occasionally. there is no sense of being discreet. so having a redneck talk over you, him not even acknowledging your existence in a group of people when your planning a scavenge/run is eventually... ridiculously vexing...

+ "can you shut the fuck up for a second?

so i was saying..." you'd turn to Shane, explaining your point of view on the run that's to come in a week.

Shane's ear would be on alert listening to you but he wouldn't skip exchanging subtle, cautious glances with the rest of the group. everyone tried to avoid getting into any dixon brothers trouble. they'd take guard against them if really needed but out of all them, you were the one to mess up with him, next to his brother.

+ and well... there is merle dixon. he'd sometimes talk off daryl infront of everyone in mockery but in a more frowning way in discreet saying "Darlenaaa" he'd click his tongue. "what the hell are yea doin' lettin' that woman run her mouth to ma' little brother like that infront of them worthless pricks?"

"shut up" he'd bark to merle.

safe to say, the times he snapped at you would be the aftermaths of merle's mockery.

+ two of you would get close after sophia got lost, by then you and the group had become familiar and you worried for the little girl.

he'd still snap at you and so would you, ruining the nights of y'alls and hershel's family together at dinner tables that were so rare to occur.

"yea ain't no damn tracker." he'd mutter under his breath when it was like the group had sworn to say a last word about sophia's dissapperance for the night, as you all sat down on the dinner table.

"i'm helping." you'd try to prevent your blood boiling and in time, bursting out your rage.

"yea'd be more of a use 'round here"

"excuse me?" you'd look at him in disbelief, dropping your fork and spoon to the table infront of you like a theatre kid.

it would take 5 minutes of heated yellings, veins throbbing on the side of people's necks, faces starting to turn red and for it all to stop, it would take hershel's smacking the table making you all shut your mouths for the rest of the evening.

+ you'd grow even closer when he fell off a horse and as much as you hated to admit it, a part of you that was looking for that girl and knowing that at the other side of the woods, he was also looking... that would make you feel at ease, even daring to think of it as a companionship, if not a partnership that neither of you had signed figuretively. there was no point in looking without him. the woods were too big to cover.

+ you'd be assigned to take care of him time to time. when you opposed the idea, no one listened to you and it wasn't like you could leave him to fend for himself as a bedbound.

his brain would be too numb thanks to the painkillers and antibiotics. he had fever. there were a few nights you sitting on a rocking chair, your eyelids betraying you and daring to shut down but you'd flinch to his mumbles, him tossing and turning on the bed, his incoherent words to whatever nightmare he was having. you'd wonder. what was he seeing in those nightmares that sweat droplets would slide down his temples to the pillows.

the first night you'd sigh, why were you the one wiping his sweaty forehead? why were you the one whispering soothing words that were half silent so that he'd atleast get a good nights sleep, when all he has done was to humiliate you, look down on you, not even concealing his despise towards you?

the second night, you took a deep breath and appreciated how a spine-chilling redneck could be defenseless like this. hell, you even took a joy at the idea, the ends of your lips curling upwards with a wicked smile.

+ after hershel's farm was overrun and you unfortunately found out the hard way that sophia had gotten bitten, you found solace at eachother's existence. in the end, it was the two of you, looking for her day and night.

+ merle dying had benefits for daryl as much as one hates to say. that's when he, after a lost, again, found solace at your presence.

you'd be at the watchtower this time, smoking a cigarette, looking at the sunset. you didn't need words, maybe it was because you still weren't that close or because what would even one say? funny to think, you found out about his brother dying after 3 days. you hated yourself for not noticing something being off. as much as you were desperate for merle to get lost somehow, this would've never been what you'd wish for.

"i'm sorry, you know?"

you wouldn't risk to look at his way, you'd hear a "mmmhm" sound coming from deep of his lungs and his head sagging between his shoulders a second later. and a deep breath he would inhale.

+ you'd definitely get intimate during the last few months when you still had the prison.

doubt there would be much emotion involved, mostly a way of you both releasing stress in the cellblock you had cleared up just for this reason.

you'd both hate yourself for the things you do behind closed doors at nights. thinking you're so stealthy with it, when everyone obviously knows yet no one says a word to another soul about it.

what would else be the reason that you don't know what to do with your hands or your body or your words when your next to eachother?

what would else be the reason one of you chuckling awkwardly to a not-even-slightly-funny joke uttered by the other one?

+ you'd call it love in hidden parts of your mind after losing the prison and settling in alexandria.

you couldn't explain it with anything else.

why was he looking at you the way he was -so penetrating with glossy eyes- when he thought that you weren't aware?

why was he watching you like that, when you opened your eyes for the first time in alexandria when all of you decided to crash in one living room for safety?

with half-lidded eyes, his body resting on the wall against his back.

so deep, his gaze robbed you of any privacy. you felt naked.

so intense, his gaze was sucking you into him.

"mornin' " he'd mutter and make his way to the doorstep.

you'd mutter "mornin' " to yourself, arms wrapped around below your knees, you wouldn't turn around to look at him.

was he watching you like that all night? or was it a coincidence he happened to be staring right at your soul when you opened your eyes?

footnote

ok im loving this. screaming.

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buzzcutlip · 1 month

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hiiii, for the prompt thing, could u do carmy + "is this the part where you kick me out" and/or "i can't do this without you"? 🩷

also i am BEGGING for part 2 of the worst day pls i check literally every single day to see if it's up !!!

Hello! Cracks and Gaps is getting longer and longer, bigger and bigger. I don't quite know how to separate the text into chapters. I'm hoping I'll publish chapter 2 by the end of August/beginning of September. Thank you for your interest and support :)

Prompt: "I can't do this without you" Carmen Berzatto x Fem!Reader Explicit 1600 words (warnings for injuries/burns and a bit of mean!Carmy - but also gentle!Carmy so it's fine, Claire is mentioned but note that this is set a couple weeks after the fridge incident)

The loud chime of the downstairs doorbell rings sharply through the quiet apartment. You get up to the intercom and buzz Carmen in.

You’ve only ever had the girls over—Tina, Sydney, and once even Nat. Those were very rare moments spent outside the kitchen, outside The Bear, when you somehow managed to have a day off together. Normally, you’re not very comfortable letting people into your apartment. And having Carmen here—you try not to think about it too much.

The thing is, you had an accident in the kitchen five days ago during one of those crazy afternoons just before lunch opening—full of yelling, collisions, and near-strokes—when you managed to scald your right forearm. Like, properly scald, until the skin was baby pink and raw-looking. The longer you looked at the damaged area, the dizzier you felt.

Richie drove you to the hospital, not caring about his absent driving license, and sat with you in the emergency room while a nurse bandaged the big, painful blisters that had formed where just skin used to be. Only the next day did you learn that it hadn’t been your fault—Marcus had slipped on water that Ebra had spilled, bumping into Carmy, who bumped into you, forcing you to lean against the stove with a huge pot of boiling spaghetti. Due to the shock, you completely forgot. Not that you would ever hold it against any of them.

The moment you hear Carmy’s knock on the door, your heart speeds up. You know it’s stupid and unreasonable, but you look up to the chef very much, admiring what he’s accomplished, and very, very secretly, you do have a little—big—crush on him.

“Thank you for coming, really,” you greet him earnestly as soon as you’re face-to-face with him.

“It’s the least I could do,” Carmy says as you lead him toward the kitchen table where all your medical supplies are laid out. Soon after getting home from the ER, you figured out that you wouldn’t be able to change the bandages on your dominant hand twice a day by yourself—not properly. There are many other things you haven’t been able to do.

“And it makes sense since I live the closest,” Carmy adds as he settles down next to you after washing his hands thoroughly. Leaning in, he starts removing the dressing, as you instructed, holding your hand carefully.

“Have you and Richie talked yet?” you ask to fill the silence with something.

Carmy doesn’t look up from what he’s doing. “You’ve been gone for four days. It’s—it's gonna take longer than that,” he mumbles, peeling off the gauze sponges soaked in antibiotic cream. You hiss, trying to retract your hand instinctively, but Carmy doesn’t relent.

“It’s okay,” he says quietly, giving you a moment to relax again. He reapplies the cream to the skin scarred by the blisters, which have mostly drained by now. It hurts like hell, his touch bringing stinging tears to your eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” Carmy says when he peers up at you.

“Not your fault,” you grit your teeth against the burning pain, trying to remember if you’ve taken a painkiller today. His touch is gentle and careful, and the combination of his softness and the contact does strange things to you. It’s turning you on.

“We should’ve done better. To prevent things like this from happening. The kitchen should be a safe work environment,” he adds, glancing at his own scarred hands. “As safe as possible.”

When he finishes wrapping your arm with the gauze dressing, you feel a wave of relief that he’s no longer inspecting your scarred skin.

Carmen leans back in his chair, running a hand through his unruly hair. “What else can I do?”

The possibilities rush through your mind, but you quickly dismiss all inappropriate intrusive thoughts. “Would you help me wash my hair?” you ask, grimacing at your own ineptitude, embarrassed and frustrated. Your scalp has been itching for the second day, driving you absolutely nuts.

Carmen nods without hesitation, understanding the vulnerability behind your request. “Yeah, of course. Whatever you need,” he says gently, standing up and glancing around your apartment to find the bathroom.

You lead him there, feeling a mix of relief and self-consciousness. You’re not used to asking for help, especially not with something so personal. Carmen seems to sense this because as you walk, he doesn’t say anything more, just follows your lead.

The bathroom is small but clean, and you can’t help but notice the way Carmen’s presence fills the space, making it feel even smaller. You pull out a chair and sit with your back to the basin, trying to ignore the awkwardness of the situation. Carmen moves around you, adjusting the water temperature and rolling up his sleeves. When his fingers brush against your neck as he gathers your hair, a shiver runs down your spine.

“Lean back a little,” he says, his voice low, almost hesitant but soothing. You do as he says, closing your eyes as he begins to wet your hair. The warm water runs down your scalp, and for a moment, you can almost forget the pain in your arm and the way your heart races whenever Carmen is near.

He’s gentle, more so than you would have expected from someone who spends his days commanding a chaotic kitchen. His fingers work the shampoo into your hair, massaging your scalp in slow, careful circles. The sensation is almost too much—too intimate, too comforting—and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

“You’re very quiet.”

“So are you. When you’re not shouting,” you don’t miss the opportunity to pick at him. “It’s hard to figure you out.”

Carmen scoffs, but there’s a subtle tension in his voice. “Right back at ya.”

The water in the basin swishes loudly as Carmen rinses the shampoo, combing through your hair with his fingers, careful not to tug too hard, squeezing the excess water ouf from your hair. ““There you go,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “All done.”

You sit up slowly, feeling a bit lighter. “Thank you. Couldn’t do it without you.”

Carmen offers a small, almost shy smile, but there’s something behind his eyes—a flicker of unease, like he’s unsure of how to respond. You wonder, not for the first time, if the tenderness he’s showing isn’t something that comes naturally to him.

The shift is abrupt. Familiar from how you know him from work. His mood swings and angry outbursts. You don’t know what causes it. Maybe he can finally see it on you. The way you’ve been pressing your thighs together, the redness of your cheeks. Is this his secret superpower -- can he read thoughts?

“What?” you ask with an unease when he stares at you for too long, wiping his wet hands in the pink towel, then putting it neatly on the radiator behind him.

Carmen’s movements are swift and decisive as he kneels in front of you, his rough voice breaking the silence. “I blame myself,” he says, almost desperately. He takes your injured hand, his lips brushing against the bare fingers and knuckles peeking out from beneath the bandages. His other hand disappears between your thighs, and you’re mortified at the thought that he can probably feel how wet you are through the layers of clothing.

“There are other ways to make you feel better,” he says, his words dripping with a raw, suggestive intensity that leaves you stunned. You blink rapidly, trying to process the unexpected turn in his demeanor.

A wave of emotions crashes over you, paralyzing you with its intensity. “What about Cla -”

“Shut up,” he murmurs quietly, without much heat. “You want this or not?”

You do, you’re nodding. You’ll take anything he’s willing to give you, no matter what.

Carmen eats you out. He pulls down your leggings along with your panties, eyes fixed between your legs where you’re already - embarrassingly - wet from all of his touches, intentional or not. Carmen only uses his mouth on you - his tongue and lips, keeping his hands where you can’t see or feel them. It reminds you of David Coperfield and his right magic hand never touching Claudia Schiffer. Like if Carmy put his fingers into your pussy it would suck out his mojo, or something.

Usually it’s hard for you to come just from oral sex but Carmen’s different. He uses these long, wide licks on you, literally eating your pussy out, rather than just licking at your clit. That really does the trick for you.

When you come, hand gripping Carmy’s curls, he’s busy touching himself. You can hear the rustling and the wet noises even through the static in your ears.

You can barely catch your breath when Carmen says: “Pull,” and you do - hard - which leaves him gasping, and even though he doesn’t make any loud noises, it makes your pussy throb.

He comes with his head between your legs, licking at you weakly without much intent. You know only because his movements come to a stop and for a moment you’re both still. Until Carmen visibly shakes himself and his eyes find yours once again.

“Say thank you, chef,” he murmurs against your skin, punctuating his words with a sharp smack to your inner thigh. The sting of it makes you jump, gasping at the unexpected pain.

“Thank you,” you manage to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper, shaky from the intensity of it all.

#this is clearly a work of someone with two personalities #carmy berzatto #my fic #the bear #jeremy allen white #carmen berzatto #the bear fanfiction #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto x y/n #carmen x you #carmen berzatto drabble #carmen berzatto fic

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cxtori · 2 months

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Osamu Dazai ✮ Reckless (Angst Version)

summary: you vent your frustrations to Dazai after the crazy stunt he pulled with Fyodor

genre: angst, kiiinda comfort, cleaning his injuries, Dazai being a protective idiot

wc:835

warnings: n/a, some Dead Apple spoilers

tori’s note: I’m posting a second version of this story that will be more lighthearted/fluffy than this one. I just liked the concept and when I started writing I realized this could go two different ways. So I just wrote both lmao. Here's the fluffy version!

You were frustrated. No, that only begins to describe it. You were pissed, furious, irate. Whatever other powerful words there are to describe extreme anger, you were feeling it.

You pour some antiseptic onto the cotton pad in your fingers, the fibrous material soaking up the liquid quickly. You raise it to Dazai’s back and press it against the deep wound resting there.

“Ahh,” Dazai hisses. “Jeez, you could be a little more careful.” You can hear the pain in his voice, but you can also hear the teasing tone underneath it. Your face scrunches in annoyance.

“Shut up. I’m still mad at you,” you huff and continue to clean his wound.

He’d explained what had happened, how he’d been quite literally stabbed in the back with a poison coated dagger. looking at its placement, it’s a miracle the blade didn’t hit his spine. just an inch further to the right and this whole situation could have been very different.

“I can’t believe you left like that. You should have told me,” you say quietly.

“I couldn’t. It wouldn’t have worked out like this if I did, you know that.”

And you did. But still. He disappeared so suddenly and the next thing you knew he was working with someone who planned to destroy your home? You knew Dazai would never betray you like that, not seriously. But at the same time, seeing him in that light scared you.

You finish cleaning his back and apply antibiotics and bandages, adding to the many that were already wrapped haphazardly around him.

Once you’re done, you move to stand in front of him and begin to clean the various cuts and scrapes on his front side. You prepare another cotton pad and swipe over the wounds, none of them being severe enough to require much attention.

As you work, Dazai’s eyes are keenly focused on you. He watches as you carefully clean him up, a soft but determined look on your face, though it’s almost entirely hidden by the frustration distorting your features.

A smile spreads across his lips and he wraps a hand around your free one. You ignore him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of falling for his flirty little tricks.

You were both aware of the effects he had on you and, though he didn’t use it against you often, he would use it to his advantage. And right now it was in hopes of getting you to not be angry at him.

As your eyes scan over the marks scattering his body, your vision begins to blur. Before you can stop it, there are tears falling from your eyes. Are these angry tears, sad tears or relieved tears? You have no idea. Maybe it’s all of them at once.

“You idiot. Why do you have to be so careless?” You ask, your voice just above a whisper. Dazai looks at you, his smile slowly fading into a thoughtful but somber expression. He knows you aren’t expecting an answer, but he replies anyway.

“Because I care for you.” And that’s really all it boiled down to. He recklessly puts himself in dangerous situations if he knows that’s what it’ll take to protect his home and friends. To protect you. Even so, you hated his methods.

“I was so worried, Osamu,” you say quietly, afraid that your voice will crack too much if you speak normally. Despite your low tone, the pain and fear in it rings loud and clear. Dazai’s hand grips yours tighter.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to act like you’re working alone.” He doesn’t reply, only drops his gaze to where his hand is wrapped carefully around yours.

You’d had this conversation countless times before. That he is part of a team that is more than capable of handling serious situations. That he doesn’t have to jump head first into danger to solve problems. That he has other’s to lean on. That he has you.

But no mater how many times you said this, it never changed. And it terrifies you.

“It’s just… what if you had-”

“I didn’t, that’s what matters,” Dazai says, cutting you off. His hand leaves yours to rest on your face instead, his palm cupping your jaw as his thumb strokes over your cheek, wiping away your drying tears.

“Please, don’t ever do that again.”

“You know I can’t make that promise.”

He was right. He will continue to keep you in the dark if he knows that’s what it takes to keep you safe, even if you both hate it. There was no point in promising that he wouldn’t.

His hand moves from your face to the back of your neck, tangling his fingers into your hair. He brings your face closer to his, his dark brown eyes looking into yours intently.

“I love you, more than anything,” He whispers and places a kiss to your forehead. “And I only want to protect you.”

And that’s what he’ll continue to do.

©Cxtori 2024 please do not copy, plagiarize, repost or translate any of my works. reblogs are appreciated

#☆彡tori writes #꥟hey queuetie #osamu dazai #dazai osamu #dazai #dazai x reader #osamu dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #dazai angst #osamu dazai angst #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader

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chryblossomjjk · 2 years

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midnight mistakes | jjk

⇢ PAIRING: fuckboy!jk x inexperienced reader

⇢ RATING: m/18+

⇢ WC: 2.5k

⇢ WARNINGS: v brief sm*t, v slight angst, oc is sick rip, pregnancy scare putting their relationship to the test eep!!!, brief mentions of abortion (reader considers it)

⇢ SUMMARY: a midnight romp with jungkook leads to tears on your cheeks and a pregnancy test in your hand

⇢ NOTES: i miss writing sm so here's a lil drabble of our otp :') school has been v overwhelming lately and it makes me so sad that i don't have as much time to write on here anymore. hopefully, things will calm down soon. for now, enjoy this crumb!! i love you all, let me know what you think!! if you haven't read the series yet, pls read that before this if u want to!! this wasn't beta'd so i apologize for any grammar issues or typos rip

⇢ SERIES MASTERLIST

The sequence of events that landed you in this situation; having a teary, heaving breakdown in front of your bathroom mirror, was absolutely ridiculous, to say the least.

“I’m gonna kill someone,” you squeak, breathless from the endless stream of sneezes ripping through you. The glow of the alarm clock on your nightstand reads 1 a.m. as you reach for a tissue. Violently blowing your nose does little to ease its congestion. With a shaky sigh, you crumple the sodden napkin and toss it into the bin beside your bed; overthrown by contents alike. The wet ball hits the paper mountain before rolling onto your pretty pink area rug.

You shiver, how fucking disgusting.

A stressful week of labs and quizzes has tanked your immune system, making you susceptible to all the little germs and illnesses that strike when the brisk winter air transitions into the pollen-laced breeze of spring. The antibiotics you were prescribed did little to help your runny nose and sore throat. Pausing the anime playing on your phone, you open your messages.

dumbo love you, get some rest please xx

So much for getting rest. You weren’t expecting a text back. Jungkook had offered to spend the night, but you encouraged him to go. It was his last semester after all. Still, you were pouty and needy, wanting nothing more than to snuggle into his arms and let the swirls of his delicate fingers on your back lull you to sleep. Instead, here you were, confined to your bed, watching Naruto solo as Jungkook, Tae, and Mina lived it up; taking shots until they were belligerent.

A distinguishable knock rattles the door before you can press play again.

“What are you doing here?”

Jungkook stands in your doorway, oversized black tee hanging over his equally oversized green cargo pants. His cute little mullet falls in sweaty loops around his face. “Still feelin’ like shit?” He coos, cringing at your disheveled appearance and the croak in your voice. Ignoring your question, he holds up the various items in his big hands. “I picked up a few things; cough drops—not the cherry kind ‘cause those are fucking nasty,” you laugh at the side note, “—extra spicy ramen and hot sauce to clear out your sinuses.”

Your peer at the array of remedies with wide eyes. Their ability to cure your flu symptoms is questionable. You don’t even have a way of boiling water to make said ramen in your cramped dorm, but the sentiment has your chest swelling with something other than a violent cough for the first time in days. Abruptly, you pull him into a tight embrace.

“Ah, I see,” he laughs, wrapping an arm around the small of your back and walking you back into the room, kicking the door closed behind him. “My Bambi missed me.”

“I did,” you nuzzle into him further, “but you shouldn’t be here… you should be having fun with your friends.”

“Nah, fuck ‘em,” he retorts playfully, putting the quote-unquote medicine down and then plopping onto the bed, taking you with him. “Besides, what kind of shit boyfriend ditches their sick girlfriend to go to a party anyways?”

“The kind that should be enjoying his last semester,” you frown.

“I am, though. I enjoy spending time with you more than anything else.”

As he lays under you, black tresses splayed against your white comforter like a misshapen halo, you feel so incredibly lucky. Gently, you run your fingers through his choppy bangs, pushing them out of his doe eyes. “Have you been drinking?”

“Not really, just a couple shots of Fireball and a few beers.” That much alcohol would have knocked you on your lightweight ass, but after years of beer pong and keg stands, Jungkook’s tolerance was damn near Kage level. It took a lot more than that to get him drunk. “I kinda…” he averts your gaze, something he does when he’s sad or guilty. “I felt really bad so I left.”

“Jungkook, I told you it was okay.”

“I know,” he nods, sliding a warm palm under your shirt, rubbing his thumb against your skin in soothing lines. “But I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Using your fingertip, you brush an eyelash off the apple of his cheek. “Thank you… for coming back for me.”

“Of course, Bambi.” He leans up and presses a deep kiss to your dehydrated lips.

“Kook, stop,” you mumble, craning your neck back. “You’re gonna get sick.”

“I don’t care.”

It doesn’t take much convincing. If Jungkook doesn’t care, why should you?

What follows is a battle of warm tongues and the needy clash of his bunny teeth against yours. Tender touches coax your Sailor Moon pajama set to the floor with the promise of Jungkook’s delicious love. Before you know it, you’re sinking down onto his hard length, fingers digging into his shoulders as he slouches against your headboard.

“Take it all,” he whispers, jaw slacking as he tilts his head down, getting a clear view of your wet cunt swallowing the remaining few inches. A slick film coats the two fingers he used to hold himself up for you as your lip pillow around the base. “Yeah, just like that.” His face contorts in pleasure, overcome by your warm, slippery walls after a week of illness-induced celibacy. “Feels good, huh baby? Tell me how good my dick makes you feel.”

He wants praise and dirty talk, but the tickle in your nose makes you pause, bracing yourself as a slew of sneezes pours out of you. Eight sneezes to be exact. Jungkook’s high-pitched cackle is drowned out by a shriek as you cup your hand over your leaking nostrils. “EW!”

“Shut up, it’s fine!” He grabs a tissue from the nearly empty box. “Lemme see,” he mumbles, pulling your hand down and wiping it clean, then doing the same to your face afterward and tossing the kleenex in your glittery pink trash bin.

“I’m sorry,” you peep, completely mortified.

“Don’t worry.” The crooked bunny grin eases your nerves. “That was fire, actually. You clenched around me so tight.”

You squint at him and then bury your head into the crook of his neck. You make love to each other; slow and gentle. At one point, Jungkook locks his tattooed fingers in between yours, pecking your bare shoulder as lazy drags of your hips bring you both to writhing climaxes. And he looks so beautiful when he climaxes, gnawing at his lip piercing, skin dewy from sweat and the moonlight shining through the blinds.

At that moment, you felt nothing but love and pure ecstasy.

Isn’t it funny how pleasures of the past can create complete devastation in the present?

Clutching the edge of the porcelain sink, you stare down at the pink box of pregnancy tests. There’s tear stains on your cheeks. A pain in your lungs from all the sobbing. You wish Jungkook had been a shit boyfriend that night. You’d give anything to take it all back.

Like a sixth sense, there’s a distinguishable knock at the door.

“Hey, I-” he stops short, brows furrowing as his dark pupils scan your face. “Have you been crying?”

“What do you think?” You shouldn’t snap at him, but the waves of anxiety washing over you make you highly sensitive. Truthfully, you weren’t going to tell Jungkook any of this. His showing up had put an awful wrench in your plans. Well, unless the test came back positive. Then, you’d be forced to tell him. You clamp your hand over your mouth, the thought making you sick to your stomach.

“__, take a deep breath. Sit down.” You do and he follows suit. “What's going on?”

“I-” you gulp, swallowing back a whine, struggling to form a coherent sentence. There’s no escape, you have to confess. “I think I might be pregnant.”

There’s an eerie silence once the words hit the air, lingering over you both like a dark, dreary cloud. It takes Jungkook a moment to internalize the weight of the situation, but you can tell when the thunder strikes. The pink tinge in his cheeks fades to a stark, sickly white as he inhales shakily. “Fuck-” Leaning his elbows against his knees, he digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, shielding them. “I thought you were on the pill.”

“I am, but I was taking antibiotics last week and I read that they can make birth control less effective- and I’ve been having symptoms lately.” It all comes out in a jumbled mess like word vomit. He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t move. And it scares you. “Are you mad at me?”

“No.” Despite his posture, his tone is still and calm. “I just… don’t know what to say. It’s a lot to take in.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as the floodgates finally burst. You were still in the swell of your STEM program. Jungkook is just about to graduate with a Bachelor’s in photography. Both of your lives would come to a screeching halt if the worst were true. You weren’t ready for a baby, not in the slightest. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, hey, don’t-.” Finally, Jungkook sits up, wrapping a strong arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his side. The other arm repeats as he rests his chin on top of your head, rocking your shaking frame back and forth for comfort. “Don’t apologize, don’t cry. Why don’t you take a test before we start freaking the fuck out?”

You suppose he’s right.

The walk to the bathroom is a blur. Suddenly, you’re on the toilet with that evil stick in hand. Jungkook is sitting on the floor with his eyes closed, knees bent and head leaned back against the wood of the cabinet. Normally, you’re extremely pee-shy. It literally will not come out. Under these circumstances, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“You pee so softly,” Jungkook says through an airy laugh. “I pee really hard- and fast. Like-” he makes a little whooshing noise with his mouth, “like a hose.”

“Baby, please,” you huff, setting the test aside and pulling your sweats up. You know he’s trying to ease your nerves, but this is one situation where his lighthearted jokes and comments ceased to make you smile. “This is serious.”

“Trust me, I know.” Spreading his legs, he pats the carpet between them. “C’mere.” As soon as you hit the ground he’s embracing you, trailing kisses all over your exposed skin. “What now?”

“Now,” you sigh, setting a timer on your phone for three minutes, “we wait.”

“You know… it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if it’s positive.”

“It would be absolutely awful, Jungkook.” It’s a sweet sentiment but you know he’s lying, right through his bunny teeth. Late-night conversations in bed about the future ring in your head. ‘Honestly, I don’t think I want kids,’ Jungkook had hummed in the middle of My Neighbor Totoro, ‘ever.’ Generally, you felt the same way, but the memory is terrifying in this context; sitting on the bathroom floor with him, waiting for an answer that could contradict all of your plans and possibly crumble the entire foundation of your relationship.

“Who am I kidding?” He chuckles humorlessly. “You’re right, it would be fucking awful.”

Nervously, you toy with the silver rings on his inked fingers. “What if it’s positive, Jungkook?”

“Let’s just wait until we get the results.”

“But what if it’s positive?” You twist in his arms, showing him your glassy eyes and deep frown. Showing him that his answer, regardless of what the test says, was very important to you.

He blinks at you, lips opening and then closing promptly as he mulls over his words. “If it is… then we’ll take care of it.”

There’s a dual meaning to the sentiment that makes you chew on your bottom lip, eyes flickering up to the white ceiling to stop yourself from crying. Take care of it as in going through with it? Or take care of it as in… the other option? Honestly, the latter would be your first choice, and you’re sure it’s his as well. But for whatever reason, the fact that he assumed it makes your heart ache. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means whatever you want it to mean.” Gently, he smooths a hand over your trembling thighs before they frantically search for yours. “Just… whatever you want to do… whatever you want, I’ll support it… I’m here.”

A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in releases in relief. You feel stupid for even questioning him. After all these months of unconditional love, you should know better. Bringing your locked hands up, you kiss his fingertips. The smile it brings out of him is just as soft as your touch. “I love you so much.”

“I love y-.”

He’s cut off by the blaring ring of your timer.

“Please, can you look?” You mumble, shaking your head and covering your eyes. “I can’t do it.”

You feel his torso twist against your back as he reaches for the test on your countertop. The time between him grabbing it and the dreaded answer feels like an eternity.

“Negative.”

“Thank fuck!” You groan, doing a complete 180 and wrapping your arms around his neck in celebration. You haven’t felt this type of excitement since you were a child, waking up on Christmas morning and seeing colorful presents under the tree.

“What made you think you were pregnant in the first place?”

You hesitate to respond. In retrospect, it’s not as valid of a reason as you originally thought. “I’ve been feeling sick in the morning.”

Pulling back, Jungkook deadpans you. “Bambi, no shit. You’ve been sick all week.”

“I know but,” you pout, twirling a ringlet at the nape of his neck, “google said I could be pregnant…”

“You’re so fucking lucky you’re cute,” he laughs, holding you flush to him and nipping your cheek playfully. “You’ve got to be the most dramatic person I’ve ever met in my life.” You know he’s joking, but the comment makes your expression drop a bit. “But that’s part of the reason I love you so much. I’m never bored with you.”

Once again, you truly don’t know how you got so lucky.

“Alright,” he huffs, using all of his strength to haul you up into the air and walk you back to your bedroom. Instinctually and habitually, you wrap your legs around his cinched waist. “We finished Avatar last time, so what’re we watching tonight?”

You click your tongue in contemplation. “Naruto.”

“Naruto? Bambi, isn’t Naruto like- a billion episodes long?”

When he tosses you down onto the mattress, you pout and bat your long lashes at him, pulling out all the provenly successful manipulation tactics. “Please?”

“Fine,” he grumbles, plopping down beside you. “But don’t be mad if I knock out.”

And like clockwork, Jungkook dozes off in the middle of the second episode, but that’s okay, because despite how horrible the pregnancy scare was, it truly solidified Jungkook’s presence in your life. You have all the time in the world to watch hours and hours of subpar filler episodes, and you’ll do it happily as long as you’re with him.

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eff4freddie · 3 months

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After She Left | One

Joel Miller x AFAB Reader Ongoing

Words: 3k Two | Series Masterlist

Series Summary: You've lived in Jackson a long time, finding a sanctuary of comfort and predictability at the end of the world. As Jackson's only teacher, your role is to foster the curiosity of the youngest residents. Including the newest arrival, Ellie, and her weirdly cranky not-Dad, Joel. They threaten to upend your life more than any fungus. Series Warnings: slow burn, smut, Ellie being a little shit but we love her, friends to lovers, grief and loss, complicated feelings, canon-typical violence, Joel is a good dad, Joel has a complicated history, so do you Minors DNI 18+

Chapter warnings: Canon typical violence, reader is a little ambivalent about being alive, grief and loss, no Joel yet but he will make his appearance next chapter

You’d been 18 when the world ended. Surviving the first few days thanks entirely, as it turned out, to your baby sister’s gluten intolerance, you’d boarded the back of a military truck with a bag of your belongings and her little hand tucked into yours. You’d been separated from your parents, their truck ahead of yours, and when it veered off in the other direction on the highway you never saw them again. You heard rumours about what happened to the other trucks, and if you allowed yourself any time to consider them you knew in your gut they were true. You’d known the moment your mum and dad’s lives were snuffed out, because you’d felt it in your chest, miles and miles away. You didn’t burn candles for them on the windowsill in the hope that they would find their way back.

Old enough to get drafted into FEDRA, smart enough to stick around until the shit started hitting the fan, you kept your head down and your mouth shut and lasted years, until you were finding yourself lying more and more to your commanding officers just to keep yourself safe, to keep the people you cared tucked out of the watchful eye of your superiors. Until you were slipping scared families out the perimeter and wondering how long before you joined them.

Not long, as it turned out. You were 32 when the world ended, again. When your sister contracted something nasty, cut herself on a fence or stepped on a nail, the infection coursing red and angry up her veins towards her heart. There were no antibiotics, another shipment was due in a few weeks, but all of the higher ups were stockpiling, knowing that their time was limited, that eventually they would come to need the supplies to barter for their lives. You tried all your connections, you worked every rank you had to get her some, and when you failed you carried her into the bathtub and poured boiling water into the wound, her wasting body too exhausted to howl in agony at the burn. She died as you held her hand, stretched out on the bathroom floor beneath her. It was a mercy for her, you knew, and your penance for having propped up a cruel system, for having played a part in it at all.

You carried her body to the centre of the QZ, not letting her burn in the pyres built for the infected, not letting her mix in with the crawling vines. You laid her at the bottom of the steps to FEDRA HQ and left her there, the entire QZ peeking out from behind their curtains to witness her, a signpost at the edge of an impermeable, intractable border; who you had been, who you had become.

You were threatened with hanging, and you didn’t care. Your patrol partner packed your bag for you and smuggled you out, your QZ-issued rifle strapped to your back. You had left the QZ without even really knowing it, your partner hissing at you to just keep moving as he pulled back the barbed wire to let you through, and you did what you had been doing since you were drafted, which was just exactly what you were told.

You stumbled through the landscape, all amygdala and hind-brain, alone and unable to feel anything but the absence, but the loss. Knee-deep in a ravine you contemplated filling your bag with boulders and letting it pull you down into oblivion. You were never sure, even years later, why you didn’t. It scared you that there was something you couldn’t name, were never sure what it was such that you could ever rely on it to be there again.

You kept going. You were reasonable enough with your rifle, and you ate what you killed, and you stayed on the move. Headed west because you liked following the sun as it set, feeling like you were trudging towards an end of something. You passed camps, watching for the warm glow of fires or smoke on the horizon and heading in the other direction. You’d heard about raiders, about the weird religious cults that had set themselves up all over the country. As the trees thickened up, as the paths became more overgrown, you grew less and less cautious, began to feel like it was just you and the sky. You did well, considering you didn’t know why you were bothering, or where you were going. Some days you sat in the warmth of the sun and let it filter down to your bones. Some days you were so weary, so heavy, that you slumped against trees with your bag strapped to your chest and let your mind empty itself completely. You knew that if you pressed too hard and too long on a limb it would go numb.

Before the end of the world your family had gone camping every summer, and out here you felt more connected to them then you had in years. You couldn’t be sure how long you travelled, but you watched the leaves going brown and red on the canopy overhead. Your Dad had taught you enough to survive until the cold came, you realised. Your entire knowledge of the wilderness ending with the summer solstice. You had no plan to survive the winter, nothing other than a tarp you would string up between trees for shelter, a box of matches you fought tooth and nail to keep dry. You didn’t mind the idea of your story ending out here, found yourself ambivalent about it. If there was a place to wink out of existence it would be here, alone with the birdsong and the gradually freezing dirt beneath you. You had done well to last this long, had picked up more than you’d realised in your years with FEDRA, in the end of the world.

The nights though, were different. You found you could be philosophical about your impending death in the daylight, but as the nights grew colder and the chill got into your bones you were forced to consider the realities of this particular kind of end. You remembered reading about hypothermia in school, that people go mad from it, from the cold and the disorientation as their body temperature drops, as their muscles stop working. That they go delirious, suddenly feel like they’re burning up, strip off all their clothes and hasten their deaths. You didn’t particularly want to be found naked, didn’t particularly wanted to be found at all.

You started keeping the fire going in the darkness, knowing your Dad would admonish you if he was there, tempting fate and the lurking dangers right to your feet. It wasn’t like you had all that many alternatives. You hoped that when you saw him he would understand.

So it was on one particularly cold night, when the wind whipped the branches above you and rippled the long grass, that you were joined at your fireside. You had heard the rustle of the footsteps, had your rifle over your lap. You were eating the last of the rabbit you’d snared the day before. You wanted to go with a full belly, wanted the victory of at least not having starved.

‘You out here alone?’ the voice said from the darkness, and you raised your hands above your head.

‘Yes,’ you said, your voice rusted over from disuse.

‘You hurt?’ the man said, and you were surprised by this line of questioning.

‘No?’ you answered, peering into the darkness over the fire. You could see that he was holding a gun on you, that he was peering at you through its sight. You weren’t afraid of him. The fire was warm on your face.

‘You’re out here alone in the night and you’re not hurt?’ he answered, and you nodded. ‘Why you out here at all?’ he asked, and you sighed, dropping your hands to your sides.

‘That’s a long and boring story,’ you said, and you watched as he stepped forward, sensing you were neither a threat nor treating him as one.

‘That’s FEDRA issued,’ he said, gesturing to your rifle. You nodded. ‘Kansas?’

‘Chicago,’ you replied.

‘Heard things aren’t great in Kansas.’

‘As opposed to everywhere else’, you said. You saw him grin at you. As he came closer you could make out his black hair, his wiry frame. He looked tired and cold, but better fed then you. You might be able to outrun him, but not out-muscle him. Were you in any way inclined.

‘You’ve made it far,’ he said, and you shrugged.

‘Have I?’

‘Yes ma’am.’ You noticed his southern twang, and you liked it more than you expected. ‘Tommy,’ he said, pointing to his chest. He regarded you for a moment more. ‘If you’re lost in the darkness…?’ he asked, his eyebrows raised.

‘What?’ you asked, and he shrugged his shoulders.

‘Nothin’, he said. ‘Just…wondering.’

For a long moment you examined each other. He had an entire pack on his back, a rolled-up swag and a knife on his belt. He swung his gun over his shoulder, an older rifle, duct tape strapping it together in places. You looked down at yours in your lap. You wondered if he was out of bullets, too.

‘Mind if I sit?’ he asked, coming forward again, his hands in the air. ‘Just want to get warm, the cold is bitin’ tonight.’

You put your hands on the barrel of your rifle, and he watched them, gently. ‘Ain’t gonna hurt ya,’ he said, and you swallowed. Maybe you wanted him to. You weren’t sure anymore.

‘Haven’t really been around anyone for a while,’ you said, because you were starting to realise you were being awkward, had forgotten how to be a person when all you’d been doing for months was hanging out with trees.

‘You don’t wanna,’ he said, and you smiled.

‘You included?’ you asked.

‘Nah,’ he said, raising his palms to the fire. ‘M’alright. We all done things, I guess.’

You didn’t particularly want to think about those things. Truth be told you hadn’t actually done that much, had made a fucking terrible FEDRA soldier, kept trying to do community liaison and relationship building to the ire and suspicion of your commanding officers. You’d tried to argue that people would trust them more, that there would be better outcomes for everyone that way, that FEDRA had a duty, something something serve and protect.

They had told you, quite squarely, that no one gave a flying fuck about trust.

Which wasn’t to say you hadn’t been around death; you had, it was everywhere. You had witnessed hangings, had seen people beaten to death in the streets, never really knowing if it was at the hands of civilians. But you’d never been selected for the quarantine centre, rarely had to venture outside the gates to patrol. You’d been on cleanup, had been on curfew, had stood at the top of the gates and stared at the perimeter until your eyes watered. But you weren’t a killer, as much as your superiors wanted you to be. They couldn’t put you on the line where you might hesitate. For the longest time you had been ashamed of it, had considered it a weakness. Out here in the long grass you felt your 19-year-old self take you into her arms and forgive you for it.

‘Where you headed?’ he asked, and you shook your head.

‘Stayin’ put,’ you said.

‘Out here? There’s nothin’ out here.’

‘I’m here,’ you said, and you were feeling like you wouldn’t mind if he just left you to it, actually. Shot you and took your stuff. Whichever, just to get it done.

‘You know, there’s a group of people you might be interested to meet,’ he said, and you gawped at him.

‘What about me right now makes you think I want to meet anyone?’ you asked, and he chuckled.

‘People are trying to turn the tides, on FEDRA, on the whole…QZ situation. You have any…unrest back in Chicago?’

You had heard whispers of uprisings in other QZs, of little pockets of resistance. Things were going badly in some of them, Kansas having to get more brutal to keep things under control.

‘Nothing organised,’ you said.

‘Mmm. I came from Boston, things are getting…hotter out there. I’m on my way, actually, trying to-’

‘Don’t recruit me, don’t even bother,’ you said. ‘I’m not one for community life.’

Even as you said it you knew that wasn’t true. There had been families in the QZ, little kids born behind walls and not knowing any different, their laughter reminding you of when your sister was their age. You’d brought supplies for families struggling to get to the breadline, held the hands of scared women as their husbands were sent outside the walls on patrol. Had got a widow and her two kids smuggled out on a supply run, a ransom in ration cards to get them tucked safely in the back of a truck and carried over the threshold. You had always wanted to help people, and you’d done it, had been good at it. You considered the fact that all this time alone had made you drift further from your centre then you’d noticed at the time.

‘If it doesn’t work out,’ Tommy continued, ‘I heard of another place. Out in Wyoming. You could get there before winter.’

You gazed at him, your face aching from having talked so long to another person. You clicked your jaw.

‘Why you tellin’ me that?’ you asked. He leant over to his pack, pulling out a map and marking it with dirt under his nail.

‘You didn’t shoot me on sight,’ he said, and he grinned at you. ‘There’s still a bit of the South in me, darlin’, and where I come from, we don’t leave women alone in the night without a way home.’

You felt a little turn of something in your belly, a flickering. The way he spoke made you nostalgic for the old world, for the time when a sentence like that wasn’t either insane or suicidal. You waited for the other shoe to drop, for him to laugh at you, for him to lash out. You took the map in your hands, felt the quiver in them, realised with considerable surprise you were nervous. Something, some feeling, was returning back to your aching limb.

It wasn’t that you had been a particularly strong student, back when schools were a thing. It wasn’t even that you really liked teaching, it was just that you quite liked kids, and the teenagers almost as much, and you liked to read and could kind of remember some chemistry, and you weren’t all that good on a horse. Barely in Jackson a week and you found yourself at the front of the all-ages classroom, trying to figure out how to explain the before times, trying not to wonder whether there was any point.

You’d made it just as winter set in, not really believing this little ramshackle town would exist even as you stepped through the gate. You could see that it had been a gated community in the before times, that work was going on to sure it up, to expand it. The original gates were being replaced and patrolled, and you offered to keep watch, the setting familiar to your time in the QZ. Maria, the daughter of the founder and chair of the Town Council, politely and kindly explained they didn’t let newbies protect the perimeter until they were proven. You understood what she was telling you. Until they were sure you wouldn’t go postal and mow them down in their beds.

You shared your first house with two other women, each of you having your own room. Maria had apologised, as if she hadn’t gifted you a chance at another life, and you almost laughed in her face. In the QZ you had shared a two-bedroom apartment with four other soldiers. This was an insane amount of space, of safety, enough that you felt lost in it, swamped by it, sleeping out on the couch some nights just to be closer to your roommates’ doors.

Maria promised more buildings were coming, and you could hear the sound of construction, of manual labour, every hour there was light. When you started at the school, you’d only had six students, total, but within a year you had eight. You moved into your own house, took shifts on the perimeter on nights when you weren’t teaching in the morning. You stayed close to your roommates, even as they all moved out on their own, ate in the mess hall and sometimes had a nip in the Tipsy Bison before bed. You waited, all that time, for the other shoe to drop, for the town council to turn despotic, for the peace to crack.

You celebrated your 34th birthday with a cake baked by your students, carefully avoiding the lumps of sloppily mixed batter in the pan. You felt yourself grow a little soft around your middle, watched the lines carve into the skin around your eyes. You met and grew bored with a couple of men around the place. Watched your best friend grow round with her baby, read books to her bump as she gave you shit for trying to teach a foetus.

You vouched for Tommy when he arrived, scraggly and worn and far less idealistic, making up a lie that you had heard of him from your time in the QZ, of the infamous best-shot-in-Boston, of the man with the perfect aim. You weren’t sure what it was that made it possible for him to stay; your outlandish tales, Maria’s instant attraction, or just the fact that he used to be a contractor before he was in the army, two facts you’d wished you’d known before you’d launched into an implausible and highly emotive treatise for him to stay. You had convinced no one, but Tommy had admired your attempt, and you’d let him crash in your spare bedroom until he got his own place. You watched the way Maria’s eyes followed him when he walked through town. It just so happened that he got his place faster than any other arrival you’d seen.

You had a couple more birthdays, watched the town grow to total self-sufficiency, to house an entire community. You watched the seasons turn from atop Jackson’s walls, your eyes trained on the horizon, thinking of how you were going to try and teach the periodic table in the morning. Thought back to the long grass and the tall trees, of a time when you were alone and travelling without a destination, of a time when you wanted to fade into the air around you, release your atoms back to the universe that created them.

You turned your face to the stars, crisp and clear in the night sky over Jackson. Informed your family they’d need to keep waiting, just a little while. Taglist (let me know if you'd like me to add you) @harriedandharassed

#joel miller x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #tlou fanfiction #joel tlou

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miley1442111 · 4 months

Text

burnt- s.adamu

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two different sydney requests:

i got so excited seeing syd in the new trailer for the bear s3 😭 need something with reader x sydney bc i can’t wait until june 27!! anything you can think of possibly based on some stuff hinted in the trailer would be great :) thank you so much!!

requesting sydney x reader! feel like it’s been so long since ive seen any content with her, especially because we were robbed of even a glimpse of her in that new teaser they released the other day 😭

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a/n: i hope you both enjoy! thank you for requesting!

summary: your girlfriend doesn't take it too well when she finds out you kept your injury from her.

pairing: sydney adamu x fem! berzatto! reader

warnings: reader gets hurt, burned hand, i think that's it?

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Baste, pour, flip, repeat. Baste, pour, flip, repeat. Baste, pour, flip, repeat. God, did Carmen need to yell so loud?

You looked up for a split second, not even- just a fraction of a half-second, and you felt the burn of the boiling duck fat begin to sear your skin. It bubbled the skin on your left hand, leaving it exposed to the heat of the room and making it so much worse.

“Fuck!” you shouted, pulling your hand away from the hot stove and turning it off. You held your hand close to your chest with a pain expression as all eyes handed on you.

“W-what, what happened?” Carmen asked, running over.

“Fuck you,” you said through gritted teeth. “Why do you fucking shout so loud?” You asked your brother. He rolled his eyes and pulled you to the other side of the kitchen and looked down at your hand.

“Oh fuck,” Richie mumbled, joining the huddle you and Carm had made. “You’re going to have to go to the emergency room for that one.”

“No fucking shit jagoff,” you seethed. “I’ll grab my shit and drive myself. Get back to service Carm.”

He stared at you for a second. “You sure?”

“I’m fine,” you nodded and he obliged, pressing a quick kiss to your temple like he used to when you were kids.

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The drive to the ER was agony. Every movement of your hand was like a thousand needles being pushed into the skin and the ice pack Carm had given you wasn’t helping.

You debated calling Syd, but this was her one night off to spend with her dad. You didn’t want to bother her, and you sure as hell didn’t want her to wait with you in the packed ER for the next 3 hours. You decided to just stare at your phone screen and scroll instagram until you were called in.

Ring, ring, ring.

Sydney’s contact jumped up on the screen and your senses were immediately heightened. Had Carm told her? How did she know? Maybe she didn’t know… maybe she was just calling to say that she was going to stay with her dad for the night and that she wouldn’t be home, you didn’t know.

“You got burnt?!” she questioned, concern filling her voice.

“Who told you that?” you asked.

“Who do you think? Carm! Why wasn’t it you who told me?”

“You’re supposed to be with your dad tonight, I didn’t want to be a bother,” you shrugged, hearing your name being called. “Anyways, I have to go I’m being called in, love you-”

“We need to talk about this-”

Beep beep beep.

You hung up.

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After a painful 30 minute talk with a doctor, she told you that you’d be fine in 4 weeks. She bandaged you up and gave you an antibiotic, in case it became infected. Waiting for you outside was Sydney, with a very mad look on her face.

“You should’ve called me,” she sighed, taking your not-injured hand.

“I didn’t want to ruin the one night you had off,” you shrugged, walking out to your car with her beside you. “Plus, it’s not like it’s the first or last time I’ve been burnt, right?”

“Was that supposed to be reassuring?”

“Maybe?” you chuckled. “Look, I’m fine! They bandaged me up and I have antibiotics in case it gets infected, plus I can hold this over Carmy’s head until either of us does something worse.”

“It might get infected?” she questioned and you rolled your eyes.

“Only if I get lazy with changing the bandage,” you sassed back.

“Oh, so you’ll get an infection then, great!” She sighed, getting into the driver’s seat.

“Syd, stop being mean, I’ve been through enough tonight,” you deflated. “Let’s just go home.”

Sydney started the car, driving out of the hospital with your hand in hers.

“I’m sorry, I just worry sometimes…” she muttered.

“It’s alright,” you nodded, then brought her hand up to your mouth, where you kissed it.

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the bear masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

#sydney adamu x reader #sydney adamu #sydney adamu fluff #syd adamu #the bear #the bear fx #carmy berzatto #richie jerimovich #carmen berzatto #the bear fanfiction #the bear fandom

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