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nxtaliaistyping · 2 months ago

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Heyy I love your writing so much!! I was wondering if you'd ever consider writing for Harvey dent/ Two-face?? Maybe something based on what you said about the coin landing on the scarred side and him liking a girl with a softer/pink aesthetic? Thank you so much darling~🩷🎀🩷

Two-Face and his favorite girl

Authors note: There are multiple ways of interpreting the Harvey/Two-Face dichotomy in writing, I went with a more Arkhamverse inspired one. Hope it’s okay sweetheart <3

18+ nsfw, rough sex, degradation, spitting

“You’re too perfect f’us sweetheart.” Harvey mumbles, as his large hands come to rest on your hips.

Being with them both for a while now, you can always tell who’s fronting at any given moment. While the voice was usually a giveaway, Two-Face preferring to almost growl out every little sound that escapes his throat, whereas Harvey just sounds like a deep baritone. But it isn’t just that, it’s the way he looks at you. Which eye twitches when you say something, which side of his mouth curls more when you flirt with him, or wear a revealing outfit.

Much like the one you have on now, the pretty pink babydoll dress barely covering the cute panties you’d slipped on when he’d texted he was coming to visit. Whenever that happened, he usually needed a softer touch, a calming session, or a rough fuck to take the edge off.

“Needed to see you.” He continues, hands groping at the plush of your hips in time with his words.

“Always wanna see you.” You giggle in response, smaller hands coming up to grip his broad shoulders. He groans in response, the tension leaving his body at the slight massage.

Emboldened, you begin to really knead your fingers, although being much softer on his scarred side to avoid any pain or discomfort on his end.

At least he’s letting you touch him there, given the nights where Harvey is in control, his jaw clicking whenever you lean against his scarred side or caress it gently. It makes him feel like a failure, a reminder of who he once was. When he was whole.

But you don’t mind, both of them occupying a space in your heart. So you seek to prove it, kissing up Harvey’s jaw while your hands keep easing the pressure and tension out as best you can.

He relaxes underneath you, and you’re just about to climb onto his lap before his hand starts to twitch, thumb feeling that familiar pocket of his trousers. Noticing, you pull away and look at him, before he groans.

“No…fine.” He mumbles, and you realise he isn’t talking to you.

“You need to toss your coin Harvey?” You ask softly, moving away for a moment to look at his face.

“Need to decide…” he starts, before pulling the coin from his pocket and feeling the weight of it in his fingers. “We both want you in different ways sweetheart.”

Blushing softly, you think you’re starting to understand as you nod. “Do you wanna be more…gentle?”

Harvey nods, hand moving to your thigh to grip the soft flesh. “He wants to fuck you.”

Shivering a little, you can’t deny the appeal of either one as he readies the coin. “It’s okay, whatever happens happens.”

He grunts softly at your words, before flicking the coin up. Watching it skim through the air sets your goosebumps off to claw at your skin, time almost slowing as it begins its decent. Quickly he grabs it, covering it with his palm as you both eagerly anticipate the result. He lifts his hand…only to see the scarred side of the coin staring back at you.

At your catch of breath, his head moves ever so slightly, so much so any other person might not have caught it. But you did. So you stare at him with doe eyes until he speaks.

“Guess I’m the lucky one.” Two-face growls, moving you roughly onto his lap. You squeak, feeling the way he moved you as if you weighed nothing at all.

Immediately he’s kissing and licking up your neck, tugging on your hair to expose more of you to his hungry gaze. His other goes under your dress, feeling the lacy material of your panties before giving a soft slap to your clothed cunt.

“Wearing next to fuckin’ nothing.” His tone almost sounds like he’s mad, but the way his fingers grope and cup your pussy shows you how much he loves it, how much he can’t get enough. “Harvey’s right, you shouldn’t be with us. Far too fuckin’ pretty.”

You whimper, shifting on his lap at the feeling of his digits, before he rips off the material to push two fingers immediately inside. At your gasp, he shushes you and fingers you messily.

“Quit y’whining.”

Nodding as best you can, you try and gain as much pleasure as you can from him prepping you before he decides he’s just too impatient. With a slight huff, he throws you off him and manoeuvres you so you’re bent over the sofa.

You hear the sound of his belt unbuckling, so you go to take your dress off, but oh barely get it past your hips before he grips your wrist harshly. “No no no doll. I didn’t say you could do that.”

Before you can reply, you feel his cock head tapping against your clit, gathering up your slick before pushing in roughly, not giving you time to adjust. At your soft cry, he groans heavily, pulling your arms back to hold before starting to push in and out.

“Look at you, creamin’ around my dick. Wanted me to treat you like a whore all along huh?”

You whimper out a yes in between moans, his cock moving in and out at a brutal pace. Clearly he has a lot of steam to blow off, with you acting like the good stress reliever you are for him.

“Our pretty fuckin’ girl, always so dolled up for us. Bet you thought about this while putting on that short fuckin’ dress huh?” He grunts out, feeling the tightness of your walls wrapped around him.

“Yes…yes.” Is all you can say, your knuckles almost turning white from how hard you’re gripping the back of the sofa. Each thrust causes it to creak a little under your combined weight.

“Gonna corrupt your sweet ass for all of Gotham to see.”

His hand yanks your head back, gazing down on your sweet face, the mascara adorning your pretty eyelashes and the lip gloss on your kissable mouth. In that moment, all he wants to do is just ruin you. So he isn’t even surprised at himself when he spits on your cheek. And he certainly isn’t surprised when you moan like a paid whore.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl.” He grins, hips snapping against yours.

Feeling the spit drying on your face, you go to wipe it before he does it for you, rubbing it into your cheek and lips, smearing your lip gloss. The sight makes his cock throb inside of you, especially with how pretty those ruined lips look when he pushes his thumb between them.

You suck the digit and moan like it’s his dick, wanting to please him even now. He loves that about you, they both do. How eager you always are, how that innocent princess look hides such a depraved mind beneath.

Eventually, your cunt throbs with the sign of your impending orgasm, your fingers rubbing tight circles on your clit. Before you can alert him, the grip on your hair tightens to an almost painful degree.

“Gonna cum? Gonna cum at me fuckin’ you like a slut I picked up in the Bowery?”

At your desperate sobs of please and yes, he has the audacity to laugh at you before grunting out his permission. After a couple of deadly thrusts against your g spot, you’re cumming hard around him, whimpering pathetically.

But he isn’t done, no no he doesn’t even slow down. He keeps railing you, pushing as deep as he can into your cunt before ripping himself out and repeating. Your juices make a sinful noise with each thrust, the squelching reaching your ears and causing a burning flush to spread over your cheeks.

After what feels like a lifetime, he buries himself deep and cums, unloading the stress of the day practically straight into your womb. A guttural moan rips from his mouth, as he collapses onto you for a moment, coming down from the intensity.

"Good girl..." Two-face mumbles, and you bask in the rare praise from him as you keep laying boneless against the sofa. "Might have ruined your dress though dollface. Gotta get a new one."

#dc #dc smut #twoface #two face #two face x reader #two face smut #twoface x reader #harvey dent #harvey dent x reader #harvey dent smut #villain kink #smut #villain smut #harvey dent x you #harvey dent dc #smut writing #dc x reader #batrogues #arkhamverse

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ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey · 4 months ago

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How about jealous Ginny for a prompt? I mean there are plenty of jealous Harry stories but for once I want to need to see a jealous Ginny! Loved the overprotective Harry btw❤️🩷

They - quite literally - run into her at the Leaky Cauldron.

Ginny was walking backward, grinning wickedly at Harry as she tried to surmise just how many photographers would swarm Diagon Alley once word had spread that he was there, while Harry continued to argue he should at least be allowed to don the Invisibility Cloak.

“No, no, I’ll look insane talking to myself all day. You’ve got to face society, sometime, Potter,” Ginny was saying. “Some would say it’s your responsibility, no your duty to–”

“--my duty?”

“--to spend the day dodging photographers for your girlfriend. Isn’t that your whole deal? Self-sacrificing, hero–”

“Rita Skeeter is worse than Voldemort.”

It was precisely the moment when Ginny let out a loud, unattractive Ha! that her back came into contact with a person turning away from the bar. It’s all a bit of a flurry for a few moments - a folder of papers flutters to the floor, Ginny stumbles and corrects herself with an “Oh Merlin I’m so sorry,” Harry jolts forward helplessly as though to catch… something.

Ginny turns to apologize more earnestly, when she realizes that she knows the person she’s just crashed into.

“--I’m such an idiot, are you– Oh! Cho!”

“Er, hi,” Cho Chang says, a bit ruefully. “It’s good to – oh, no, don’t worry, I can–”

Cho flaps her hands uselessly, for Harry has bent over to pick up the papers Ginny had knocked to the floor.

“Here,” Harry says, stuffing the papers haphazardly back into the folder and thrusting it out toward Cho.

“Thanks,” Cho says, and then a horribly awkward silence swallows them all.

Ginny struggles for anything to say. The only idiotic thing she can think to say is - You look pretty - because Cho does. Her silky black hair is swept up into some elegant looking chignon, and it’s clear she’s done up her makeup a bit more than usual. She’s wearing smart robes that are fitted elegantly, and her soft-pink nails are perfectly shaped.

“Are you two off to Diagon Alley?” Cho says, with an air of desperation to fill the silence.

“Yes,” Ginny says, latching on to the subject like a life raft.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “Picking up school things for Ginny.”

“Oh!” Cho says, turning to Ginny in surprise. “Do you have another year of school left, then?”

The question, in conjunction with Cho’s very grown-up elegance, leaves Ginny feeling particularly infantile and irritable; their two-year age-gap seems suddenly to span decades. “Yep,” Ginny says, a note of petulance creeping into her tone. “Finishing up my NEWTs.”

“Good for you!” Cho says, in a way that manages not to sound patronizing, even though Ginny's certain it is. “I don’t know if I could go back to school, after every–”

Harry, shooting an alarmed glance at Ginny’s expression, interjects. “Did you do some shopping today, as well?”

“Oh! Er, no. No I… I just finished up a job interview, actually, in one of the back rooms here.”

“Did you?” Harry says, raising his eyebrows. “Nice. Hope it went well.”

“Me too,” Cho says, looking at Harry a bit shyly, now. Ginny narrows her eyes. “Actually, I’m glad I ran into you. The job - it’s in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

“Really?” Harry says, and he sounds genuinely interested now. “What role?”

“Oh, something administrative. I’m not very interested in field work, I’d much rather be working on the policy side of things, but – well, I’d actually wanted to thank you. Everything was so in flux after—well, in May, and I never got a chance to–”

“Thank me?” Harry says, sounding baffled. “You don’t–”

“I do,” Cho insists prettily, wringing her hands prettily, sounding pretty. “You were so brave, what you did. Facing him. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you– And honestly, I wouldn’t even have had a chance at this job if it weren’t for the DA. I think they only interviewed me because I mentioned I’d been a part of it–”

“Really,” Harry says awkwardly, “it’s nothing, you don’t need to–”

“It’s isn’t nothing, at all!” Cho says emphatically, tucking a silky strand of her hair behind her ear. “You’ve made such a difference for everyone and I’ve been wanting to tell you but I–”

“Don’t be modest, Harry,” Ginny interjects hotly. Cho’s gushing so much they all might drown in it. In fact, Ginny wouldn’t mind all that much if Cho did.

Harry shoots her a wary look, and then turns back to Cho. “That’s, er, really nice of you to say.”

“I mean it,” Cho says. “I heard you’ve joined the Aurors, is that true?”

“Er, yeah–” Harry says, ruffling his hair anxiously. It strikes Ginny then, as it so often does, that Harry is quite good-looking, now. Not that he hadn’t been, before, but months of regular eating and living out from under the thumb of the threat of constant death has been good to him - go figure. He’s filled out and bought clothes that fit and Ginny’s very much enjoyed it all until this moment, when it strikes her that he could stand to be a bit less handsome, all piercing eyes and messy hair and wry smirks directed at Cho bloody Chang. “I have.”

“I knew you would,” Cho says, like she’s some insider expert on Harry’s tendencies. “We’ll be in the same office, then, if I get this job!”

“Oh!” Harry says, coming up short. “That’s—” he shoots a glance at Ginny. “That’s great.”

“That’s wonderful,” Ginny says in a passable impression of earnestness that she’s positive does not fool Harry. “Really, really, wonderful.”

Cho looks at Ginny as though she’s only just remembered that she’s there. “Yes, well. Are you still interested in doing the Quidditch thing, Ginny?” Cho asks.

“Oh, who knows?” Ginny says brightly. “Maybe I’ll do the Quidditch thing, or maybe I’ll go be an Auror too. It’ll be a regular party, the three of us.”

Cho’s smile falters a bit. “Yes, that would be lovely.”

“Lovely,” Ginny agrees. “Just lovely.”

Harry coughs, and then they’re plunged into a miserable silence once more.

“Well,” Ginny says heartily. “We’ve got to get a move on. Those photographers won’t dodge themselves, you know.”

“Oh, of course,” Cho says. “Well, it was lovely to see you both.”

“Lovely,” Ginny agrees.

“Yeah,” Harry says.

“Best of luck at school, Ginny,” Cho says, and Ginny hates that she sounds like she means it. “And maybe I’ll be seeing you in the office, Harry.”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry chuckles, “Maybe! Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Cho says, and then she gives them an awkward wave and departs.

Once the door has closed with a jingle of the bell above it, Ginny turns to Harry, her eyebrows raised.

“Ginny…” Harry says with trepidation.

“Looks like you’ve got a new office best mate!” Ginny says with supreme sarcasm. “I’ll tell Ron he’s been usurped, he’ll cry for a bit but I’m sure he’ll manage–”

“She might not even get the job–”

“Oh, no. She will. I mean, she name-dropped you and the DA, that’s sure to give her a leg up, never mind that she wasn’t even at school last year with the worst of it, never mind the whole thing disbanded because of her stupid friend–”

“I don’t think that’s what she–”

“I’m just so glad that while I go months without seeing you, you’ll get to pal around with Cho Chang, I was so worried that you’d get lonely without me, but now–”

“Ginny,” Harry says with an awkward laugh. “Come on, you know that’s not how it is.”

“She can go on thanking you for what a bloody hero you are,” Ginny continues. “I don’t think anyone’s told you that in about five minutes, so it’ll be good to get a nice top up from her when you’re feeling down.”

“Well, sure,” Harry joins in. “You know I can’t go more than six without being reminded.”

Ginny pats his chest. “So brave. There. Do you think that’ll last you until we get to the book shop?”

“I might need a quick round of applause in the apothecary.”

Ginny snorts. “Oh, come on, then,” Ginny says. “Maybe we’ll run into Fleur’s little sister, too, if we’re really lucky.”

They make their way through the brick entrance to Diagon Alley - a far cry from the days of the war, the street is bustling and busy once more. They take a circuitous route to Flourish and Blotts, taking care to walk quickly so that not too many people take notice that Harry Potter is in their midst, and because Ginny cannot bear the sight of her brothers’ joke shop, once alive and bustling and colorful and loud, boarded up and quiet. It’s a bit too on the nose.

They make it nearly to the front door of the book shop before Ginny can’t take it anymore. “Did you hear the way she asked if I was doing ‘the Quidditch thing’?” she snarls, halting them just outside the door. “Like it was some cute little hobby, never mind that she was a Seeker too. Not a very good one, mind, but still!”

Harry has the gall to look faintly amused as he pulls her off to the small alleyway next to the shop. “I’m sure that’s not what she meant. Professional Quidditch is really difficult, she knows–”

“Oh you’re sure, are you?” Ginny spits, rolling her eyes. “Just like she just knew you’d become an Auror? Someone alert Professor Trelawney, we’ve got another Seer on our hands. No one without a powerful Inner Eye could’ve possibly predicted that–”

Harry grins and shakes his head. “You do know I’m not thrilled about this either, don’t you?”

“I can’t imagine why,” Ginny rants. “It’s perfect, your girlfriend will pop off to Scotland and you can hang round with your ex instead!”

“My ex?” Harry says, an eyebrow raised. “We went on one date when I was fifteen and it was terrible.”

“Oh that’s only because you were both traumatized,” Ginny says airily. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled at the chance to reconnect now that you’re both older–”

“Ginny,” Harry says, the amusement replaced with something firm. “You’re not really worried about this, are you?”

Ginny can’t look him in the eye. She’s so irritated, so bothered, that it takes her a moment - she wants to say yes of course I’m worried, did you see how annoyingly pretty she was and the way she looked at you - but she doesn’t. Because it’s not true, not really. As she’s tried to rebuild in the rubble after the war, Harry’s been the one thing she’s sure of through all of it, and she reckons he feels the same. No, she knows he does. She knows he’s not interested in doing anything with Cho Chang.

Ginny takes a deep, calming breath, and meets his eyes. “I just really fucking hate that she might get to see you every day and I–” her voice catches.

Harry pulls her in and gives her one of those hugs that seems to calm every cell in her body, like he might be able to shield her from everything bad in the world. She can’t believe that in two weeks, this is a comfort she won’t have, anymore, reduced instead to stolen moments at Hogsmeade weekends and words scribbled in letters.

“I really fucking hate it, too.”

Ginny burrows her head deeper into his chest, and breathes in the woody smell of him. Finally, she says. “You were right, you know. I can admit it.”

“What?”

She pulls back and looks at him. “I really should’ve let you wear that damn Invisibility Cloak.”

#hinny #missing dh moment #jealous!Ginny

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archivequinn · 1 month ago

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I loved your breaking up angst fic! Can I request an angst with a happy ending fic.

Eddie and Reader get into an argument and he does a really sweet gesture to make up for it.

I love your fics and always look forward to reading them when they pop up on my dashboard 🥰

Hello lovely! I hope your day is going very well. Your kind words make me very happy and I'm glad you like my fic. I wish I was able to write a fic like you wanted and I hope you enjoy reading it. I look forward to your comments. 🩷

Summary: Eddie forgets about your anniversary and makes up the night for you after you argue with him. angst to happy ending, fluff.

credit for dividers: @saradika-graphics

While waiting for Eddie to come home, you excitedly rolled up your sleeves to prepare for a day that would make him feel how special it was to you. Since the morning, there had been only one thought on your mind: celebrating your anniversary perfectly. You decided to prepare everything with both great care and love to make it flawless.

First, you headed to the kitchen. You thought about Eddie's favorite dishes: maybe the creamy pasta he's loved since childhood, or that amazing dessert you both recently discovered together. You took out the ingredients from the fridge and carefully began the preparations. As the clinking sounds of pots and pans filled the kitchen, you imagined how the evening would unfold. Once the food was ready, you elegantly plated it—creating a meal Eddie could never say no to.

Afterward, you moved on to setting the dinner table. You chose a soft champagne-colored tablecloth, something both romantic and elegant. On top, you placed tall white candles. When the idea of decorating the candles with red rose petals crossed your mind, a sweet sparkle lit up in your eyes. Once the petals were scattered across the table, it transformed into a work of art. The plates and silverware were meticulously arranged—every detail thoughtfully designed so Eddie would notice how much effort you'd put into this.

Next, it was time to get yourself ready. You picked that stunning dress—the one you were sure Eddie couldn't take his eyes off of every time he saw you wearing it. A long, elegant gown... perhaps black satin or one with lace details in a deep burgundy—whatever you chose, you felt incredible in it. As the dress brushed lightly against the floor, you twirled in front of the mirror and smiled at your reflection.

You began applying your makeup. A subtle eyeliner to highlight your eyes, a warm pink blush on your cheeks, and that favorite lipstick you loved. Once your makeup was finished, the mirror didn't just reflect your image; it showed someone who would absolutely take Eddie’s breath away. You styled your hair the way Eddie always adored: maybe natural waves or an elegant updo—whichever you chose, you felt absolutely beautiful at that moment.

For the background music, you put on the playlist you and Eddie had created together. Your favorite songs as a couple brought back happy memories one by one. The metal riffs resonated with the energy Eddie always brought whenever he picked up his guitar. But the playlist also had one or two slow, romantic songs Eddie had sneakily added as a surprise for you. Remembering how Eddie had thought of you while making this playlist brought an uncontrollable smile to your face.

When everything was finally ready, you gave the living room one last glance. The table glowed in the candlelight, soft music played in the background, and the delicious aroma of food filled the air. And of course, there was you—prepared and brimming with excitement for this special moment. Thinking about the expression on Eddie’s face as he walked through the door helped calm your nerves just a little.

The hours ticked by, and Eddie’s arrival was drawing closer. Everything was set, and now all that was left was to wait for him. Before greeting him, you took a few deep breaths and checked your reflection in the mirror one last time. Tonight had to be unforgettable.

Hours had passed. At first, you eagerly waited for the moment Eddie would walk through the door, but over time, anticipation slowly turned into despair. You had meticulously prepared the meal, elegantly decorated the table, and considered every detail, yet Eddie was nowhere to be found. Your phone remained silent; no messages, no explanations. It silently tore at you.

Initially, you tried to console yourself. "Maybe he’s stuck in traffic," you thought. "Maybe work ran late, but he’ll definitely come." However, as the hours dragged on, disappointment began to set in. You were hungry but kept waiting for Eddie. You didn’t know how much longer you could hold out. Finally, letting go of your dream of sitting down and sharing the meal with him, you reached for the food on the table. The first bite felt like a lump stuck in your throat; this was a meal you were eating alone. The candles in the center of the table were still burning, but instead of a romantic ambiance, the flickering light filled the room with a melancholy loneliness.

When the meal was over, your hand reached for the wine bottle. "I’ll have a glass or two; it’ll help me relax," you thought. With the first sip, memories of clinking glasses with Eddie flashed before your eyes. Glass after glass, the wine bottle on the table was soon halfway empty.

The makeup on your face started to feel like a burden weighing on you. You hurried to the mirror and wiped it off. Staring at your bare face in the mirror, you noticed the disappointment etched into your eyes. The hair you had styled so carefully just hours ago was now disheveled, and your spirit was completely drained.

Now, you sat alone at the head of the table. Your eyes grew heavy with fatigue, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to give up waiting. "Maybe the door will open any moment now," you thought. Resting your head on the table, everything began to blur like a dream under the dim, flickering candlelight. The wine’s slight haze made your eyelids grow heavier.

At that moment, the lock on the door turned. Eddie stepped inside with his key, noticing the smell of wine that filled the room and the candles nearly burned out. As he took a step into the room, he saw the remains of the meal on the table, the wine bottle nearly empty, and you, with your head resting on the table, dozing off. His eyes scanned the details on the table in surprise: the elegant arrangement, the rose petals, the half-melted candles, and you sitting there in silence. Eddie’s expression changed rapidly—surprise, guilt, and a hint of panic flickered across his face.

He stepped quietly, trying not to disturb you, and approached you cautiously. "Sweetheart…?" he called softly, but as he saw your eyes fluttering open, he crouched down beside your chair. "What happened here? Are you… are you okay?" he asked, looking at you with concern.

You brought your hands to your face and groaned lightly, still groggy from sleep. For a brief moment, Eddie’s puzzled expression mingled with your own. But as the depth of your sadness and disappointment resurfaced in your mind, you let out a deep, sorrowful breath. "Why were you so late?" you murmured, your voice slightly cracked, tinged with a trace of reproach.

Eddie’s face grew more serious. "I’m sorry… work ran late, and I lost track of time," he explained, raising his hands in helplessness. "But… what’s all this? The table? The candles? What’s it for?"

Seeing how unaware he was only amplified the depth of your disappointment. You fixed your eyes on him, but for a while, no words came out. Eddie could sense that there was a storm brewing beneath your silence. "What’s wrong? Please, tell me," he said, more insistently this time, but still in a gentle tone.

Finally, you took a deep breath and spoke the truth. "Today was our anniversary, Eddie," you said, the words feeling as if they were stuck in your throat. "And you forgot." Your voice was calm, but the hurt it carried was enough to devastate Eddie. His eyes widened, his hands trembled for a moment, and deep regret etched itself onto his face.

“Oh… no,” he whispered, rubbing his forehead with one hand. When he raised his eyes from the table back to you, it seemed as though he finally understood all your preparations, your effort, and ultimately, your broken heart.

"Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I forgot… no, how could I forget something like this?" he muttered, his voice cracking. But you turned your head away, avoiding his gaze.

Eddie stood before you, his face filled with remorse. Meanwhile, you avoided his eyes with a look that was both hurt and a little angry. You glanced briefly at the melted candles on the table, the empty wine bottle, and the darkened plates, then turned back to Eddie. As you tried to suppress your disappointment, his guilt-ridden expression only hurt you more.

"How could you forget something like this, Eddie?" you said, your tone now unrestrained in its hurt. "I mean… our anniversary… It was something special. And you..." You had done everything for him, planned the entire evening, but he… he had forgotten. This reality made you feel worthless.

Eddie took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair as if trying to straighten his thoughts. "I know, you’re right. But work has been so busy, and I lost track of time. I could have called, yes. But—" he began, but you raised a hand to stop him.

"You lost track of time?" you snapped, your brows furrowed. "I planned the entire day, hour by hour. I set up the table, cooked the food, played your favorite playlist. But what did you do? You just showed up late. You didn’t even call to let me know." Tears began to well up in your eyes, but you didn’t want to appear weak in front of Eddie. So, you quickly wiped them away and took a deep breath.

Eddie spread his hands, his voice filled with regret but also tinged with helplessness. "Sweetheart, I didn’t realize how important this was. If I had known—"

"If you had known?" you interjected, your voice rising. Eddie, with his usual calm demeanor, tried to absorb your anger, but that only made you more furious. "Eddie, this is our anniversary! How many times did we talk about it? How many times did you say, ‘Let’s go all out this year’? And what happened?" By the time you finished your sentence, you were nearly out of breath.

Eddie lowered his head, his gaze falling to the floor. It was a gesture he always made when he felt guilty. But instead of calming you, it only fueled your frustration. "Yes, I forgot," he finally said, his tone quiet and subdued. "And it’s entirely my fault. But… please, try to understand. Work… my mind has been all over the place. There’s just been so much going on..."

"There’s always an excuse, isn’t there?" you said, getting up abruptly and pacing around the table. Eddie flinched slightly at your movement. "Eddie, just one day, just a few hours—was it so hard for me to be your top priority? Was it so impossible to set your work aside and put me first?"

Eddie’s eyes softened as he heard the slight tremor in your voice, but you were too angry to notice just yet. "I… I let you down, I know. But I don’t want to make you feel unimportant. Because to me, you’re… everything," he said. However, his words weren’t enough to soothe you in that moment.

"Yes, Eddie, and the person you call your 'everything' was left alone on an anniversary," you retorted. "How ironic, isn’t it?" Your eyes filled with tears again, but this time, you chose to stay silent, not wanting to say anything you might regret. You sat back down and moved away from Eddie as he tried to reach for you.

Eddie took a deep breath and nodded slightly. "Look, you’re right. You’re completely right. But please, give me a chance. I’ll make it up to you tonight. Just hear me out."

Eddie stepped closer. "I’ll do whatever it takes. I can’t stand seeing you this upset," he said, placing his hands gently near yours.

In that moment, beneath your hurt, you still felt the love you had for Eddie. But you weren’t ready to show it to him just yet. "Let’s see what you’ll do, Eddie Munson," you murmured. "It’s going to take a real miracle to make up for tonight."

Eddie tried to smile, but the guilt was still evident on his face. "I’ll make that miracle happen," he said with determination.

He paused for a moment, and a familiar mischievous smile appeared on his face. As you raised an eyebrow and looked at him skeptically, Eddie had already started heading toward the kitchen.

"Eddie, what are you doing?" you asked, following after him. But he was already in the middle of the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets and opening and closing the fridge. When you saw a plate of chocolate, some flour, and milk on the counter, your eyebrows arched even higher.

"I’m going to make something for you with my own hands. How about some chocolate pancakes?" he said, a hopeful expression in his eyes. You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest. "Chocolate pancakes at midnight? Eddie, seriously?"

"Yes, seriously. I’ll do whatever it takes to bring your smile back," he said as he started organizing the kitchen like a professional chef. You watched him, trying to keep the serious expression on your face, but Eddie’s clumsiness was mildly amusing. When a bit of flour ended up in his hair, you struggled to suppress a small smile.

As Eddie mixed the ingredients, your playlist continued playing in the background. When one of your favorite songs came on, Eddie stopped stirring and turned to you. "Okay, wait, isn’t this our song?" he said excitedly, extending a hand toward you.

"What are you doing, Eddie?" you asked, trying to maintain your stern expression.

"There’s a way to make this better," he said, taking your hand. "Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, my lady? Let’s make the rest of this night a little brighter." "Eddie, weren’t you making pancakes?" you asked, but he had already pulled you into the middle of the kitchen. As the song continued to play, Eddie’s warm hands found their way around your waist. "A quick break, then the pancakes will be ready," he whispered, spinning you gently.

At first, you hesitated, but you couldn’t resist the affectionate look on Eddie’s face. Even the creaking sound of the old wooden floor beneath your feet as you moved to the rhythm somehow became endearing. "You can’t win me over that easily," you murmured, but the way Eddie held you close softened your heart.

As the final notes of the song played, Eddie rested his forehead against yours. In his eyes, you saw a mix of regret and love. "I’ll do better for you. I promise," he said softly.

In that moment, you felt that Eddie was truly trying, that he genuinely wanted to make things right. The anger within you started to melt away, though you weren’t ready to forgive him just yet. "If the pancakes are good, maybe I’ll consider it," you said with a small smile. Eddie immediately dashed back to the kitchen, grabbing the mixing bowl.

Five minutes later, Eddie returned to the table with a plate in hand. The pancakes weren’t exactly masterpieces—they were a bit uneven and slightly overcooked—but the chocolate sauce he had drizzled on top made them look sweet enough. As you sat down, you took the fork he offered you.

"This is the best I can do for now, but next time, I’ll whip up something worthy of a pastry chef. Promise," he said, watching intently as you took your first bite. Eddie’s eyes stayed on you, his expression a mix of nervousness and hope.

"They’re not bad," you said, taking another bite. Eddie exhaled deeply and burst out laughing. "Not bad? That’s the highest compliment I’ve ever received!"

As you chuckled lightly, Eddie walked around the table to sit beside you. "Seeing you smile like this… it’s worth the world to me," he said, taking a bite of his own pancake.

The night began to feel normal again. When Eddie offered his hand, you hesitated at first but then took it with a faint smile. "Eddie, you really are the most stubborn and sweetest man in the world, you know that, don’t you?" you said. Eddie winked and pulled you back toward the living room.

Another song started playing from the playlist in the background—this one from the first night you two had danced together. Eddie gave you his signature mischievous look and gently pulled you closer.

"This song," he whispered, "reminds me of you. Every time I hear it, I think of that first night on the dance floor. You, in that red dress… and me, with too much hairspray and maybe a little drunk…"

You chuckled softly at his words. “Don’t be so hard on yourself; you were amazing that night,” you said. Eddie spun you gently and pulled you back into his arms, his eyes locked on yours.

“Every night is amazing if it ends with you,” he added.

As you danced, Eddie’s hands moved from your waist to your back, drawing you closer to him. The intimacy of the moment slowly erased the tension left by your earlier argument. Near the end of the song, Eddie twirled you one last time but, instead of ending the dance, he did something unexpected: he took your hands and started leading you toward the front door.

“Eddie, where are we going?” you asked, your voice laced with both surprise and curiosity.

“Surprise,” was all he said, that familiar mischievous glint lighting up his eyes. Before you could press him for more answers, he grabbed your coat and handed it to you, grabbing his own jacket before opening the door.

The cold night air brushed against your face, making you instinctively move closer to Eddie for warmth. “Seriously, Eddie, where are we going at midnight?” you asked again. He just smiled, guiding you toward his van.

Soon, you were driving down a quiet road leading out of Hawkins. Eddie kept glancing at you with a playful smile, his hand occasionally tapping the steering wheel in time with the music. He’d restarted the playlist, making sure one of your favorite songs was playing to fill the silence.

Finally, he stopped the van near a small hillside. From there, the lights of Hawkins twinkled faintly in the distance like scattered stars. Eddie hopped out of the van, pulling a blanket from the back. Then, coming around to your side, he opened your door and held out his hand.

“This place…” you began, but Eddie interrupted immediately.

“Just wait, okay? Everything’s almost ready.” He spread the blanket on the ground and guided you to sit on it before returning to the van to grab a thermos and some snacks. Sitting down beside you, he handed you the thermos and gestured toward the view of the town below.

“So, this might not be a grand anniversary gift,” he said, a touch of nervousness in his voice. “But this place is special to me because, no matter how much I want to get out of this town, there’s always one thing keeping me here. You. And I might have forgotten about tonight, but I could never forget you.”

His words made your eyes glisten with unshed tears. As always, Eddie’s sweet and heartfelt way of expressing himself struck a chord deep within you.

“And also,” he continued, pulling a small box from his back pocket, “I thought this might help make up for it. It’s small, but it’s meaningful. I actually got it a while ago…”

When he opened the box, inside was a necklace that was unmistakably Eddie’s style. The chain was delicate but stylish, with a small guitar charm hanging from it.

“This represents us,” Eddie said as he carefully fastened the necklace around your neck. “Every note is you and me.”

Your eyes shifted from the necklace to Eddie. “You’re really going all out to make up for this, aren’t you?” you said with a smile.

Eddie nodded and whispered, “Because you’re worth it.” Under the lights of Hawkins, you stood beside Eddie, and the argument had melted into a warm harmony. “I think I can forgive you,” you finally said, resting your head on Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie pulled you into a tight hug and chuckled softly. “I knew it.” The night ended under the stars, wrapped in the warmth of the blanket and the peace Eddie brought to your heart.

taglist: @t-folklore13 @nicholaschavezslut69 @multyfangirl

#eddie munson #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fics #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #angst to fluff #angst to comfort

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unsuredreamer · 5 months ago

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Your Heart pt 2

Bridget Hearts 🩷 x fem! reader

Half of it is in the present, making Bridget an adult, but i decided to use Queen of Hearts for her older cruel version

Also, I wrote it overnight, so it might not be that good. Bear with me 😭

"Hey B...you have to eat. Please eat this for me" Ella passed her friend a sandwich, a simple peanut butter-jelly sandwich, with the crust cut off in the shape of a heart. Bridget loved heart-shaped things. It was her signature, her favorite shape, her favorite word, her favorite thing -scratch that- it was not her favorite thing , nor would it be when you existed.

She loved raspberry jam. The sweet yet tart flavor, which reminds her of summer sunshine - bright, vibrant, and refreshing. The fruit possesses a delicate, ephemeral quality that makes it delightful and memorable for the senses. You loved raspberries and she loved how you talked about how 'they are better than strawberries because every raspberry tastes delightful and you'd have to pick a good enough strawberry for it to taste even remotely as good as the one and only fruit'

Now, she feels physically sick at the thought of even looking at the pink colored fruit.

"Come on, my heart, I'm going to teach you how to swim today. I promise not to let go of you ever, okay?" Your bright smile lit up her world as you guided her through the maze of the forest. It was an ordinarily hot day in Auradon, the tree crowns pleasuring you with shadows as the colder than usual water refreshed your bodies.

She loved your Thursday picnics on the hills. With your special pbj's and her basket of pastries. It was sweet as usual,

Why Thursday? She felt bad that no one liked this day of the week, the constantly forgotten day that no one really plans anything for it. Friday's better, and Wednesday is the middle of the week. So you made it your mission to make this day the best of all after seeing her sulking one day about it.

You'd sit and just talk for hours in the sun. Far away enough from your favorite tree for it to not be shielding you from the sunbeams. Her head on your lap, with your hand tangled in her pink locks as you dreamily described every possible shape you could see while looking at the clouds. Her eyes averted from you to the landscape every now and then. It was perfect. The warmth of the biggest star shining on your faces, colliding with the chilly breeze grazing your skin, it was a wonderful mix.

"What are you thinking about, my heart?"

The phrase rolling off your tongue just like a melody, Her name said by you engraved in her memory for good.

"Nothing, really. I'm just enjoying the moment with you. It means a lot"

It truly did mean a lot. A feeling nothing would ever top. The calmness she felt and relief while being with you. You were like an oasis on the desert. A huge blanket she jumped under after a long day. And a warm shower after a heavy, freezing rainstorm. The love bursting from you just made her wish she was the one loved by you forever. She wanted to be the only one your eyes lit upon seeing. Seeking every ounce of touch from you.

The sight of your unconscious body made Bridget shiver and freeze. She fell, her weak knees hitting the blood-stained ground. The once beautiful, white pebbles, turning maroon as the red liquid pooled out of the corpse.

Her hand reaching for yours only for it to vanish into thin air.

"Bridget?" worried Ella placed her hand over her best friends shoulder. "I will leave it here, okay? please eat, i will be back as soon as i can, promise." She placed the sandwich on the bedside table, grabbing all the untouched food she had brought previously. Walking out of the room, she was met with nothing but silence. Not even a hum from the very hurt and broken princess.

A dead body with a spear shot right through the heart. Hazed eyes and this defeated expression, staring longingly into the distance. The white button-up shirt peppered in small hearts growing more and more burgundy.

Ella felt terrible. She couldn't help her friend even if she wanted to. All she could do was to be there and comfort her. At the same time not being able to throw those awful memories of this day from her own head. Watching her bubbly and full of life platonic soulmate completely shut off and become a ghost of a person was truly painful. Those excruciating sobs she tried to cover up so badly at night hurt her heart to the point she herself tried not to let out a waterfall of tears.

"She will be back! I can feel it! I'm not crazy I swear!" Those broken attempts of yells mixed with cries of helpfulness.

Bridget didn't even try to. She only did so in case to not wake other students up. Her burning chest could not let her sleep. Even if she did have some rest, you visiting her in her dreams would only strengthen the feeling. She felt you faltering away from her. She began to forget the sound of your voice and the way you laughed. She could not possibly, she has to remember every single detail of you.

The gut-wrenching pinning in her lungs made her unable to breathe. All she did was lay under her covers, trying to feel the warmth your hands delivered every time you placed them on her body. Delicately on her waist, harshly on her shoulder, gently grabbing her fists, trying to stop her from her madness. Placing them on her cheek, trying to steady her breaths after another panic attack she had gotten from her confidence tumbling down like dominoes thanks to her bullies.

She touched herself in chance she gets the same result, the same sense of someone being there for her like you were. But all she got in return was a deathly cold hand on her skin and the imaginary feeling you were still there to hold her. To brush her hair away when it fell so ungracefully on her face upon baking another batch of cupcakes with you, raspberry cupcakes with the hint of white chocolate, Both flavors going excellent with eachother like you and Bridget once did.

She felt your presence, hugging her so close, so firm from behind, wrapping your arms around her body as if saying you're still there, and you always will be.

But you were not. It was a lie she was very aware of dragging herself into. Hurting herself every day with the false presentation of you walking around her room, smiling from ear to ear, blabering about how you'd make another couple happen, about how it was the perfect match. You were her perfect match, and now she's left alone with only half of her heart. A piece of yours was the only thing of you she had left, beside a hoodie you once had given her.

She was going mad. She stayed in it for days and days only for it to not lose your scent she so desperately wished to keep. But even this would falter eventually.

"B, come on, you have to shower. I promise not to wash the hoodie. It'll be waiting for you after you get out"

She lied, she had to wash the hoodie, it lost its charm and the beautiful smell. Ony giving her the illusion it was still there.

Heck, everything was an illusion. Her head was playing tricks, not even the best magicians could. Her heart fell for them miserably, sinking so low that nothing could ever pick it up and place back where it belonged. It belongs to you.

"Mom, Mom? Are you okay?" Worried Red placed her hand on her mothers shoulder. It's been half a year since her and Chloe changed the past. She was getting used to her mother being nicer, more loving. They talked more often, and she felt more comfortable being with her. But it was the first time she had seen her mother in such a state after what she had seen in the past.

The lifeless expression was quickly slapped off the Queens face - replaced by a very gentle smile - upon hearing her daughter speak, her touch sending a wave of shivers throughout her body "Oh yes Red my dear! We should be heading to the family's day dinner now, shall we?"

On the way to Auredon, through the rabbit hole, Red had to keep herself from asking about the woman she so yearned to know more of. She did not want to hurt her mother even more than she already was. It was one thing to lose someone. It was another to lose someone who devoted their whole life to you "I love you, mom,"

The Queen took ahold of her daughters hand smiling lightly, the unexpected words coming out of her mouth made Bridgets chest swell with gratitude "I love you more darling"

"I'm going to say hi to Chloe" Red ran off after giving her mother a side hug. Small gesture, but it made Bridget smile once again.

She loved having her daughter, her little angel. Red was like a small light in her life, someone she grew to care about after all she had been through. She tamed her, just like she used to tame her, the bad thoughts and the voices in her head, the anger and the anxiety.

"Off with his head!" the words echoed through the dining room of the palace.

"But, but Bridget, He is your daughters dad and soon to be ruler of -"

"He's no father to Red, nor will he ever be my husband. I don't need him anymore. Shall I repeat my order?"

She was always bound for this fate. To be this mean, cruel ruler. To go mad. Everyone's mad in Wonderland. It's up to you to decide how mad you're going to be.

But Red was there. To quieten the voices and relieve the pain. She lived for Red, who brought the happiness back into her life. The small bits of it, but nonetheless, she was her greatest accomplishment.

"Bridget!" Her bestfriends voice brought her back from her daydreams. After a very warm hug, she greeted her with yet another smile. Never this bright how it used to be, but still a smile of some kinds.

Her dear husband coming right after her.

The envy she felt forbidding her from sparing even a glance at him.

"We've just been talking with Beast and Belle about the upcoming plans of Mal and Ben, and - how are you B?" Ella stopped after acknowledging her dear best friend, staring at the ground, totally cut off from the world, the old rusty pebbles glistening in the daylight.

"I'm great, Charming, never better!" The pink Queen of Hearts burst out. Was she truly feeling better? Never, only in the comfort of her bed chamber with your blouse tightly clutched in her hands. "You could tell me more about your daughter getting into the advanced fencing group? I heard from Red she's excellent. Oh, and my congratulations on your son finishing up college. It's about time this happened!" she laughed light-heartedly reaching for her necklace, silver necklace with a cherry red glass heart.

Suddenly a crowd of ghasps echoed at the event, terrified royals hang tightly onto their lovers and children upon seeing a human-like posture fly over the sky, loose its every ounce of power left and hit the ground so hard it almost looked like a grenade explosion. As the dirt and small stones fell down, the King stepped up, getting closer to the figure, "Everyone keep calm"

The fallen angel covered was by its huge white wings, resembling those of Icarus, burned down by the sun and worn out presumably from flying too much. The groan it let out was so piercing and full of pain, squeezing every person's heart in sorrow and compassion. Its wings dissappearing in an instant, uncovering a beautiful, goddes-like woman. With wet hair falling imperfectly on her face and her clothes torn apart, loosely hanging off her body. Her bloodied bruised skin mixed with dirt was an excruciating scene to be looking at. Her broken voice let out whimpers and pleads.

"Let's get this creature out of here" Mal, the Queen, ordered, her eyes glowing green upon being alarmed of the potential danger.

"NO!" The Queen of Hearts let out loudly, startling everyone present. Dragging herself closer to the fallen angel, basically running straight to it, she dropped on her knees before her. Bridget's eyes started to water uncontrollably, her heart hammered in her chest as her shaky hand reached out to cup the angels head and place it on her lap. "My love..." she brushed your hair away, smiling from ear to ear. The tears streamed down her face as she finally held you close.

You were there. Alive.

Your eyes fluttered open, your blurred sight coming back to senses "Who are you?" You breathed out upon seeing the pink posture hovering over you "And why do you have my heart?"

#descendants #descendants rise of red #descendants 4 #descendants rise of red x reader #descendants x reader #descendants 4 x reader #descendants the rise of red #disney x reader #disney #bridget of wonderland #bridget x reader #princess bridget #bridget #bridget hearts #bridget descendants #bridget hearts x fem reader #chloe charming #red hearts

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theemporium · 5 months ago

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congrats on 10k cece! truly, so well deserved🫶🏻🫶🏻 yk this celebration reminded me of a funny thing , but i literally just turned legal in my country and I went to a bar with my girls and the bartender said that I look 14 and kept thinking my id was a fake😭🥲🥲

hopefully this experience will be a little sweeter hehe! how abt a nico with "Stop saying things that make me want to kiss the hell out of you." 🩷

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

31. “Stop saying things that make me want to kiss the hell out of you."

“M’comin’, m’comin’! No need to bang the door down.”

He was still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes when the person behind the door knocked for the third time in a row. An annoyed huff left his lips as he shuffled through his apartment, his body heavy and his brain far from fully awake. His hair was still messy and dishevelled, and he had barely remembered to throw on a pair of sweatpants before opening the door, let alone a shirt.

He had half the mind to open the door and bite the other person’s head off for waking him up from his nap.

Nico was only slightly surprised to find you on the other side, a smile on your face and two large bags in your hands.

“Oh,” was all Nico managed to murmur out.

“Sorry, did I wake you up?” You frowned a little, your expression sheepish and apologetic. “I thought it was still early enough for you to be awake.”

“No,” he lied, despite both of you knowing the truth. “S’fine. I didn’t realise you were coming over.”

“Yeah well, I know you,” you said as Nico guided you into his apartment, opening the door a little wider as you wandered in. “And I know you probably haven’t bought any groceries or anything since you got in last night.”

Nico’s cheeks burned pink. “I was gonna get around to it.”

You shot him a look of amusement as you placed the large bags on his kitchen counter. “It’s not much, just some basic groceries. I know jet lag is still probably throwing you off.”

His eyes softened as he wandered in behind you, peeking into the bags to see a variety of fruits and vegetables and other basics packed in them. “Have I ever told you how amazing you are?”

“Every once in a while,” you teased, lightly nudging him with your elbow before you reached into one of the bags. “And I know you are picky with your coffee so I even got that instant coffee from the store in Hoboken instead, since you’re probably going to want to stay up as long as you can to get your sleep schedule back to normal again since coming back from Switzerland.”

Nico just stared at you in awe.

You glanced over at him, your cheeks burning a little when you found him already looking back. “What?”

“Stop saying things that make me want to kiss the hell out of you,” he murmured, his brain still half-asleep and the warm feeling in his chest taking over any logic or control he had over his tongue before he could potentially ruin his friendship with you.

“Well,” you swallowed a little. “I wouldn’t exactly complain.”

“Yeah?” He murmured.

You nodded.

Nico didn’t waste another moment as he leaned down to grab your face, pressing his lips against yours like had been wanting to do for far too long. He sighed happily into the kiss, nudging you back against the counter as you sunk into the kiss.

“Thank you,” he murmured against your lips.

You huffed out a small laugh. “For the kiss or the groceries?”

“Both,” Nico confessed before winding his arms around you and pulling you into a proper hug for the first time since he left for Europe at the start of the off-season.

#cece's cocktail celebration #nico hischier #nhl #new jersey devils #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier x you #nico hischier x y/n #nico hischier fic #nico hischier one shot #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl x y/n #nhl fic #nhl one shot

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the-californicationist · 2 months ago

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Ursa Major: Ch. 01

In honor of WIP Wednesday, I thought I’d share Chapter One of my 100k+ word WIP on Tumblr! It’s your responsibility to check AO3 for tags. Thanks for taking a look ✌️🩷

You stood, transfixed, as you saw two bull elk, locked at their antlers, fighting for territory. The wide nares of their snouts were flared and desperate for air, gasping for a breath that they would never take. The taxidermied animals were perched, caught in a perpetual battle above the baggage claim carousel of Whitehorse International Airport. Their big, furry bodies were poorly reflected in the shining aluminum of the bag ramp, scuffed and scratched from years of loose luggage rattling over its gleaming slats. They looked as if they were poised over some frozen lake, their forms distorted in the gray ice, faces blurred so that the battle was even more gruesome than it seemed, every detail between them hidden by the frozen sheets.

You peered down at your phone, checking through your emails once again. Your package of equipment had arrived at your client’s office, and he’d been nice enough to send a confirmation picture. He was standing in front of a mirrored window, and you finally got to put a face to a name.

Mr. John Price, owner of The 141 Logging Company, had great taste in music. His Arctic Monkeys band tee looked well-worn and long-loved, its logo chipping and faded. He was bundled up in his Carhart coat, holding his phone in a gloved hand, and his pants were practically painted with saw dust. You closed the email. You weren’t sure why you kept pulling it up. It wasn’t like his face was going to get any clearer, and you weren’t really sure why you cared.

Okay, let’s be truthful; you knew why you cared. He was absolutely killing your checklist.

Back in the eighth grade, you had lain on your floor with your best friend Martha. Her braided hair with its hot pink bobbles swayed back and forth as she insisted that you make The Checklist. Otherwise, she’d said, how will you know that you’ve found The One? So, with much convincing, you’d finally caved.

He’d definitely have to love animals. You were going to be a vet one day, and that was a non-negotiable. He’d be sort of hairy. Martha had turned her nose up at that, but you’d seen that movie with Hugh Jackman as Wolverine before, and you refused to budge. He’d also love nature. Martha had protested that you double-dipped since you already had animals, but you insisted. You would never live in a city when you were a grown-up. Never.

And he’d need to have kind eyes. What color? Martha asked. But, you shrugged and said it didn’t matter. You knew, though, that in your heart of hearts, that you’d know them when you saw them. They’d be eyes that lit up the room when he smiled. When he wasn’t smiling, they’d be soft and patient. They’d look at you while you spoke, and the edges of them would fold together when he laughed.

You turned back to the elk. Their eyes, distant and unseeing, shone like onyx marbles. The two animals stared at each other as they experienced their terrible, static afterlife, forced to face their mortality every morning when the sun came in through the windows of the small airport. You wondered how their skin had been stretched to fit over their hollow sculptures; you wondered how much of them was real and how much was just an illusion of reality. Perhaps there were more things like these two beasts in the space that surrounded you. Just how much of this world was truly a façade?

He’d left you some voice messages, preferring to send memos instead of typing to text. It was nothing personal, just dates for meetings and practical matters. But, you found yourself replaying them, indulgently, listening to his unique, British vowels rumble around in a deep, dark register, reminding you of your neighbor who used to smoke. It was a raspy sort of tone, full of softness despite the gravelly texture. You listened to him speak his address in your headphones. Then, you played it again. The way he said Alaska Highway was particularly delightful. You tried to stop, a part of you policing yourself, finding it odd that you were enjoying the voice of a strange man. But, what was the harm?

If you listen to the voice of Master Logger John Price, but you don’t tell anyone, will anyone ever know? If a tree grows in a forest, and it dies there, and all of its pieces rot away, and no one was there to see it, was it truly real?

These elk had been real, you were certain of that. Their hooves had crunched through dry grass and fresh snow. Their antlers had shed and grown back again. Perhaps they had even battled when they were alive, their blood pumping through their huge hearts, stirring their muscles and making them whistle their war cries into the frigid mornings.

That was the thing you liked most about working with animals. They made you feel real. In fact, sometimes they made you feel primal, as if you were with them at the start of all of this.

Before the airports and the electricity and the capitalism there had been quiet, uninterrupted mornings where the biggest news was that one elk had bested the other. You would pick winter berries and watch them posture against each other across the frozen field, unhurried in your work, knowing nothing of time or its passing. Nothing had been obscured then; no bodies were posed carefully for your enjoyment. There was only the animal need to eat and mate and sleep. You reminisced about a life you had never lived.

Just when you thought your backpack might never be delivered, and you too would be frozen here for all eternity, just like these elk, the baggage carousel came alive. All the metal clattered together like the opening tuning of an orchestra. The whining and whirring of the machine spinning awake jolted you back to reality where you waited a little impatiently for your colorful Cotopaxi to come tumbling down the slide.

You checked your phone. The inn you had booked belonged to an old friend of yours, and she had promised to send you the address. You sent her a picture of the elk locked in their ritual.

You: made it to the great white north

She took a few minutes to respond. Your bag was still missing from the chute. You shuffled aside and helped an older gentleman with his insanely heavy case. Then, a soft pop notified you of her reply.

Marie: looking forward to having you here!

She tacked on the address, and you pasted it into your map app. The airport, it seemed, was right next to downtown Whitehorse, but you’d need to take a cab all the way around it via the Alaska highway in order to make the loop. Ten minutes. Short and sweet. You hoped the bed would be serviceable.

It wasn’t like you needed to get comfy. You were here to get in and get out. These logging companies never wanted an eco-specialist to stick around for too long. They could only keep up their angelic act for a short period of time before they went back to ravaging the landscape. People like you would just be in the way of their profits. You wondered if Mr. Price was like the rest of them, or if the kindness you thought you saw was genuine.

You were looking forward to seeing Marie, though. She had been Marie LeBeau back in vet school when you enrolled together in the DMV program at Washington State, but she was married now. You hadn’t updated her contact card, yet. It didn’t really matter. You guessed you’d get to meet the husband on this trip. Apparently, it was his inn, and she just helped him run it. As a small animal vet in a tiny little town, you supposed Marie’s spay and neuter jobs weren’t enough to keep food on the table.

A flash of color popped up in the carousel, and your bag emerged. You hoisted it up by the shoulder strap and marched to the car park. Your work boots made sticky little squeaks against the linoleum floor as you made your way outside. It was warm for the Yukon, even for June, and although there was a chill in the wind, the sun beamed down through the 70 degree weather. By all accounts, it was turning out to be a beautiful day.

Hailing a cab wasn’t too hard when they were all parked there, waiting like fish by a dock, knowing they’d be fed. You picked the first one on the line and showed him the address. Of course, in a small town like this, there were only so many places travelers could go, so he wasn’t too surprised.

The drive was short, and you admired the general splendor of the mountains and the quaint little town as you made your way in. Your driver pulled over, grabbed your bag from the trunk, and patiently waited for you to pull out your cash. He left you his card,

“That way you’ll always have a ride, darlin’.”

“Thanks very much,” you smiled, leaving him a tip.

He returned the smile and drove off, back the way he came. You turned around to face the old inn, feeling the afternoon sun kissing your cheeks and the wind rushing to make them pink. The tips of your hair stung them like needles, biting into your flesh relentlessly. You tugged it back with your scrunchie.

The building looked like it used to be a factory of some kind, and its clay bricks told a story of many years worth of wear and tear. The giant buzzing neon sign out front said WHTHRS. All the vowels were out. You wondered about the odds of that before looking up further at a great stallion, bucking in his bright white neon piping, his hair billowing and yet static, captured in an eternal winnie. His rider was struggling to keep his seat, but his hat was held tightly in his hand, blinking sporadically in the dimming sun.

The inn was situated on the corner of 2nd Avenue and Main Street, so there seemed to be plenty to keep you interested, at least for six or seven days. But, you were eager to get to work. Even in a tiny town like Whitehorse, the bustle of cars and people was a little much. You missed the woods, like a feral cat who had allowed herself to be domesticated, and a part of you still longed to be wild.

“There she is!” You heard Marie’s distinct Southern drawl shout from the doorway to the inn.

You smiled, opening your arms wide for a tight hug, burying your face in her long hair,

“Marie! It’s so good to see you.”

It truly was a relief to be with your friend again. You studied her face. She hadn’t changed a bit even though vet school had been nearly a decade in the past. Her dark hair still had that signature white streak in the front. She’d always blamed it on a birthmark, but it wasn’t until you went on a two week trip down to Costa Rica on a field work assignment that you believed her. It was such an elegant shock of white, it looked like she’d dyed it on purpose.

“How was your flight? Here,” she grabbed your bag, “Give me that. Come in, come in! Logan’s at the bar.”

She popped into the inn, and you followed close behind. Once inside, you took in the mesmerizing transformation of the run-down factory. They had done so much work on the inside, it felt like you had been transported to a different building altogether. The high walls stretched up so far that the golden glow from the lanterns and lamplight couldn’t reach the arched ceiling. The metal I-beams that spanned across the large, open space were imposing; it made you imagine how this place had looked when it had been filled with machines.

To the left of the entrance, Logan’s bar was generously stocked with gleaming glass bottles of liquors and wines as varied as you could imagine. The rich amber liquid of a whiskey bottle swirled around like boiling honey as the bartender poured it out into a waiting glass. The bar was wide and inviting, and the bartop itself was made from one long piece of live edge maple, shiny from sealant, showing off a gorgeous grain.

The bartender, who you assumed was Logan, was scruffy to say the least. He had a bit of a mullet, and his sideburns were serious business. But, he was painfully attractive, and his eyes held within them an animal magnetism. His golden irises didn’t even seem real. When he smiled, your subconscious registered how sharp those bright white teeth of his were, but you smiled back, extending your hand.

“Hey, nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” that sharp smile was back, and his voice slid over you like warm honey, “I’ve heard more about you than I’ve ever heard about anyone, so we can skip this part, if you like.” He laughed good-naturedly, and you could see exactly what Marie liked about him.

“I’ve heard so much about you as well.”

“Make yourself at home. Looks like we’ve got you all set up in the loft.”

You peered up the small wooden staircase toward the loft area, shrouded in darkness due to its height, and you noticed two doors. Logan pointed to them and explained,

“We’re on the left, and you’re on the right. Marie will take you up.”

“You live here?” You turned to Marie in surprise, not realizing their inn was also their home.

“Yeah!” Marie shrugged her shoulders, “It’s easy enough. If we really need a break from the crowd, we’ll stay out in the cabin.”

“Mm,” you raised your eyebrows, teasing her, “Romantic.”

She gave Logan a look that stopped your giggling, surprising you with her candidness,

“You have no idea.”

You followed her up the stairs and deposited your bags in your suite. It had a small bathroom and a kitchenette; everything you would need for your stay. It wasn’t exactly the Ritz, but it would do its duty.

You started to unpack, chatting with Marie and trying to fill in the gaps each other had missed. You’d been on this sort of job three dozen times in the past year, and you were a traveling pro. All your clothes were pretty much the same; wool layers and flannels, waterproof hiking pants and all of your various undergarments. Then, stuffed at the bottom of your pack where he always was: Mr. Claw. Your mom had given him to you, along with some flowers, when you graduated with your DVM, and you didn’t go anywhere without your mini DJUNGELSKOG stuffed bear. You supposed you should feel some sort of shame as an adult woman carrying around an IKEA children’s toy, but you didn’t care. It brought your mom back, just for a moment, and that was all you wanted, sometimes.

After unpacking, you made your way back down to the bar with Marie. You peered over the railing from your high vantage point, admiring the bar’s bustling, homey energy. Then, you spotted him. Your client was talking to Logan. He was much bigger than the barkeep, which you hadn’t really expected from the photo. Aside from his size, he was handsomely made, and just in your taste, too. All of your suspicions about him checking things off of your list were coming true.

He was built with heavy muscles and bone, his posture exuded slick, easy confidence, and his fashion screamed masculinity. His thick, dark hair was cropped short on the sides, and he’d shaved only the chin of his facial hair; it was a unique choice, but it suited him. Even through layers of warm clothes, you could see the outline of mountainous shoulders rolling around in his jacket sleeves. He was also holding a black, full-face helmet by his side, his huge hand tucked into the mask’s hole, clutching it by the plastic jaw. A motorcycle in the Yukon was a brave choice.

Marie’s eyes followed your gaze, and when she realized your fixation, she raised her eyebrows at you,

“Guess you’ll be having fun on this trip, huh?”

“What do you mean?” Your eyes were still watching him. He drank. He talked. You studied it all as if it was your new purpose.

“Aren’t you working on an ecological report for 141 Logging?”

“Yeah,” you finally met her eyes, nodding.

She pointed down the stairs from where you stood in the dark rafters,

“That’s the owner; John Price. C’mon, let me introduce you.”

You wanted to tell her that you knew him already, but that wasn’t quite right. One blurry snapshot and a few replayed voice memos wasn’t truly knowing a person. So, you followed Marie down the stairs, trying to fix your face. You coached yourself to be professional, and as he spotted you, you realized just how hard that was going to be. Those bright blue irises of his hunted you like a hawk, tracking you without moving an inch from the bar, pinning you down handsfree. His eyes were alluringly kind but calculating.

“John,” Marie motioned to you, “Meet your new ecologist… and doctor of veterinary medicine… and professional researcher… and –”

“Hey there, Doc,” he interrupted Marie’s generous introduction, “John.”

His voice was even more decadent in person. People usually wielded your title like a weapon, trying to hurt you with it, or sometimes themselves, but not him. He said it with respect and a hint of amusement. His smile was genuine, if not a little aggressively friendly. You tried to ignore the way his hand slid into yours to shake it, engulfing yours with its immense size, as if his palm could swallow it whole. He lingered on you more than normal. It was as if he was testing you, seeing if you would run from him. You held fast, letting the warmth of his fingers melt into yours, comforting you even though it was the hand of a stranger.

“Nice to meet you in the flesh, John. Looking forward to seeing your land.”

“It’s a little late for a tour, I’m afraid. Thought I’d come down to get you around 0400 tomorrow. Take you to the site with plenty of morning to spare. You said you wanted to lay out your cameras? Got that big shipment up at the office with your name on it.”

He finally released your hand, much to your dismay. How was it that you missed a random man’s touch already? You weren’t usually this easy to please, but (you admitted to yourself with a little shame) it had been quite a while since someone had caught your eye. It was always work. That was what you told yourself. The work won’t hurt you. Do it for the animals. People just cause problems. So, you leaned on your old mantra like a crutch,

“Yeah, they should’ve sent you about a dozen trail cams and the wildlife field kits. If it’s okay with you, I’d just like to check the traffic you’ve got in that area. The report that came in said something about a grizzly hybrid? We’re a little too far south for polars.”

He shrugged, being a little more dismissive than you thought he should have been,

“Just some spooked tourists. Sure it was just a normal grizzly.”

His body language shifted from confidence to a reserved protectiveness, and you could almost taste the tension in the air. You eyed him with suspicion now. You knew that a grolar bear would be a problem for him. They were a protected species, and their discovery on his land would shut down his operation in that sector for good.

“Did they get any footage?” You asked, trying to pry a little further.

“No,” he shrugged and turned away from you a bit, going back to his drink and downing it in one go. Clearly, he was done here. You got the sense he was holding back some information from you, but you weren’t concerned. You had a plan.

“Well,” you tread carefully, “Best for you and your bottom dollar if we make damn sure.”

He smiled, but it didn’t spread wide or reach up into his eyes, and that same aggression was back. White, sharp teeth lay all in a row. You’d thought Logan’s grin was wolfish, but John’s was something even more savage.

He was friendly enough, but you needed to remember that he was there to harvest trees and nothing more. These companies were always in it for the profit. Even a logging venture as highly rated on sustainability as his still needed to sell products. You just didn’t want that poor bear to be caught in the crossfire. If he was out there, you’d find him.

“Alright, Doc. See you in the morning, then. Logan,” John reached across the bar to shake Logan’s hand, took one more long look at you, slid on his helmet, and pushed his way through the double doors.

Whatever John Price was hiding, you were looking forward to finding out.

Logan and Marie convinced you to stick around the bar for a couple of drinks, and you watched them dote on each other. There was no mistaking their love. It was as bright as their neon outside, and buzzing with their own unique joy. You weren’t jealous. Jealousy wasn’t the right word. But, just like having curly hair and seeing someone’s bone-straight locks, unstyled and naturally uniform, you knew there were things that other people had that weren’t for you.

You dismissed yourself, slinking up the stairs to lay in their spare bed, and before you slept, you called your mom.

It rang three times, each with its own infinite silence between their chimes, and then, when she picked up the phone, it clattered a bit, getting stuck as she balanced it between her cheek and her shoulder. You had this next part memorized, and your mom's voice came through, loud and clear.

“Hey… uh, hey! It’s Claire. Couldn’t make it to the phone – I know, shocker! Leave me a message. Uh, okay, bye!”

A deafening beep stung your eardrum. You knew it was coming. It always came. But, you sort of liked it now. The pain was familiar, and at least it was something you could feel.

You reached over to the wall, crossing the chilly expanse of your bed, and turned the radiator up a bit. Snuggling down into the sheets, you clutched Mr. Claw to your chest, wishing with all of your heart that he was real and that you could be buried in his fur, warm and very much not alone.

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starclancy · 2 months ago

Text

~ Sweet As Sugar ~

PAIRING: Fem!Reader/Sanji

CONTENTS: 🩷 - fluff

WORDCOUNT: 482

Request status: Open (PLS PLS PLS)

The scent of something delicious wafted through the Thousand Sunny as you made your way to the galley. You knew Sanji would be there, probably humming to himself while preparing yet another masterpiece for the crew.

Sure enough, when you peeked around the doorway, there he was, dressed in his signature chef’s outfit, sleeves rolled up as he skillfully chopped vegetables. His blonde hair fell into his eyes as he worked, and the faintest trace of a smile lingered on his lips.

“Smells amazing,” you said, leaning against the doorway.

Sanji’s head snapped up at the sound of your voice, and his expression brightened immediately. “Ah, [Y/N]-chan!” he exclaimed, dropping the knife and wiping his hands on his apron. “What brings such a lovely flower to my humble kitchen?”

You rolled your eyes at his dramatic greeting but couldn’t help the warmth that spread through your chest. “I was hoping to steal a taste before dinner. Got anything ready?”

“For you?” he said, placing a hand over his heart as though your request had been a divine blessing. “Anything.”

Sanji moved with practiced grace, grabbing a spoon and dipping it into a pot simmering on the stove. He approached you, holding it out like he was offering you a priceless treasure. “Here, my love, try this.”

You raised an eyebrow at the pet name but leaned in, letting the rich, creamy soup melt on your tongue. It was perfect, a symphony of flavors that made your eyes widen.

“This is amazing, Sanji,” you said earnestly. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

He beamed, his cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink. “Hearing that from you makes it worth every second.”

You tilted your head, smirking. “You say that to everyone.”

“No!” he protested, looking genuinely offended. “What kind of chef would I be if I didn’t save my best efforts for the most beautiful woman aboard?”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart skip a beat. You turned your gaze to the counter, trying to hide the blush creeping up your face. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Ridiculously in love?” he teased, stepping closer.

Before you could respond, he took your hand gently in his, his blue eyes meeting yours. “But seriously, [Y/N]-chan,” he said, his voice softer now, “seeing you enjoy something I made... it means more to me than you know.”

Your breath hitched at the sudden intimacy of the moment. For once, his usual flamboyant charm was replaced by something quieter, more genuine.

“I do enjoy it,” you said, your voice equally soft. “Not just the food, but... being here with you.”

Sanji’s face lit up, his expression a mix of surprise and pure joy. He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a feather-light kiss to your knuckles.

“You’ve just made this chef the happiest man alive,” he said with a grin, his flirtatious side returning.

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he said, winking, “you’re still here.”

Dinner that night tasted even better, knowing it had been made with a little extra love.

#stars cafe~<3 #my writing #fanfic #anime #love yourself #one piece #one peice #op #requests open #sanji #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #one piece sanji #sanji x reader #sanji x you #sanji x y/n

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buzzcutlip · 5 months ago

Note

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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dallaji · 1 year ago

Note

can you do bada lee smut, where bada wants to film while 🤟🏻 with reader HEHE i'm gonna leave the others to u:*

♡ bada lee x idol!reader / NSFW❗

WORD COUNT: 5k

CW: exactly what it sounds like tbh!! established relationship, porn without plot, once again giver!bada, filming 🔞 (consensually)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this is loosely a part two of this / "Hope we make it to the Cloud". i received these two requests and felt they were alike enough to "combine" the two, hopefully that's ok! 🩷 thanks for the request and hope you enjoy. (ꈍ꒳ꈍ) ┆ ┆ ┆ ┆⋆

Living alone wasn’t so bad.

When spending a long month performing, interacting with hundreds of people every day and flitting from one schedule to the other, getting to wind down in the comforts of your humble apartment almost felt like a privilege. And as soon as your promotions had ended, you had to take the time to get reacquainted with the place that you called home; time spent away, sleeping in cars or planes, almost made you forget what it felt like to have your own bed.

Sometimes you felt pangs of loneliness, when you were no longer experiencing the rush of backstage and the fleeting interactions with other celebrities, some of whom you now considered friends. The feeling was especially present when you were on break, fighting the urge to get a pet to keep you company on several occasions. Though calling it a “break” was a bit premature, your team always surprising with a last minute schedule on your calendar.

Still, living alone wasn’t so bad when you finally got a break from bright stage lights, sore limbs and buzzing eardrums.

Besides, you aren't so lonely nowadays.

It was the middle of the day and you were watching a game show, feet propped up on the table and hair tied together, when you heard your front door unlock.

“Honey, I’m home,” A tired voice sounded.

Tossing the spare key you had given her a few weeks prior into the little bowl on the table next to the door, Bada entered the room with the nonchalance only a person who spent a lot of time here could have. And well, she did spend a lot of time here.

As you beamed up at her from your seat, Bada was kicking her shoes off: donned in her practice cargos and a comfortable sweater, she looked as effortlessly attractive as ever. If you didn’t know her well enough by now, you would’ve almost missed the metaphorical thunder cloud hanging over her head.

You patted your lap eagerly. “C’mere!”

And with quick shuffling footsteps, Bada made a beeline for where you were seated, first dropping her backpack to the floor with a sigh and then unceremoniously flopping onto the couch, her head snuggling into your lap.

Your hands immediately caressed along her face, fingers gently pushing her bangs aside as you ran them through the pink streaks.

“Long day?” You asked as you fanned her hair over your lap, combing through and detangling the knots.

Her eyes were shut, zoning in on your soothing touches. “Maybe I need a manager,” She muttered quietly, “I don’t know why I thought three choreo sessions in one day would be doable.”

You placed your forefinger between her eyebrows, smoothing over the frown that had started to form there. “Try not to hire mine. Before you know it, three sessions become six.”

Bada laughed at that, eyes opening to gaze up at you affectionately. “Missed you.” She mumbled, head turning to nuzzle into the palm of your hand.

“Is that so?”

She sat up slowly upon hearing your playful words, turning to face you with half-lidded eyes. Leaning in, gaze dropping to your lips, she placed her hand atop your thigh and gave it a firm, meaningful squeeze. “Want me to show you how much I missed you?”

You held your breath expectantly, leaning closer with a barely-there nod as Bada inched towards you to close the gap; she tilted her head and your eyes fluttered shut.

But then, the growling of a stomach sounded through the room.

Bada groaned as you erupted into giggles, shoving her off of you: “Please go eat! There’s some leftover rice and salmon in the kitchen.”

Her disgruntlement faded immediately at your words and she swept down to press a peck to your lips. “You’re the best.”

“I know...” You hummed against her mouth, tugging her down again to steal seconds, feeling self-satisfied when Bada complied without hesitation.

You let her scurry off to the kitchen with a smitten grin plastered across your face.

“Did you finish the routine for that boy group?” You asked, watching her scavenge with your chin propped on the palm of your hand.

Bada dug into the rice cooker as she nodded, already chewing on a piece of salmon: “Yeah, it came together nicely! Wanna see?”

Clasping your hands together, you perked up. “Yes, please!”

“Laptop’s in my bag. All my recent recordings should be on it.”

Bending over to unzip her backpack, you carefully pulled her laptop out and set it on your lap. You heard Bada heat up the remaining salmon as you booted up the computer. Her password was just her birthday, which she had sheepishly confessed to when you were still practicing your choreography together. As you opened her files, a screen popping up with over fifty recordings, Bada came to stand behind you, shoveling food into her mouth as if the bowl would sprout legs and run away from her.

You scrolled through the recordings, which were arranged chronologically, until you noticed a thumbnail with a very familiar practice room.

As your mouth fell open in disbelief, your mouse hovered over the picture of what was undoubtedly Bada hunched over you in front of your practice room’s mirror; both your backs turned to the camera, but the scene all too recognizable.

You didn’t know why, but you felt your lower stomach warm up at the thought of her having kept the recording. You barely registered the audible gasp behind you, and you turned around.

Bada was frozen in her tracks, chopsticks motionless at her lips as she stared at the laptop on your lap.

“Oh my god, I—” She began, eyes searching the room for a place to set her bowl down as your eyes scrutinized her, “I could’ve sworn I deleted that! How did that— How did that get on my laptop?” She was stumbling over her words, and always had been a terrible liar.

You wordlessly navigated to the top of the screen and clicked on ‘Sort by last opened’, the videos reorganizing at your command.

The video was the third one on the list, even though it was over two months old. Once again your stomach curled, face heating up at the implication spread out in front of you.

Bada pressed her lips together in a fine line, face beet red as she was unable to meet your eyes, entirely unaware of your inner turmoil and instead cowering away from you. “I’m sorry, you— you can delete it. I shouldn’t have—”

“I never told you to delete it, back then.” You cut in hurriedly, and it was true, but you felt embarrassed at the words leaving your mouth all the same. “You’ve watched it?”

Bada stared at you in bewilderment, but she nodded, perhaps comforted by your words and thus no longer seeing the point in lying: “Several times.” She admitted bashfully, gaze moving back to the laptop.

You felt lightheaded, briefly imagining Bada alone in her studio with her hand between her legs and her eyes glued to the screen.

“Oh,” You responded, “Why didn’t you...?” Unsure of how you were even trying to finish that sentence, you trailed off.

“We’ve just been so busy…” She said, sounding solemn, leaning over the backrest of the couch as her arms draped themselves over your shoulders. You leaned back into her embrace, your hands curling over her arms.

It was true: between a grueling comeback schedule and the heightening demand for Bada, especially following the release of your single, made it difficult to see each other regularly. Bada had visited you backstage a handful of times, the both of you savoring your short moments together, hungry lips meeting while hiding away in your dressing room, until you were inevitably whisked away for your next schedule. Similarly, you dropped by her studio whenever there was an opening on your calendar, but the curious eyes of her students made it difficult to do much of anything. It was then when you had given her a spare key to your apartment, hoping you could meet each other halfway more often.

“I miss you so much.” She murmured, cheek resting against your temple, and the way she said it left you breathless. It had a hidden meaning to it, clear to no one but you. It almost sounded like a plea with the way she nosed into you.

“You were gonna show me how much you missed me.” You whispered, angling your head to look up at her properly. Her eyes were already on you, gaze heavy. You didn’t have to say the words back to her with the way you looked at her.

She barely gave you a moment to let the words hang in the air before she pressed her lips against yours with a desperate inhale, hand curling over the crook of your neck. The position you were in brought you right back to your first time together; Bada crowding over you with an insatiableness she only reserved for you as your mouths fit together, her warmth washing over you. You felt her nails scrape along the nape of your neck, her lips parting against yours, pleading, as you slipped your tongue past. She hummed pleasantly, lips closing around the wet muscle and sucking as her fingers dug into your hair.

Suddenly overwhelmed with the need of wanting her all over you, the couch separating your body from the comfort of her lean figure, you parted the kiss unwillingly. Before you could beg her for anything more, however, she moved her lips to your neck; immediately sucking a bruise against the unmarked skin. You gasped, instinctively baring your neck for her.

“Bada-” You began, but the words died in your throat as the tip of her tongue circled the mark.

“Click on the video.” She spoke in a hushed voice and only then did you become cognizant of the laptop resting on your lap, cursor still hovering over the video. “Fast forward a bit.”

With your eyes locked onto the screen and without moving your head, afraid you would lose the warmth of her mouth against your skin, you did as you were told; skipping through the recording until you found the exact moment Bada had turned you around, her chest pressed against your back. The sounds that came from the laptop speakers after you unpaused the video were sinful: the smack of lips gliding together and your quiet gasps as Bada smoothened her hands along your figure. You were feeling overwhelmed already and the two of you had barely done anything.

“You’re so beautiful.” Bada spoke as she watched the video from over your shoulder, still pressing soft kisses against your neck.

You could say the same about her with the way she was, and still is, able to command your body like an instrument. You were putty in her hands then and now, turning whichever way she conducted you.

She straightened her back slightly, looking down at you as her hands lowered to your front. In tandem with the Bada in the video, she found the hem of your shirt and pulled upwards, your arms raising to aid the process. You weren’t wearing a bra, and the cool air of the room made a shiver run down your spine. Bada, however, was delighted, warm hands immediately cupping over your breasts.

You craned your neck, chasing after her lips and she let you indulge: with your head tilted backwards your tongues met before your lips did, Bada angling her head to deepen the kiss impossibly more, fingers pinching your nipples inquisitively and stiffening them. You were sensitive straightaway, gasping into her mouth.

Then, an idea. Your fingers managed to find the space button and pressed, effectively pausing the video. Bada parted the kiss reluctantly, curiously peeking at the screen before looking down at you.

“Do you have your camera with you?” You asked, voice breathless.

She blinked at you in wonder but nodded: “Yes, in my backpack.”

You gave her a suggestive look, hands coming up to rest atop hers; still covering your breasts. “Do you… want to film a new one?”

You hoped you hadn’t misjudged Bada, and for the few seconds she was silent you feared you had ruined the atmosphere, but that feeling didn’t last long. The look she gave you was nothing short of infatuated.

Bada smiled, albeit entirely flustered, before giving you another kiss and you sighed in relief. She walked to her backpack, where it still laid on the floor, and began searching through it for the camera. As you shut the laptop and moved it off your lap, Bada reemerged with the familiar device.

The display was already flipped open, Bada’s fingers fiddling with the buttons with an almost childlike excitement that made you giggle. She looked up at you as if breaking out of a daze, and softened instantly at the sight of you: topless and patiently waiting for her. She lowered the device.

“You’re certain you’re okay with this?” Her eyes looked into yours, searching for any hints of doubt or apprehension.

“More than okay,” you assured, “Just tell me what to do.”

And as soon as the words had left you, Bada hit record. “Be you.”

She slowly walked around you, angling the camera as her eyes were glued to her display, taking in your appearance with the delicacy of someone who practiced this often enough in their head. You were starting to feel skittish, despite her attention on you almost feeling reverent, and fought the urge to cover yourself up.

Instead you crossed your legs, head tilting to the side as you looked straight into the lens of the camera: “I hope this doesn’t mean you’re going to keep your distance the whole time.”

You heard the buzzing sound of the lens zooming in on you, though you had no clue what exact part of you it was focusing on. “That would be impossible when you look like this, baby.”

The nickname, which was usually reserved for when the two of you spent time tangled up in each other, visibly flustered you. You sucked in your lower lip to hide a growing smile and glanced down, Bada smirking at your reaction.

“Trying to set the scene for my future self.” Bada added meaningfully, and the implication made you feel warm.

She strode over towards you, eyes still focused on the camera display as she sat down on the table in front of you. You followed her movements intently, anticipating whatever request was burning on her lips. But instead of asking anything of you, Bada wordlessly nudged her knees in between your thighs, forcing your legs apart, and you adhered.

“Take your pants off.” She commanded and virtually immediately your hands dropped to the waistband of your trousers, tugging it below your hips. You would have time to ponder how embarrassing your submission to her was later, but for now you wanted to give her everything she asked for.

With her unoccupied hand she helped you pull the fabric all the way off, with an almost impatient tug, and you made sure to stretch your legs as elegantly as possible, doe eyes never losing track of the lens; hyper aware of the camera following your every move as if this were just another music video recording.

You let your hands slide up your thighs, fingers momentarily hooking into the straps of your panties before snapping them against your skin. Bada angled her camera, tracking the movements of your hands intently as her tongue peeked past her lips; wetting them. The palms of your hands moved along the curve of your waist, trailing them higher and higher, until you were pushing your breasts together ever-so-slightly. Then, you brought one hand behind your neck and leaned back into the couch. Your other hand dropped back to the strap of your panties, toying with the fabric between your fingertips, granting a sneak peek for the skin underneath - not that there was much more left to the imagination.

For a moment Bada’s eyes moved away from the display, zoning in on your ministrations, and then she leaned back herself, the movements forcing your thighs further apart by the dull push of her knees against yours.

“You’re a natural.” Bada said teasingly, but remained cemented in her spot, much to your frustration.

You pulled the strap of your underwear below your hip, blinking up at the lens through long eyelashes, and pressed your crotch down into the couch. Subsequently, you slid your hand to your front, fingertips digging below the waistband of your panties; your eyes never losing track of the lens. You went lower and lower, gauging the taller girl’s reaction.

Once again you heard the noise of the lens zooming in, and your fingers finally found the top of your heat. You were already wet, spreading your folds with a quiet hum, and began lightly rocking against the fabric of the couch. The friction made you gasp, the thrill of your predicament making you feel increasingly more responsive to any touches.

Bada parted her lips, watching on in awe. “Take those off.” Her voice was almost uncharacteristically deep, dripping with want.

And because you knew her well enough to know she couldn’t hold off for much longer, you gave her the most coy look you could muster and answered: “Come do it yourself.”

The sound of the table moving backwards echoed through the living room, Bada using her body to push it away. You didn’t cease your movements however, dragging your crotch against the couch again as you watched Bada in anticipation. She had placed the camera on top of a stack of books lying on the table, pointing the lens at you in a sideways angle, and stepped towards you. She towered over you before pulling her sweater over her head, and you watched as her slender frame appeared; still touching yourself. She was unbelievably pretty.

Then, she dropped to her knees, arms hooking under your legs as she pulled you to the edge of the couch in such a sudden motion you couldn’t help the soft yelp that fell from your lips. Her thumbs hooked under the straps of your underwear and pulled them off brusquely, leaving you completely bare in front of her.

She settled in between your thighs like she belonged there and leaned up, her hand on the side of your neck as she brought you in for a hungry kiss. The noise you made was desperate, but she silenced it immediately by plunging her tongue into your mouth; licking into it with a groan. Your fingers tangled into her hair, clinging onto her as your body begged for more, tongue gliding back against hers through parted lips.

Bada cupped your jaw tightly as she swallowed the sweet noises you made, and parted the kiss to catch her breath; your own chest rising in exhilaration. Her thumb trailed along your bottom lip, moist from saliva, and pulled it down: “Just look pretty for me.” She muttered.

With that she slid down your body, lips leaving a trail of wet kisses down your neck and to your cleavage, her hands feeling along the shape of your upper thighs, squeezing them. You felt your lower stomach curl when her lips pressed to your navel, and you put your arms at either side of your body; palms pressing into the couch as you gave your body away to her.

Her thumbs pressed into your hip bones when her mouth got closer to your core, but she immediately pivoted to the inside of your thigh, teeth grazing the skin before parted lips began to suck down a bruise.

Your head lolled to the side, letting out another soft gasp as her lips covered every area except the one where you needed her the most. You were going mad, wondering if you should start begging.

Her eyes met yours and she had the audacity to smile, a happy glow dusting her cheeks as her fingers dug deeper into the skin of your thighs. She pressed another openmouthed kiss near your hip bone before speaking: “Anything you want me to do?”

Your hand automatically moved in between your legs, but Bada stopped you with a firm hold on your wrist.

“Nuh-uh,” she tutted, “I’m directing here. Tell me what you want.” Her gaze was intense, smile growing wider as you grew more flustered, thighs twitching.

“I—” You began, struggling to find the words, “I want you to touch me. However you want.”

“However I want?” She tilted her head to the side, feigning confusion in a sweet voice.

“With your hands.” You added quickly, something in you stirring at the way her grip on your wrist remained resolute. “Please, I need it so bad.” More words escaped you before you could dwell on the humiliation: “I’m so wet for you.”

The look in Bada’s eyes darkened as she placed your hand back onto the couch, grabbing onto your thigh once again. She looked down at your glistening heat, momentarily sucking in her lower lips before meeting your eyes again. “For me?” She asked again, knowing the answer well enough.

“Only for you.” You near whimpered, and she finally released you from your misery.

Bringing her hand to her mouth, she lapped at her fingers before promptly lowering it to your vagina; spit-slicked fingers moving along your folds to spread your wetness with a purpose as her other hand held down your thigh, making sure you kept your legs apart for her. A groan of relief escaped you before you could realize and you bit down on your lower lip, feeling her explore. You heard her suck in a breath between her teeth as you glistened underneath her, marveling.

You felt yourself get impossibly more wet from her touch, and Bada immediately took advantage of that. She started to rub against you in slow, circular motions as your hips involuntarily jerked from the sensitivity. With a soothing shush, her grip on your thigh tightened as she let her fingers dig into your folds with more pressure, a soft moan falling from your lips.

“I’m starting to think you like begging.” Bada whispered longingly, fingers that knew exactly where to be circling against you with a deepening pace.

Unable and unwilling to answer, you brought a hand up to your mouth and pushed two fingers past your lips; you sucked around them, muffling your moans. The look Bada gave you was simply ravenous, and you then realized you were here to put on a show for her camera. Her thumb brushed down against your clit, and your eyes fell shut in pleasure, the ministration sending electric shocks across your lower belly as you were unable to stop your hips from rutting into her touch. You withdrew your fingers from your mouth and brought them to your breast, rolling your nipple under them.

You heard the taller girl cuss between your thighs, her fingers dropping lower as she followed the noises you made; spurring you on. Then, you felt her forefinger catch at your entrance, drawing circles around and all you could do was hold your breath.

Bada sank a finger into you, slow enough that the burn wasn’t overwhelming you, but you moaned all the same. She tentatively crooked her finger inside of you, intently watching your reactions, the grip she had on your thigh almost bruising. She began pumping her finger in and out of you, not too fast but fast enough to have you gasp her name, rewarding every honeyed moan with a curl of her finger.

“More…” You begged, toes curling.

“Yeah?” She whispered, pressing a kiss right where your inner thigh and core met before handing you exactly what you wished for.

Her middle finger pushed into you along with her index finger, and this time you felt the stretch more acutely. You audibly keened, nails digging into the fabric of the couch as she scissored her fingers inside of you, whispering soft praises encouraging you.

“That’s it, baby, let me make you feel good.”

Soon enough the burn was barely present, making way for an electrifying bundle of pleasure running up your spine. You rocked into her touch as much as Bada’s iron grip on you allowed, and she met you halfway, fingers pumping in and out of you at a steadily building pace.

The way she looked up at you was maddening: somewhere between wondrous amazement and self-satisfied smugness, drinking in every second of the way you opened up to her in more ways than one. She gave a sharp curl of her fingers, and your thighs twitched dangerously. Bada caught on immediately and began moving her fingers inside you in a come-hither motion, pulling every sweet noise from you that she could. You thrusted down harder, mouth agape as you zoned in on the ecstasy that overtook you.

“Third finger, baby girl.” And you somehow found a way to part your thighs almost impossibly further, your body eager to receive more.

While her two fingers were still curling inside you, the third one joined, and you choked on a moan. This time Bada didn’t give you time to get used to the stretch, as all three fingers curled inside you over and over again.

Feeling overwhelmed almost instantaneously, hushed cusses spilling from your mouth, you inadvertently wriggled backwards; but Bada immediately pulled you back, keeping you locked in place as she pumped her fingers in and out of you at an unforgiving pace. She knew your body too well, because soon enough you had your head thrown back and thrusted back into her motions, her long fingers finding the spot to curl into.

“You’re so fucking hot.” She mumbled, and before you knew it her mouth was on you, tongue digging between your folds as she continued pumping her wrist.

With her arm still curled around your thigh, she brought you closer to the edge of the couch; she wanted to dig in. Her name came out as a yelp as her lips closed around your bundle of nerves, sucking harshly as her moans began to reverberate against you. You brought a hand to the back of her head, fingers digging against her scalp as you held her in place, needing unfathomably more from her. Anything she was willing to give.

She swallowed around you so eagerly, so greedily, and then her hand let go of your thigh: she brought it between her own legs instead, fingers digging into her trousers.

You had to force yourself to look away or you would orgasm right then and there, feeling your eyes roll back instead. She was touching herself, rocking into her own hand as her mouth bobbed against you; her other hand still fucking into you. She was getting off to getting you off.

You thought you were going insane, only able to give into your instincts and rock into her movements, all the while pulling on her hair which she seemed to relish in: the both of you building up to a pace where she pushed in exactly as you thrusted. You felt your toes curl again as that familiar pressure in your lower stomach began building up, and your head lolled to the side. You were a sweaty, writhing mess, and Bada was moaning against you so loudly it made you lightheaded.

You noticed her own movements getting messier, too. Her wrist circled against herself as she slurped around you, and you brushed her bangs from her forehead to watch her own desperation overcome her. She curled her fingers inside of you again just as she sucked down on your clit, and you could've sworn you saw stars.

“Bada, I—” You began, warningly, as you fucked back against her, chasing after the uncoiling of your lower stomach.

Bada hummed encouragingly, nodding against you in a frenzied state herself and crooked her fingers sharply, beckoning you to let yourself go.

Something about the way she gasped and moaned against you, yet still remained so dedicated to give you exactly what you wanted, is what did it for you. You felt your orgasm ripple through you so sharply you felt dizzy. You clutched onto Bada’s head between your thighs as you shook all over, her fingers curling into you harshly as she sucked on your clit through your implosion, until you felt her tremble against you too.

She fell forward, teeth pressing down on the inside of your thigh as she came with your name on her lips, rutting into her hand. You moaned, sensitive all over but running your hands through her hair soothingly, nails caressing along her scalp.

The both of you stayed like that for a solid minute, catching your breaths, until Bada leaned up on her trembling knees; far enough to wrap her arms around your waist and lean up for a tender kiss. Completely smitten, you kissed back despite the heaving of your chest and you wordlessly urged her to get on the couch with you. The taller girl obliged, immediately climbing on top of you and nuzzling into your hold with a tired smile, her cheek pressed against your collarbones.

The both of you giggled at nothing in particular, your fingers tracing delicate lines along the side of her face.

As if experiencing a déjà vu, your eyes went to the camera perched on the table, inevitably recording, but the both of you too spent to do anything about it.

“You know,” you began, fingertips still absentmindedly caressing along Bada’s jawline, “You’re gonna need a better password for your laptop.”

#bada lee x reader #swf2 #bada lee #street woman fighter 2 #bada lee smut #dalla!writes #requests #ask

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spencersbabymama · 7 days ago

Text

Numbers l Chapter One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Disabled OC

Content Warning: Mention of disability, mention of disability limitations, I think that's about it.

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: It's the first day of Brooke Bevan's dream job working as a technical analyst for the Behavioral Analyst Unit in the FBI. She knows girls like her don't get jobs like these every day so she doesn't want to blow it. What she wasn't expecting, was to meet a dapper genius her age....

a/n: AAAAAHHH I'm so excited to finally be posting this! This series is my baby and I'm so excited to share. I'm really passionate about writing disabled characters since I'm disabled myself, and I've noticed a lack of Spencer Reid x Disabled OC content, so I figured why not do it myself? Shout out to @just-call-me-by-yn & @floraisunwell for pushing me to go forward with this idea! I'm so happy I met you both! Also credit to @just-call-me-by-yn for making this awesome banner for me 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

Story: “Hey, thanks for meeting me downstairs. You would think for a government building, they would have easier to reach elevator buttons for everyone.” I joke, trying to break the ice with the person I’ll be spending most of my time with.

Although that didn’t seem to be a problem because the second I entered the lobby, Penelope Garcia, BAU Technical Analyst Extraordinaire, was standing right in the middle wearing white dress covered in colorful flowers, pink cardigan, matching kooky glasses, yellow heels, and all wrapped up in a smile that could possibly blind an elderly person. It was at that moment, I knew work, at least, wouldn't be boring.

“Oh honey, no problem, I probably would have raced to the lobby even if you didn’t call just so I could be the first one to greet you.” Penelope giggled. I opened my mouth to add my own witty humor but instantly got cut off. “You know normally I don’t love newbies joining the team, especially newbies entering my expertise, but I had a feeling when I found out you were another techy kick butt girl? Oh my gosh I was so excited!” Penelope added, almost seeming out of breath now from her said excitement.

All I could do was giggle and nod in agreement.

It was a relief to know I didn’t embarrass myself in the first few minutes on the job. I knew the fact that I got this job was an accomplishment. Girls like me don’t get jobs like these everyday. Girls like me who have no use of their legs and have limited muscle strength, do not get jobs in the Behavioral Analysis Unit in the FBI. Though it was my dream, the moment when I couldn't reach the elevator buttons was an honest wake up call

Ever since I was little I loved the idea of saving others and catching bad guys. When other girls were painting their nails, or playing princess, I was in the city library reading about Ted Bundy. Strange for a 12 year old girl, I know, but I couldn’t stop thinking about why people did what they did. Don’t worry I still enjoyed dolling up my nails every once in a while.

Obviously it was no secret I couldn’t run after criminals, or even use a gun so I knew it was probably a pipe dream. So I shifted gears, got into tech and code. I could do that. With the right adaptive technology, I could run laps around any encryption. Luckily I never used my powers for evil. In high school I learned about technical analysts who worked for the FBI. That was it, that was my path.

The elevator opened and I followed Penelope through the glass doors, into the bullpen I saw in my college textbooks. If it wasn’t clear by my beaming smile, I was almost start struck by the sight of all the agents sitting at the desks working and I got to be one of them. One agent stood out though because instead of flipping through files or paperwork, he was playing chess, by himself. The other odd thing was he looked about my age. I expected to be the youngest one on the team because by some miracle, I got this job only a few years after graduating college. His floppy curly brown hair shielded his eyes slightly, but even from where I was, I could tell they were brown.

Penelope’s voice took me out of my trance and my eyes snapped up to look at her “Hotch told me to come get him when you arrived since well…” She gestured to the wheels of my motorized wheelchair, then up to the door in the middle of the walkway above the main level of the bullpen with a small awkward giggle “Stairs, so I’ll be right back.” I snicker slightly then nod, sending her up the stairs and into the room she pointed to.

While waiting, my gaze goes back to the chess playing guy. He was young but dressed like an old man, suit, tie, and everything. There was something wise about him, like his looks were youthful but it seemed like he’s seen some things.

Hotch’s office door opened before he and Penelope made their way down the steps. I met them halfway, holding out my hand as best I could with a smile “Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner, Brooke Bevan, it’s seriously an honor to be working with you.” In my defense, I didn't mean to sound like a fan girl, it just came out that way.

With a firm grip, Hotch shook my hand “Welcome, we’re eager to have you.” Already I could tell the rumors were true. Aaron Hotchner was all business and it looked like he hadn’t smiled in at least a month. He was the man in charge for a reason though, the number of successful cases couldn’t lie.

Hotch reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out the thing that makes all this official. My face beams as my heart races in my chest. “Here are your credentials. As you should already know, you must keep these on you.” I nod while practically ogling the FBI symbol on the front of my credentials. “Penelope can introduce you to everyone.” Hotch explains while placing the booklet on my lap then heads back up to his office.

Penelope practically shakes with excitement “It’s official newbie!” She was right. I am now Brooke Bevan, Technical Analyst for the FBI, it had a nice ring to it. “Come and meet everyone!” Penelope chimes before leading to a group sitting in the middle of the bullpen.

A dark-haired girl looks up from the file she was reading and her face lights up when she sees us coming “Hey! You must be Brooke.” She stands up and shakes my hand “I’m Emily Prentis, it’s nice to meet you. Hotch has said good things.”

I grin with a nod before one by one introduces themselves with a handshake. Derek Morgan, David Rossi, then Jennifer Jareau who apparently goes by JJ. Finally there was Chess Guy. I hold out my hand before he awkwardly waves it off with a small smile “I-I actually don’t do handshakes. Did you know according to studies, a handshake can transfer a significant amount of bacteria, with research showing that a handshake transmits nearly twice as many bacteria compared to a high five and significantly more than a fist bump, which is considered the most hygienic greeting option du-”

“And that is Dr. Spencer Reid.” JJ cut him off with a small amused laugh.

My eyes blink a few times, trying to drink in the info dump plus the fact that JJ just said doctor. My eyebrows furrow a little in confusion “You look a little young to be a doctor…” My voice trails off.

That’s when Penelope speaks up “Reid is our team genius.”

Reid sheepishly “I don’t really believe you can quantify knowledge but I do have an IQ of 187 and eidetic memory.”

I give another stunned look and utter “Huh…” To be honest I couldn’t recall knowing anyone with that amount of smarts, I couldn’t help but be impressed. “How about a high five then?” I finally say with a smile while holding out my hand.

Spencer’s face seemed to light up and he reached out to give me a high five.

Suddenly Hotch comes out with a thick file folder in his hand, his presence commanding attention. “We have a case.”

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