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ranikyani · 1 day ago

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You Don’t Know My Name

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black Reader MDNI.

Summary: Terry comes into your diner every. single. day. He don't even know what he's doing to you. Or does he?

Word count: 6.4k. This is a one shot with no planned sequel.

A/N: Got this idea the tiktok from the mufasa premiere... (yall know which one I'm talking about)

You enter the diner at 6 am sharp, the rising sun hasn’t even started lighting the morning sky just yet. As always, you start the coffee, unlock the back door for the delivery drivers, and set off to work. In the back of your mind you hear your best friend cussing you for having the doors unlocked knowing you’ll be alone for at least 20 minutes before your coworkers start showing up. But in a busy city like this, the yns are still sleep, and anyone awake at this hour is too focused on their own hustle to rob you.

The night crew, per usual, has done a shitty job closing. You wipe down tables, and do another sweep of the floor, finding balled up napkins from last night’s patrons wedged along the floor where the metal trim of the booths meets the piano stick tile on the floor. Grabbing the mop, you make a mental note to ask your manager Natalie, Who closed last night?

One by one, your coworkers filter in as you continue to prep and refill the condiment stations. Marcus and Sydney stroll in exactly 5 minutes apart just as they did yesterday, and the day before that. They think no one else in the morning crew can tell they’re together, but you can, and they’re doing a terrible job hiding it. You just don’t care enough to say anything and blow their spot. Then comes Natalie, looking like she just rolled out of bed but still managing to somewhat look put together. You both exchange a quick hello and she starts wiping down the counters picking up where you left off. Alicia is the last to arrive, much later than the rest, breezing through the door with her signature braids underneath her hair net.

“Hey, you’re early today,” she teases as if you aren’t always the first to arrive, tossing her jean jacket on the employee coat rack.

“Had to get the place ready for all my customers,” you reply with a smirk, knowing full well it’s just you, her, and one other waiter for the early shift. Every time the other servers call themselves “helping” you set up booths before opening, your customers end up complaining about something missing or out of place, it’s just easier to do it yourself.

You finish making sure the tables look good and walk the perimeter of the diner to ensure everything is set. At 7 o’clock on the dot, just as you’re putting the finishing touches on the napkin dispensers, you hear the soft jingle of the doorbell.

It’s him.

Terry Richmond.

Alicia leans over the counter to you, her voice low and amused, “Here comes your man”

A Man. In every sense of the word.

As a regular, Terry knows the drill. The hostess doesn’t bother seating him or giving him the standard greeting of offering today’s specials, she just smiles as he heads straight for your section like he does every morning. The other waiters learned long ago, don’t even try it. He’s yours, unspoken amongst you but understood by all.

The air thickens as soon as the door closes behind him, like everyone in the diner is holding their breath. You can hear the other women stifle their sighs, trying not to moan at the sight of him. Everyone in the room freezes for a moment, drawn to him without even meaning to. Even Marcus who doesn’t pay anything but his latest kitchen experiment any mind, glances up for a moment. You’ve seen Terry a hundred times at this point, but each time feels like the first. He moves through the dining area with the kind of confidence that just fills a space without trying. His eyes sweep over the room, scanning each face and offering a light smile and the occasional ‘hello’, but when they land on you. They stay there.

You can feel the weight of his gaze as it meets yours and unlike every other woman in the diner gawking, frozen in place while admiring him, you try to keep busy offering a small smile in return. You try to focus on what you were doing, but you can’t help it. Terry Richmond has that effect. The man commands attention.

He gives you a small nod and takes his usual spot in your section peeling his tan carhartt detroit jacket off of his broad shoulders before sitting down. He sits down, newspaper in hand, breaking eye contact and giving you just enough time to gather your composure. He doesn’t need to ask for a menu, he’s been here enough to know exactly what he wants. You approach his table, trying to keep your cool and softly smack down a stack of napkins you know he’ll need once his meal arrives.

“Good morning, the usual?” You ask while pouring hot black coffee from the steel carafe into a mug you’ve sat down for him as well.

“Yes Ma’am” he responds eagerly, looking up briefly from the morning paper to flash you that beautiful smile. It’s striking how his serious, focused expression as he reads today’s current events, contracts with the warm smile he gives when flashing every tooth in his mouth. It’s too captivating, that smile should come with a fucking warning label.

You make your way back to the kitchen to give the staff Terry’s order ticket being mindful of each step you take in your chef crocs, just in case he’s watching. You don’t want him to catch you slipping, literally, the floor behind the counter gets dangerous. His order is simple, a classic diner breakfast, 2 scrambled eggs, no cheese, double turkey bacon instead of sausage, and a side of well-done breakfast potatoes with extra bell peppers and onions. You try not to think too much about the man in your booth, but he’s hard to ignore, the way he looks at you with that quiet intensity in his eyes, the way his muscles flex with a motion as simple as flipping to the next page of the paper, the way his thick thighs and ass fill out the cargo pants he always chooses to wear, the way he always sits with his legs wide open to accommodate the size of that dic-

No.

Shaking it off, you turn your attention to the other customers, who’ve started tickling in to grab a little something before they head off to work as well. You check on them, make small talk, and go around to refill drinks well before they’re half way empty, anything to keep yourself distracted. The kitchen hums behind you, and the familiar buzz of the diner settles your nerves, for a moment.

Ding.

You jump slightly as the bell above the kitchen door rings, signaling Terry’s order is ready. You grab the plate quickly, making sure everything is just right before you head back to his booth carrying his plate and the coffee filled carafe with quick and practiced motion. You gently sit his plate down and refill his coffee silently, no need for small talk, just get it done and move on.

As usual, his debit card is sitting face down on the table, the numbers hidden from other guests passing by, just waiting for you to slip it into your apron pocket. You’ll charge him and bring his receipt as soon as he’s done eating, making sure he’s out the door and on his way to work. It’s an effective system the two of you came up with to keep things moving, so he never ends up late, even if the register backs up.

You walk back behind the counter, but your gaze lingers on Terry as he digs into his meal. There’s something almost mesmerizing about the way he eats, the way his jaw flexes with each chew. Jesus. Its too much and its too early.

His strong hands grip the fork, it looks so tiny in comparison to his paws, and your mind wanders, imagining those hands on you. How he could hurt you but he’d never do that unless you said please.

His lips part with each bite, just enough to make you wonder what those lips would feel like pressed against yours, or what they’d taste like covered in your essence if he’d just eat you out, ask you out.

Then, as he’s taking a bite of his potatoes a small drop of ketchup builds on the corner of his mouth. Instinctually, his tongue flicks out swiftly to lick it clean. The motion is so smooth, so effortless, it takes everything in you not to gasp. He’s a serious eater, you can just tell you’ve always had a knack for being able to smell a munch from a mile away.

As if he’s a mind reader, just as you take a step forward, tempted to let him know you’d like to find out what that mouth do, he looks up from his plate toward you forcing you to pull it together. Immediately losing the courage your trance bestowed that had you about to head his way, you leap forward in to pour more coffee from your carafe in Mr. Johnson’s cup in an attempt to look busy.

Does he even know my name? You wonder

He occasionally glances out the window, constantly assessing new customers entering the building through the side ramp. Every subtle shift of his muscles beneath the dark shirt he’s wearing is a reminder of just how well put together he is.

Damn.

The way he carries himself, the strength in every movement, he’s dangerous, and you want to be in danger.

You can’t stop thinking about it, and you lick your lips imagining how he’d feel under your hands as you rode him until the cows came home, or until he came, at least twice.

You can almost feel the heat of his skin, as if you’re sitting with him right now, the weight of him pressing you into the corner of the booth, his breath hot against your neck as he leans in…

Your breath hitches, and you dart to the other end of the counter taking newfound interest in the salt shakers to break the spell before your thoughts get too filthy. You’re supposed to be working.

Flustered, and seeing as though you just filled them this morning, you turn toward the kitchen, the heat in your cheeks evidence of the unholy fantasies you’re trying to suppress fighting to break free.

As Terry’s plate nears empty you head to the machine and punch in the total with practiced ease. $15.87 same as always and swipe his card into the machine. You grab a tray and a pen, ready to return to the booth with his card and receipt, but your chest feels tight. The thoughts you’ve been thinking swirling around in your head.

Ask him out, your inner voice tells you.

You make your way closer with your heart beating a little faster than usual. This isn’t the first time you’ve caught yourself fantasizing about him, but this time feels different. You’ve been making excuses every time he comes in to avoid this moment, but today? You can’t ignore the pull of your attraction to him any longer. You’ve had enough.

“Uh… Mr. Richmond?” you say, your voice coming out softer than intended.

You can’t stop your hands from nervously fiddling with the edge of his card, and you try your best to focus. You can do this.

He looks up at you, those beautiful green eyes meeting yours, but he notices your hands fidgeting and assumes there’s a problem with his payment. He shifts his weight to his right hip and leans forward to reach into his back pocket and pull out his wallet.

“I keep my card locked up,” he explains casually, his deep voice steady, “just to stay safe. Had someone try to run a $800 charge at a Home Depot in Texas last week. I ordered a new card but I’m still a little annoyed about it.” He chuckles, running a hand forward over his waves “I swore I unlocked it, though.”

You smile at his explanation, but you're distracted by the way his perfectly manicured and never dirty hands move with precision regardless of what he’s doing. And wonder how they would feel inside of you.

He pulls a crispy $50 bill from his wallet, his fingers causing the paper to crumple under his touch, and hands it to you with a small smirk.

“I’ve got money, I swear” he states with a playful glance.

“Oh, it went through Mr. Richmond,” you say, placing his money back on the table.

“Here’s your receipt, just sign at the bottom. The extra copy is for you, sir.”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than necessary, as if weighing something in his mind.

"I would've stayed here with you and washed all the dishes, I could’ve taken out the trash too to work off my meal, but then I’d definitely be late for my first patrol. I’m working a double shift today."

You swallow hard, feeling heat creep up your neck as you think of this man carrying all the discarded boxes out back. Shirtless… Sweaty…

Focus! You tell yourself. Don’t back out now.

“Shame. I would have definitely found something for you to do” you blurt before you can stop yourself, the words just slipped out.

That is not what you were planning to say.

His brow furrows slightly, a confused look flickering across his face. “What was that?” he asks

“Oh… Nothing…I just meant…” you pause to gather your thoughts but before you can find your words, the sound of raised voices outside rip through the calm atmosphere inside the diner.

You glance out the window to see two familiar regulars, both younger men, standing on the ramp outside of the window arguing. It’s hard to make out their muffled voices and determine what the fight is about but it’s clear they’re not backing down.

“Excuse me,” he says, heading for the door.

Without a second thought, Terry stands up, his broad shoulders shifting under his shirt as he moves toward the door. His body seems to take up more space with each step, and the yelling outside grows louder once he cracks open the glass door to walk outside.

From where you're standing, you can see him step between the two men, his movements smooth, deliberate, like he’s done this a hundred times before. There’s a quiet authority in the way he stands, clasping his hands in front with his feet shoulder length apart, something you’ve only ever seen in action movies, where the hero arrives to save the day. His eyes narrow with a cold, unspoken warning, something raw and powerful that says, Fuck around and find out.

He mutters something to the men, just loud enough for them to hear. You can’t make out the words, but the effect is instant and they stumble back, silenced, cowed by the sheer force of his presence.

Still by the booth, you watch, captivated, as he commands the scene and sends them on their way with nothing more than a steady gaze and his natural poise. His stance is solid, unwavering. And you? You're breathless, caught in the magnetic pull of him, every inch of him exudes power and complete control.

When Terry returns to the booth, the energy you had mustered to ask him out seems to dissipate in the air. Does he not realize what he’s doing to you? He doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he does and just doesn’t mind as long as you keep making sure his order is always correct. With a softened expression he leans down on the table reaching for the pen you’d sat down in the tray earlier and pulls out a business card from his wallet. The name Terry Richmond is printed neatly in bold professional lettering but it’s the scribble he writes on the back that catches your breath.

His hand moves fluidly as he writes, the thick veins that travel up his arm twitching as his finger flex and grip your pen. Oh, what you would do to be a pin right now. Terry writes his personal number on the card and then adds his signature to the restaurant receipt before placing your pen neatly back in the tray.

“Just in case,” he says, his voice low and steady with a half smile that makes your pussy flutter; again.

His hand brushes yours and the touch alone tightens every muscle in your core. You glance at the card and stand frozen for a moment just staring up at him towering over you, your heart skittering in your chest. You can barely breathe as you look into his eyes, those green depths making you feel like you’re drowning.

“See you tomorrow” he says and then pulls his jacket on in a swift motion. You watch him walk toward the door, the familiar ding of the bell echoing in his wake. And just like that, he's gone.

For a second longer, you stand there, card still in hand, too stunned to move but the buzz of the kitchen quickly brings you back. Almost mechanically you go to clear his table. As you reach for his empty plate your eye catches the $50 bill folded neatly next to the receipt and the handwritten note he’s added to the bottom.

Something extra. For always taking care of me :)

“He obviously wants you. Just call him.” Alicia says later, breezing past you with an order of steak and eggs in hand.

“I am not calling him,” you hiss, dodging the swinging kitchen door before it smacks you.

“Well, that’s what I would do,” she shoots back, tucking a bottle of A1 steak sauce under her arm.

“I wouldn’t even know what to say…” You trail off thinking of all the ways you could embarrass yourself if he did answer the phone. Or even worse if he didn’t and you left a cringy voicemail. Evidence of your lust and desire.

“Then text him!” she calls over her shoulder heading to her table.

You want to argue, but she has a point. Still, the thought of texting him sends a wave of anxiety through you. What do you even say? What if he doesn’t respond?

The card burns a hole in your apron pocket, daring you to pull it out and make a move.

Your finger hovers over the send button, and with a deep breath, you tap it before you can second-guess yourself.

You: 9:12 AM Hey this is y/n, the waiter from your favorite diner 😊

Delivered.

Now all you can do is wait, you say to yourself, but your phone buzzes back as you go to slide it back into your apron.

Terry: 9:13 AM Is everything okay? You: 9:13 AM Yes! All good here. I just wanted to text you so you'd have my number Terry: 9:14 AM Received.

“Received!? That’s all he said?” you groan, dragging the word out as you swipe a hand across your forehead in a futile attempt to calm your nerves.

“That’s it. Imma just leave it there and back out now so that way I don’t get my feelings hurt” you tell Alicia, reciting the exchange to her as she refills coffee at the counter.

“No, y/n… This is when you lean in, full throttle!” she shouts causing a few patrons to look your way.

Her sudden outburst scares one of your regulars, a janitor who works at the school across the street.

“Sorry Mr. Johnson,” she mutters, grabbing a rag to wipe up the splash of coffee spilled on the counter when he jumped.

You sigh, shaking your head at her antics, but her words echo in your mind. Lean in. Full throttle.

You: 9:18 AM Hi Terry, I know girls don’t usually do this, but I wanted to take a chance anyway. You’ve been coming into the restaurant everyday, and I just had to let you know, I think you’re really handsome. I’d love to grab coffee or a drink with you sometime, away from the diner. I promise I look different outside of my uniform. I know you’re very busy but what do you say?

Terry: 9:19 AM What time do you get off? You: 9:20 AM 12 pm right before the lunch rush Terry: 9:20 AM Ok, You free tonight?

You hesitate for a second, caught off guard, but in a good way.

You: 9:21 AM Yes. I thought you were working a double? Terry: 9:21 AM I’ll leave early. Be ready at 6. Can I pick you up from home, or do you want me to text you details where to meet? You: 9:22 AM I wasn’t expecting you to say yes so quickly... but I’m glad you did. I’ll be ready at 6. You can pick me up, here's my address: Terry: 9:22 AM Ok, It's a date. Terry: 9:23 AM I think you look beautiful in your uniform by the way.

After work, you stumble into your apartment, exhausted but jittery with anticipation. A date. With Terry Richmond. The thought makes your heart race. The clock reads 2:15.

Plenty of time.

You set an alarm for 4 and flop onto the couch, hoping a quick nap will energize you and calm your nerves.

When the alarm blares, you jolt awake, heart pounding with excitement and a new resolve. Tonight, you’re going for what you want.

You stretch, still groggy but fueled by anticipation, and drag yourself to the bathroom. The hot shower is a necessary reset, the steam curling around you as you let the water cascade over your skin. You take your time lathering your body with a vanilla-scented cleanser that leaves your skin soft and warm.

After toweling off, you reach for your favorite shea body butter, scooping a generous amount into your palms. The rich, creamy texture melts into your skin as you rub it in, taking extra time to smooth it over your arms, legs, and collarbone. You breathe it in, letting it ground you, remind you to enjoy every moment your afternoon.

You slip into a pair of fitted jeans that hug your ass just right, pairing them with your favorite oversized sweater. Comfortable, effortless, but still intentional. A swipe of gloss, a touch of mascara, and by the time you finish your makeup, the clock reads 5:45.

Outside, you hear the unmistakable rumble of Terry’s truck. Your pulse jumps. He’s early. Of course, he is. Everything about that man screams prompt. But instead of coming right up he waits outside and 10 minutes later, your phone buzzes.

Terry: 5:55 PM I'm outside. Coming up now.

At exactly 6:00 PM, you doorbell rings, the chime echoing through your quiet apartment. You take a deep breath, smoothing your hands over your outfit one last time before opening the door with a playful, sing song

"Hiiii, Terryyyyy."

He stands there, a bouquet of flowers in one hand and that easy, confident smile on his face that always makes your stomach flutter.

"Hey, baby," he says, his voice warm and smooth.

"Oh? I'm 'baby' already?" you tease, raising an eyebrow as you take the flowers from him, their sweet floral scent fills the air and you step aside to let him in.

"Good, because I actually have a confession to make," you say, your voice steady but your hands trembling slightly as you set the bouquet on the counter. The words feel heavy on your tongue, but you push through, determined to say what you've been holding back for weeks.

“Go on,” he replies, his voice low and steady, instantly grounding you as he takes a seat at one of your barstools. His eyes never leave yours, and you can feel the weight of his gaze, like he’s already reading between the lines.

“I don’t actually want to go out,” you state matter-of-factly, cool as a cucumber on the outside. But on the inside? Your heart feels as if it’s about to explode, each beat thundering in your ears.

His brow quirks slightly, but his expression remains calm, unreadable.

“What do you want to do then?” he asks, his tone innocent, but you know better.

The way his eyes darken, the slight tilt of his head… he’s already figured it out.

He’s just waiting for you to say it.

You swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry. “I just... I really like you. I admire the way you carry yourself. Not a lot of guys move like they would actually even know what to do with a woman. I don’t even date because it just doesn’t seem worth the time, you know? But I don’t want you to think I’m…”

“You grown. We grown,” he says simply, his calm reassurance melting your nerves. His voice is like a balm, soothing the edges of your anxiety.

“Say it,” he cuts in, his voice soft but firm, like he’s coaxing the truth out of you. “Tell me what you want.”

Your breath hitches, and for a moment, the room feels too small, the air too thick. But then you meet his gaze, and something in his eyes gives you the courage to speak.

“I want you to fuck me,” you say, your voice steady but soft, the words hanging in the air between you like a challenge.

Terry cocks his head slightly, a mischievous smile playing at his lips.

“Come on, baby. You can do better than that. Say it again.”

Your cheeks flush, but you don’t look away.

“I want you to fuck me,” you repeat, louder and more sure this time, your voice carrying a confidence you didn’t know you had.

“There she is,” he breathes out, his tone is warm and laced with immense pride. The way he says it sends a shiver down your spine, and you feel a rush of heat pooling low in your stomach. And the longer you hold his gaze without cowering away the more his grin widens. He breaks eye contact first, pulling out his phone and handing it to you.

“This is my MyChart,” he says, his voice casual, like this is the most natural thing in the world.

You blink in surprise but unlock your own phone, pulling up your most recent results as well. Terry glances up at you from behind your screen, a teasing glint in his eye.

“If this was your plan, why’d you even bother getting dressed, mama?”

You smirk, locking his phone and setting it on the counter.

“Just in case you said no.”

“I’d never say no to you, y/n,” he says, his voice low and certain. The space between you feels electric, charged with an energy that makes your skin tingle.

You grab his hand, lacing your fingers together “Come with me,” you say softly, tugging on his hand gently.

Terry doesn't need to be told twice. He stands and squeezes your hand, letting you take the lead as you guide him toward your bedroom. The air between you is heated with anticipation, every step heightening the tension. Once inside, you turn to face him, and before you can second guess yourself, you're pulled into the kiss you've been waiting on for weeks. A kiss that make your knees weak and as his hands slide down to your waist pulling you closer you wrap yours around his waist to hold him tightly.

As your lips part briefly, you tug at the hem of his shirt, your breath coming faster.

"Take this off," you say, your voice edged with urgency.

Terry grins, his green eyes smoldering as he yanks the shirt over his head and tosses it aside. Your gaze rakes over his chest and broad shoulders, and you can’t help but touch him, your palms trailing over the hard lines of his muscles.

“You're unreal,” you murmur, almost to yourself.

"Is that right?” he teases, his voice rough with desire as his hands slide under your sweater.

“Don't get a big head now,” you quip, but the words dissolve into a sharp inhale as his hands move over your bare skin.

“Too late for that,” he says, lifting your sweater off in one swift motion. The way his eyes darken as they take you in sends a shiver down your spine.

He hovers over you, his lips trailing along your jaw and down your neck, each kiss igniting your skin. You arch into him, your fingers exploring the expanse of his back, pulling him closer, deeper.

When you tug at his belt, your fingers bold and eager, Terry lets out a deep, approving sound that vibrates against your lips.

“You’re not wasting any time, huh?” he murmurs, his eyes locking with yours.

“No. I should've told you how I felt the first day you came in,” you reply breathlessly, your confidence building with every touch.

He grins, his hands slipping under your thighs as he lifts you effortlessly. You wrap your legs around his waist, and he carries you to the bed, his lips never leaving yours. The way he lays you down, slow and deliberate, sends a thrill through you.

“Terry,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your skin, his words a promise.

He kisses his way down your body, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. When he reaches the waistband of your pants, he looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire.

“You so pretty, baby,” he says, before hooking his fingers into the fabric and pulling them down slowly, savoring every inch of skin he reveals. Once you’re completely bare, he takes a moment to just look at you, his gaze roaming over your body like he’s memorizing every curve.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, and the way he says it makes your heart skip a beat.

"I'm proud of you for speaking up," he says looking up at you from in between your legs with direct eye contact.

Then he lowers his head, his breath warm against your inner thigh as he places a soft kiss there. You shiver, your fingers tangling in the sheets as he moves closer, his lips brushing against your most sensitive spot.

“Terry,” you gasp, your back arching off the bed as he licks a slow, deliberate stripe up your center. He hums in approval, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

He takes his time, savoring you like you’re the most exquisite thing he’s ever tasted in his life. His tongue circles your clit, teasing and tormenting, before he sucks gently, drawing a moan from deep within you. His hands grip the back of your thighs, holding you open as he devours you, each lick and flick of his tongue driving you closer to the edge.

“You taste so good,” he murmurs against your lower lips, his voice rough with desire. “Hmmm, I could do this all night.”

You whimper, your hips lifting off the bed as he slides a finger inside you, curling it just right.

“Terry, please,” you beg, your voice breaking as the pleasure builds, threatening to overwhelm you.

He adds another finger, and now you know exactly what his fingers feel like inside you. His pace is steady and relentless as he continues to lick and suck at your clit. The combination of his mouth and fingers is too much, your body arches off the bed and your thighs clamp around his head instinctively, as the sensation of cumming on Terry's lips leaves you trembling and breathless.

Terry doesn’t stop, drawing out your orgasm until you’re gasping for breath, your hands clutching at the sheets. Only then does he pull back, looking up at you with a satisfied smile.

“You’re so beautiful when you cum for me,” he says, his voice filled with awe.

"This is better than I imagined," you whisper , staring at the ceiling, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath

"Been imagining me, huh?" he teases, his voice dripping with amusement.

You’re too spent to respond, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Terry kisses his way back up your body, his lips soft and gentle against your skin. When he reaches your lips, he kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“You ready for me?” he asks, his voice low and rough, and you nod, your body already craving more.

"Say it out loud y/n.. Say 'Yes'"

"Yes"

He positions himself between your legs, his eyes locked on yours as he pushes inside you slowly, giving you time to adjust. The stretch is delicious, and you moan while nails digging into his back as he fills you completely.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he groans, resting his forehead against yours as he starts to move, his thrusts slow and deep.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as you move together, your bodies perfectly in sync. The room fills with the sounds of your moans and his low steady groans, the air thick with the scent of sweat and desire.

“I wish you could see how pretty you look right now,” he says, his voice soft but filled with awe.

Terry’s rhythm is relentless, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. His hands grip your hips firmly, guiding you as you move together, your bodies perfectly in sync. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, mingling with your breathless moans and his deep voice. Reaching down, he uses his thumb to circle your clit, and you can’t help but tighten your walls around him.

"That's it, baby" he murmurs against your neck "Just like that. Let me hear you"

You moan, throwing your head back deeper into the pillows as your hands grip his shoulders. His muscles flex under your fingertips.

"Terry," you cry out, your voice breaking once again as pleasure surges through you.

"I'm right here," he coos, coaching you on, "You're doing so good baby."

His words are meant to ground you and keep you present but your mind won't stop racing.

The quiet ones are always the freakiest, you think, biting your lip to stop yourself from laughing at your own thoughts. You’ve gotten everything you wanted, and it’s better than you ever imagined. Definitely didn’t see this on your bingo card when you opened the restaurant this morning. Terry is constantly talking in your ear as he thrust, but you’ve been paying him only half your attention. Everything feels too good… his voice, rich, velvety, and impossible deep. Wrapping around you like a magic spell pulling you deeper into the moment. Is he the voodoo man?

"Focus, baby" he says, slowing his movements and forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark with desire but there's something else there too, something soft

"I need you here with me. Can you do that?"

You nod, then immediately correct yourself and respond "Yes," verbally before he can say anything else.

If he keeps talking to me like this, you think to yourself, I’m getting pregnant.

“Turn over,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire, and you don’t hesitate. You roll onto your stomach, your heart pounding as you feel him shift behind you. His hands slide up your back, tracing the curve of your spine before gripping your hips again. He pulls you up onto your knees, and you brace yourself wrapping your hands around the pillows at the head of your bed for support.

When he enters you again it’s from behind where the angle his tip can reach is deeper and more intense. You gasp, your head falling forward as pleasure ripples through you.

“That’s it, baby,” he says, his voice a low growl in your ear. “Take it... You feel so good.”

“Yesssss,” you moan, matching his rhythm and rocking against him, the sensation overwhelming.

“Use me, baby. You’ve been working so hard, you deserve this,” he says, his voice a low rumble that sends a jolt of heat through you.

His hands roam all over your body, one hand glides up your side, before sliding around to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in a way that makes you gasp. The other hand trails down your back, his touch firm yet reverent, before finally tangling in your hair. His fingers twist gently into your braids and he tugs just enough to guide you upright. Your back presses against his chest, his warmth enveloping you as his other hand slides around your waist, holding you steady. His fingers find your clit and circle it with just the right amount of pressure.

“Terry… I … Oh God,” you stammer, your words dissolving into a moan as he picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming harder, faster.

“You close?” he asks, his voice strained but steady, and you nod frantically, unable to form any coherent words.

"I've got you," he murmurs. His voice is steady and grounding even as his thrust grow more urgent. His hand in your hair tightens slightly, his grip possessive yet tender.

“Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

His words push you over the edge, and you cum with a moan loud enough that you're certain to get you a noise complaint in the mail. Your body swivering as waves of pleasure crash over you. Terry groans, his rhythm faltering as his grip in your hair loosens, letting go to tighten his hold on your hips instead. His breath comes in ragged bursts, his body trembling with the effort to hold on just a little longer. Without his hold to keep you upright, you collapse forward onto the bed, your arms barely catching you as your face presses into the sheets. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your body still shaking from the aftershocks of your climax. But even as you try to catch your breath, you’re not done. You throw your ass back against him, meeting his thrusts with what little strength you have left, helping him chase his own release. You can tell he's moments away from spilling inside you.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Terry moans deeply, his breath warm against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine causing you to deepen your arch for him and lift your ass higher in the air. “Y/N…” “Y/NNNNN!” Alicia’s voice snaps through the fog of your daydream. She drags your name out, her tone harsh and sharp, clearly trying to catch your attention since you obviously didn’t hear her the first 5 times she called you. “Bitch! I know you hear me talking to you!” she whispers harshly, her words slicing through the fantasy. You blink rapidly, disoriented, heart still pounding from the scene you’d just imagined. The sound of Alicia’s voice has brought you crashing back to reality, and now you’re frantically scrambling. “Hello! Your customer is asking for you! Stop daydreaming and go see what that fine ass man wants! What’s wrong with you?” “Shit,” you mutter under your breath, snapping into action. You race to the kitchen, heart still racing as you grab Terry’s to-go order, this morning he told you he was working a double and needed to order out. Your hands are a little shaky, but you focus on making his drink, piling on the extras, whipped cream, a generous drizzle of mocha on top of the foam, everything you know will make him smile. Usually, your boss would make you charge extra for the toppings, but today? It’s all on the house. He deserves it. You rush back to Terry’s table, fully aware that the man runs on a tight schedule. You can’t afford to keep him waiting. “Here you go, Mr. Richmond,” you say, your voice quick but sincere, your words stumbling over themselves with a hint of nervous energy. “Sorry about the wait. I threw in a hot chocolate for you, and your receipt is in the bag. Again, really sorry about that. Have a great day!” Terry looks up from the newspaper with that easy, effortless grin of his. He doesn’t seem phased by the wait at all. “Eh, no worries,” he responds coolly, waving off your apology with a smile “You can call me Terry… What’s your name again?” Your heart skips a beat at the sound of his voice saying your name, and you quickly recover, offering a smile as you introduce yourself.

Extra A/N: Still recovering from the Flu so pls excuse any errors! This story takes place in a universe where niggas don't drink hot chocolate with catfish dinners at lunch time. Can you tell I was catching up on the bear and abbott today? I ended up inserting characters in here lol. On to the recruit & night agent season two ✌🏾. Now that I finally got this idea out of my head I can start my reading back up and try to finish SF Chapter III.

Ok bye 🏃🏾‍♀️💨

Tags: @ovohanna24 @skvrpion @thevelvetwhispers @persethegawd

#raniwrites💌#terry richmond #aaron pierre #x black y/n #terry richmond x black reader #terry richmond smut #x black fem reader #x black reader #aaronpierre #aaron pierre x black reader #rebel ridge #aaron pierre smut #x fem reader

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lazycats-stuff · 3 days ago

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Don't know if or when your asks will be open, but how about Batfam x male reader, where Reader is sarcastic and somehow pisses off Jason. Then Jason and the rest of the brothers decide to get Reader stoned to see what would happen and how he would behave. Fast forward 5 hours and the entire Batfam and the Justice League are trying to save the Reader from the Legion of Doom, only to find the abandoned warehouse and every villain unconscious from exhaustion or whatever because of the Reader and the Reader (stoned out of his mind) just dancing with one of the major villains to the song Rasputin. Later, when they bring Reader back to the manor, Alfred just tears the brothers a new one while Reader is still doing the most random things like Sheldon Cooper on coffee.

Thought it would be funny, thank you

Okay, comedy is not my forte, but I'll do my best to make it funny. Also, yes it's been a while, but no one said college was easy.

Warnings: smoking weed, author knows nothing about weed and smoking, swearing, author sucks at comedy, Alfred is mad.

Summary: (Y/N) pisses Jason off, who decides to get revenge.

(Y/N) and Jason were always at odds. (Y/N) has always been a sarcastic person and sometimes it would grate Jason's nerves to no end. Everyone else were used to (Y/N) being sarcastic and sometimes that sarcasm was necessary, so it was nice to have a sarcastic person who was simply natural about it.

But Jason was in a bad mood that day and (Y/N)'s sarcasm was not welcome anywhere in his vicinity. But, since they live in the same house, they are bound to see each other. And soon enough they got into an argument. What was it about? None of them can even remember, but Jason can only remember the feeling of getting back at (Y/N).

So... With his other four brothers, they have devised a plan to get back at (Y/N).

And that is to get him stoned out of his mind and see what he does. Record anything embarrassing and use the for blackmail. Of course, Bruce and Alfred can't know anything about this. Otherwise there would be hell to pay.

Especially from Alfred.

But they weren't really worried about (Y/N). They have all been exposed to a lot of different things, so weed was the least of their worries. The only thing they needed to do was to make sure to stone him and make sure no one finds out. Now, the problem is how to get him stone, because (Y/N) won't take weed willingly and knowingly. So the sneakiness is the way to go.

And the four of them devised a plan.

It has been 5 hours. 5 fucking hours since (Y/N) was kidnapped by the Legion of Doom. Bruce was close to just losing his mind and/or ripping his hair out from the worry. He wasn't sure what he was going to do first. The four boys were slightly worried. (Y/N) was stoned and... Well, it was a lot. His cognitive abilities are dampened. Which is not good when you are kidnapped.

Especially if you are kidnapped by your enemies. No. Just no.

And then they got the lead and went to abandoned warehouse. Bruce called in the big guns. The entire Justice League was there to help him. And his four sons too. It was going to be all out. They do need their brother back. Especially since they stoned him and they could only hope that he would be fine.

" He's going to be fine, " Jason said as they were making their way to the warehouse.

Bruce thought he was talking in general. He had no clue that they stoned him. The other 3 brothers just glanced at each other, wondering if he was really going to be fine. If he is even alive. That would be a better point to start with. Is he even alive? Is he being tortured? Are they cutting up his body to send it back into pieces?

Who even knows what they are doing to (Y/N)?

Jason was slowly, but surely, starting to question himself and trying to push the guilt down.

If he hadn't stoned (Y/N)...

They surrounded the warehouse, ready for the worst. But the sight that greeted them was something that could be in a movie.

Villains strewn on the floor, not dead. Superman has said that they are all alive. Just unconscious. Their heartbeats were all slow. But this wasn't even the best part. (Y/N), clearly stoned, if not from the smell, then from the sight of him, dancing with Lex Luthor, the leader of the Legion, dancing to Rasputin. Lex was clearly stoned out of his mind too.

Now, Bruce was expecting the worst. But this is... This is something that you see in fiction, not reality. What the hell has happened here? Bruce had to many questions swirling in his mind, but the first one being how the fuck did (Y/N) get stoned. How the hell did (Y/N) get stoned?

There is no weed in the manor. He has a rule that no drugs are allowed in the house. None.

Bruce slowly approached (Y/N), just as Lex passed out from exhaustion. Oh, Bruce could smell the weed. He wrinkled his nose a bit, but slowly, with some coaxing, managed to get (Y/N) in the car. Superman, Wonder Woman, Cyborg and Flash, Aquaman had problems back home, loaded up the criminals for transport.

The villains weren't Bruce's problem at the moment. It was the fact that (Y/N) was high as a fucking kite. Maybe even higher. God only knows how high. But for now, they had to wait it out.

" What the hell were you 4 thinking?! Alfred will kill you 4! "

And turns out that Bruce was right. Alfred heard what happened to (Y/N) and to say he was livid would be a big understatement. A big one. At the moment, in the cave, Alfred was ripping them a new one.

" How could you all be so stupid to get him high?! He was never stoned in his life! "

" Alfr- " Jason started, but Alfred gave him a sharp look.

" DO NOT INTERUPT ME MASTER JASON! How could you think that it was a good revenge to get him high! What on earth went through your mind?! "

While Alfred was yelling, (Y/N)... (Y/N) was like Sheldon Copper on coffee. Jittery, couldn't stay still and was just a bundle of energy. Bruce was scared out of his mind. Sure, the man who weeds out terrorists, murderers and the rest, is afraid for his youngest son who was high as a fucking kite. Or even higher.

Again, God only knows how high they actually got him.

(Y/N) was mumbling, walking around the cave, restless and just unable to sit still. It was not a possibility. Bruce was trying not to get worried, but looking away for a split second and bam. (Y/N) was gone.

Now the panic has set in. Where is his son? Where the fuck is he?!

" Safe to say is that you 4 are grounded! How long, I am not sure, but lets make it clear, you'll be living in a prison! What you did was irresponsible and stupid! " Alfred continued, voice loud and clear, showing no signs of stopping down.

Bruce searched the entire cave and actually managed to find him. By this point, the effect seemed to have calmed down. (Y/N) was now calmer, munching on Oreos underneath a table. It seems that (Y/N) was calming down. Which was good. Soon enough, Bruce would put him to bed once he calms down a bit more.

" Alfred, the effect is wearing off, " Bruce declared to Alfred who calmed down a bit.

" Now, " Alfred's attention was back at the 4 boys, who were looking remorseful. His voice was now calm and collected. " You 4 are going to change, go upstairs, have dinner and go to your rooms. We'll talk more about your punishments in the morning, when we are all rested, I'm not mad and when (Y/N) is back from the heavens from how high he is. Up you all go. " He gestured with his hand and the 4 boys obeyed.

Morning came and (Y/N) came down. He was feeling dizzy, sleepy and clearly felt off in every sense of the word. Alfred gave him a light breakfast, trying to get some food in him. He didn't want (Y/N) to be hungry, especially not after being higher than a kite.

The others watched him, worried. They didn't mean it to go this far. Truly.

" Are you okay? " Jason asked quietly, making (Y/N) sigh.

" I swear, I will wrangle your fucking neck Jason. I swear to God. " (Y/N) rubbed his temples and Jason simply shut up after that.

Alfred didn't scold (Y/N) for the threat or for the language he has used. It was justified. (Y/N) wanting to snap his neck is a normal reaction after getting him high as a kite. Well, higher than a kite.

" Don't worry master (Y/N). You'll be back to your old self in a day or two. Don't stress yourself out, alright? "

(Y/N) nodded as he finished his plate and slowly moved to stand up, feeling off in every single sense of the word.

" Good, good. Slowly. " Alfred gently led him upstairs, where he tucked him into the bed to sleep. He also gave him a trashcan where he could throw up if he needed to.

" I would give you something to sleep, but I don't think that it is a good idea. Now, close your eyes and try to sleep.

Downstairs, Bruce was sitting with his other boys, a stern look on his face.

" I don't think I need to tell you that all 4 of you are grounded. For how long, that remains to be seen. This was stupid, reckless and for what? For revenge? Unfortunately, I won't know how he took down the Legion of Doom, because he has gaps in his memory. And I still can't believe he danced to Rasputin with Lex Luthor. You can all consider yourselves lucky that he's even alive. "

Oh, they were counting themselves lucky.

#dc comics #dc x male reader #x male reader #batfamily #bruce wayne x male reader #batman x male reader #jason todd x male reader

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transformers-spike · 3 days ago

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Knockout, Ratchet, Megatron, and Optimus with taking care of a/their pregnant reader? Are they cuties?

Ohhh boy, mixed reactions all around

Knock Out has more trouble than the others. He may be a soldier, doctor and part time scientist, but he is not good at dealing with the human fluids involved. He is horrible at comforting you during morning sickness. It disgusts him and he can't shut his intake. He wants to help you obviously, but for now he's just as likely to empty his fuel tanks. So he's literally doing this:

After the first phase, it gets a little better. It truly starts to hit him how you're carrying his offspring and the mindfuckery of it all. He does care, he's just much better at checking in on you and ticking down the checklist of your needs than dealing with the gross stuff. He will cuddle you tho and give lots of praise

Ratchet is doing pretty well all things considered. It's just the stress that's getting to him. Ironically enough, taking care of you means he also needs to to take care of himself. Someone has to be here for you and the offspring, so he's going to do his best to make sure he doesn't work himself to scrap. He can be quite annoying when it comes to checking in on your wellbeing. He is a doctor dammit and he wants to make sure you're getting the necessary human analysis (government sponsored obv bc you broke all natural laws carrying his spawn) - and also his own because he's the only Cybertronian doctor around. He's going to rest with you on his chassis, holding onto his child's developing EM field, unable to process being a dad until his kid is actually born. He will cry Megatron is... very outwardly affectionate about the whole thing. Nuzzling his human and telling them how their spawn is going to lead the Decepticons to glory. He is very proud of you for carrying it, and he's very likely to stroke your growing belly with a digit for hours on end. He's got Knock Out (maybe even Shockwave if he's around) carrying out medical tests to make sure things are going well. You are held 24/7 for safety reasons, and he is not grossed out by morning sickness. He's going to rub your back while you puke and say it's only a small price to pay for what you're creating. Although, he is very irritable towards everyone else during this. He worries terribly for the birth, but he doesn't even fully realize it. Also impatient as all hell looming over you poking at his child's EM field. He cradles it and reassures his spawn it has a bright future in front of it. Megatron keeps you to his chassis at all times, right against his spark. Knowing him, he'll try to establish a spark bond with his kid even before it's born. Not sure if it works tho Optimus is coping. Maybe it's the other Primes inside of him, but he's handling your pregnancy quite well. Yes, he is very busy - but he does find the time to watch over you. He's very likely to just lie down and let you rest in his servo. Just covering him in pillows and getting comfy. He's very gentle with you. Willing to give you privacy during morning sickness or rub your back with a digit while you're dealing with the worst time of your life. He desperately wants his child to live in a world without war - and this may push him to uh... be a lot more aggressive towards Megatron. This bot is determined to protect his kid and make sure his offspring lives a happy life. He's going to press you to his cheek and just... cuddle you this way. Because he is overwhelmed with emotion and loves you so very much. He will also carry you a lot btw, especially during the third trimester.

#transformers x human #transformers x reader #transformers prime #headcanon hour #maccadam #tfp megatron #tfp optimus #tfp ratchet #tfp knock out

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jd-loves-fiction · 23 hours ago

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Coming back to you with another request cuz I loved your previous work

Boothill, Welt, Ratio, Jing Yuan and Gallagher with the same platonic teen reader premise but reader calls them ,,Dad" on accident and they themselves don't even notice it because it comes so naturally to them

🌑so glad you liked it🥺🥺also the dad's of all time yes yes!! Also my internet has been fucked lately that's why uploads are slow sowy 🥺

✦ 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 ✦

If you look at his lore, he was actually a dad (😭 my Shayla) so yeah big chance he won't notice at all

Because of the trauma associated with his family in general, he'll notice it eventually and be a bit conflicted

On one hand, he's absolutely delighted at the fact that despite being almost entirely made of metal, you are still able to find such fundamentally human comfort within him

And on the other hand, he has a hard time accepting that the man he was before didn't actually die along with most of his body

He won't ever correct you tho, at the end of the day he's just grateful that he's still able to make young folk feel safe around him

Reminds him that he's still human🥺

✦ 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐭 ✦

Did you see the way he basically adopted Sunday the moment he stepped on the express?? Yeah, that's dad right there

He basically adopts every kid (as in, anyone younger than him) that steps aboard the express, so i feel like someone else might've already called him before and he just brushed it off

Same with you, though in his heart he's over the moon

All he wants in life is to make everyone around him feel safe and loved, so to know that you of all people seem to think of him in such a way really warms his heart

Though he'll never point it out in fear of making you embarrassed

He's overjoyed!! But internally :)

✦ 𝐃𝐫. 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨 ✦

Truly baffled, at first

He's aware of his reputation and he doesn't mind it but he never expected someone to him that way

Though he's (not so) secretly very pleased

At his core, he's a teacher and that's what he loves to do - spread knowledge to all who seek it

And I'm sorry for reminding you of this but most of us have called our teacher mom/dad before so...

There's a slight chance it's happened before... also a slight chance he very dryly corrected them - "last time i checked i have no children" 🙄

Might do the same to you unless he's in one of his moods, writing down information or just lost in thought - then he'll probably just wave you away wordlessly

I feel like he understands on a behavioral level why you did it and because of it, wont comment on it or bring it up again. It's just something people do sometimes, nothing weird about it

The most neutral out of all of them but will make a mental note about how it probably means you trust him at least a little

When he lets himself be selfish and overthink it, it does warm his heart but you'll never know

✦ 𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐮𝐚𝐧 ✦

Actual father to Yanqing YOU CANT CHANGE MY MIND!!

Ooooh he's tearing his hair out trying not to tease you about it

He knows that if he does you'll crawl back in your shell again and thats tHEEE last thing he wants in life, really

It's easy to feel comfortable around him, i feel. He's just a big lazy cat - pretty independent and chill

He's good at just being there when you need him there as well as talking your ear off as a distraction - peak comfort

Definately called Jingliu 'mom' as a kid, come on

And Yanqing did the same with him

So it doesnt surprise him much since he understands its a pretty normal thing but GOOOOD he wants to acknowledge it so BAAADD

HE WANTS TO MAKE IT SILLY BUT NOOOOO 😭

He's an adult now (a very old one at that) so he understands that now is NOT the time

Will keep thinking back on it fondly tho :))

✦ 𝐆𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐫 ✦

Oh oh my... he gives so much deadbeat dad I'm getting nostalgic IM KIDDING

Anyway, as a bartender, i feel like thats happened to him before

People say weird shit when they're drunk so it's very likely someone's called him dad before

Though that feels very different to him

When people do that when drunk it doesn't usually mean anything - he must just remind them of their father (for good or bad) so he doesn't take it too seriously

But you? Oh he's taking it seriously

Ego? Inflated to hell and back

He's being extra sweet and caring with you

Making sure you eat and rest, etc

Gotta live up to his reputation 😉

The dad who stepped up fr

Might tease you about it, but if you have an adverse reaction he'll stop immediately

Very touched that you think of him that way even subconsciously and will try to make sure he doesn't disappoint :)

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kamisobsessed · 3 days ago

Text

I Don't Get Jealous

Summary: Takes place in S4E6 "Poetic Justice" when Tim takes Officer McGrady out on patrol, he meets McGrady's daughter Ashley who invites Tim over for dinner to thank him for taking her dad back out on the streets. Tim eventually agrees to go, but runs it by you first. Then after they find the treasure, the station celebrates Jerry's retirement. Tim does Jerry's end of watch and Ashley thanks Tim again. You are standing nearby talking with Harper and Chen, but you see Ashley flirting with Tim and you don't hesitate to stop it. (I am so bad at summaries)

Some other background info: You and Tim are engaged, you're a metro sergeant/metro liason at mid-wilshire, he's an LAPD sergeant at mid-wilshire. Ashley is obviously clueless to your relationship, you don't really show your relationship at work.

Pairings: Tim Bradford x Metro Sergeant!Reader, no use of y/n.

Warnings: jealousy, fluff, kind of implied possible smut at the end?, follows the plot of S4E6

A/N: My first Tim Bradford fic! Also, I hate Ashley and hated her and Tim's relationship so I had to go with this prompt from @reignsboy19, "Y/n being a badass and shutting down Ashley who was trying to flirt with Tim (her boyfriend) and Tim just being proud of her and everyone else just laughing at her jealousy" though I changed it up a little. Hope you enjoy!

[This is not proofread or edited, I'm too busy for that, I just wanted to post this]

****************************************************

When Sergeant Grey told Sergeant Bradford to talk Officer Jerry McGrady into retirement, Tim thought it would be easy. Until he had to actually talk to McGrady about it. Instead of discussing retirement, Tim asked him to go on patrol with him.

You always made sure to see Tim before he goes out on patrol, so you were waiting by the doors to his shop when you saw McGrady coming over with war bags and gear.

"Officer McGrady, no kit room duty today?" you ask him.

"Nope, Sergeant Bradford asked me to ride with him today," he says.

You raised your eyebrows and held back a chuckle, "oh really?" you say.

"Yep! It's truly an honor! I'm glad to be able to hit the streets again," he says.

"Well, you be safe out there Jerry," you say with a smile.

"Will do!" He says, and he went into the garage to set up the shop.

Tim came over after talking to Grey.

"I thought Grey told you to talk him into retirement?" You ask him, raising an eyebrow at him with a smirk.

"I told Grey I got this, he'll be thinking of nothing but retirement after today," he says.

"Right," you chuckle, knowing Tim just couldn't bring himself to rip the bandaid off.

He just grinned a little shaking his head, "Don't you have some metro op to do or something?" he asked.

"Nope," you smile. He just playfully rolls his eyes and opens the door to the garage.

"Be safe out there sarge," you say to him.

"You too, sarge," he says with a small smile looking back at you before the door closes.

You were in your office at the station when Tim knocks and walks in.

"Hey, how was riding with Jerry, he retire yet?" You ask him.

"Not yet, turns out he may be of some help on the treasure hunt case," Tim said, "But, once that is over, I'm sure he will retire," He says.

"Right, I'm sure," You respond sarcastically.

"Are you judging my ability to make someone leave the job?" Tim asked, "Should I remind you when I was your T.O., you almost washed out on day 2," he says.

"That's not the same, I was a rookie, I wasn't on the job for multiple decades like Jerry," you say.

"After this treasure hunt thing, I know Jerry will be ready to retire," he says.

"Okay, I believe you," you chuckled, "Now what has you in my office Sergeant Bradford?" You ask him, "Not that I don't like seeing my favorite person," you smile.

"Jerry and his daughter, Ashley, invited me over to have dinner, a thank you for me getting Jerry back on the streets. I said yes, just wanted to let you know," he says.

"I'm sure Jerry will like that," you say, "I'm gonna be late getting home anyways, have so many reports to catch up on, this treasure hunt has the city going mad," you sigh.

"Well, I'll see you at home later then," he says coming over to you and leaning down to give you a kiss.

"okay," you say giving him another quick peck on the lips.

"I love you," he says before he goes to leave your office.

"I love you, too," you say back before he heads out.

Tim was at dinner with Jerry and his daughter. Jerry was sound asleep on his recliner and Tim was helping Ashley clean up.

"You know, riding with you today was the highlight of dad's year," Ashley says, "Hell, his last 5 years."

"Yeah, I don't get it. Most cops who stay on the job this long, they don't have anything else waiting for them, but I'm sure you'd love to be able to spend more time with him," Tim says.

"Mm, because I've got nothing going on in my own life?" Ashley snaps back, jokingly.

"No, no. That's- that's not what I meant," Tim says defensively with a chuckle.

Ashley laughs, "Relax. It's a joke," she says. She lets out a sigh "No one ever gets my jokes," she says.

"I guess I'm just used to jokes being funny," Tim jokes back, "I guess that's why I got confused," He says and they both laugh as she throws a towel at him playfully.

Ashley sighs, "Honestly, I think my dad regrets not retiring 15 years ago when he was still on the street," she says looking over at her dad, "Like all his buddies did."

Tim understood and he looked over at Jerry who was softly snoring in the chair.

The treasure hunt case was finally closed. Jerry McGrady was officially retiring.

Tim had called Ashley to come to the station for when he and Jerry got back. Then he had Harper gather everyone at the station.

"Alright folks, attention please," Harper announced, "Turn your hand packs to the district channel," she says.

Lucy goes over to Ashley and Jerry, "I need to borrow your dad for a second," she tells Ashley and Ashley nods.

You stand next to Nyla as the station gathered around looking at Tim who was standing on the platform of the staircase.

"Control, 7-Adam-100," Tim spoke into his radio, his voice echoing out of everyone's radio pack in the station, "I am privileged to announce the retirement of Officer Jerry McGrady, badge number 9944. After 43 years and 9 months of service, this concludes his final shift," he continues, "Officer McGrady, you, sir, are End of Watch," Tim says, "Congratulations!"

Everyone cheers and applauds for him. Jerry just looks around, letting out an emotional sigh.

"It's been an honor serving this great city all these years," Jerry says, "so, take care if her now that I'm gone."

Everyone cheers and applauds for him once more.

People go up to Jerry to give him hugs and congratulations.

You went over to him and gave him a hug, "Congratulations, Jerry, we'll miss you around here," you say.

"Thank you, sergeant, I'll miss you all, too," he says.

You stand there with Nyla and Lucy as they talk, but you don't listen as you watch Ashley go up to where Tim is on the platform of the stairs.

"That was really beautiful," She says to him, "Dad won't forget it, and...neither will I," she smiles at him.

"It was my honor, your dad is a hell of a guy," Tim says.

"Maybe you could...stop by the house sometime, see how he's handling retirement," Ashley says.

"Yeah, that'd be great," Tim says.

Nyla and Lucy both see you looking at Tim and Ashley.

"Oh, someone's getting jealous," Nyla says.

"I don't get jealous," you said, "I'll just...be right back," you say and you walk away toward the stairs.

"She's definitely jealous," Nyla says.

"I think it's cute, she and Tim never show any affection at the station, they're both so professional," Lucy says.

"Maybe, you and I could grab dinner sometime?" Ashley asks Tim.

"Oh, I- um..." Tim says flustered, but you come up behind him.

"Ready to head home babe?" You ask Tim, you look at Ashley, "oh, sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," you say.

"Uh Ashley, this is my girlfriend," Tim says introducing you "She's the metro liason sergeant."

"Oh, hi, it's nice to meet you," Ashley says, "I better go find dad, thank you again for everything, Tim," she says.

Tim nods, "it was my pleasure," he says.

She just nods and awkwardly smiles at me as she goes down the stairs.

Tim turns to you with a smile on his face.

"What?" You ask him with a chuckle.

"You're pretty cute when you're jealous," he says.

"I- no, I wasn't jealous, I just- she- she tried asking you out," You say, fumbling over your words.

"I was going to turn her down, you know," he says.

"I know you were, I was just-" you say but he cuts you off,

"Jealous?" He asks, smirking at you.

"Shut up," you say nudging him playfully and you both laughed.

"Let's clock out and head home and relax, yeah?" he says taking your hand.

"Yes, sir," you say with a grin as you walk with him down the stairs

"Watch it, or we'll do more than just relax," He says lowly so only you hear as he smirks at you.

"Is that a promise?" You say back.

"Hmm, maybe," he says with a wink.

****************************************************

A/N: My first Tim Bradford fic! Idk, I'm kinda proud of this. I took a LOT from the show obviously, but I saw that prompt and had to write it. So glad he and Ashley broke up...otherwise we wouldn't get Chenford. And I swear if Chenford doesn't get back together in season 7...Anyways, hope you enjoyed reading :)

Tags: @justwhisperingfantasies

#tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #the rookie #tim bradford fic #timothy bradford #the rookie x reader #tim bradford the rookie #the rookie fic #eric winter #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford x you #tim the rookie

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bomber-grl · 3 days ago

Text

Kusuo Saiki Dating Headcanons

Pairing(s): Kusuo Saiki x Gn!Reader

It takes a really long time to get to the point where the two of you are dating. Like 100,000,000 words, slow burn, they finally kiss at the end– sort of fanfic. Honestly, I think Saiki’s a bit hesitant about relationships in general because they seem like a hassle. Everyone else is on thin ice already, the thought of putting effort into a relationship is exhausting enough.

Like with everyone else, he’s pretty indifferent toward you at first, and you only move up to "mild annoyance" status if you stick around long enough. Especially since he’s probably hearing all your thoughts, so there’s that.

Now, onto the actual headcanons. Saiki isn’t exactly the affectionate type. You two probably started as friends, mostly with you bothering him. Even after he realizes he likes you (though he really tries to hide it), nothing changes much. The difference is, you’re the only person he seems to tolerate. Everyone else wonders why you even bother with him.

Sometimes, Saiki gets... freaked out? There’s really no other way to put it. He’s used to being around people who are idiots, so when someone like you comes along—someone who’s rather perceptive—that’s a bit much for him. It messes with his head. Despite being able to hear your every thought, he starts wondering if you’re psychic too.

You can tell what he’s feeling, what he wants, and even do things for him. Sure, he could do all those things tenfold in just under a minute, but for some reason, he finds himself smiling. He even starts thinking fondly of you.

If you were another Nendou, though? He’d probably avoid you, and your relationship would be a slow burn that takes another 100,000,000 words and even worse edging (Not like that). But I digress. Saiki shows affection in subtle ways. Like remembering offhand comments you’ve made about your favorite snack or color.

He’s the type of guy who’ll subtly push your chair out of the way when you’re about to trip or pick up a dropped pen without you asking. He might not say much, but he’ll do whatever he can to make your life a little easier, even if he doesn’t directly tell you that.

I know it might sound like I’m painting him as a deadbeat bf, but honestly? He’d probably be a great boyfriend. He can literally hear your thoughts. He knows what you want, even before you say it. He’s seen (and heard) men ruin their relationships because they thought they knew their partner. So, when you want to grab a treat or have been wanting something that relates to an interest, he’ll know.

He’ll also know (and hear) if you slightly even think he’s good looking on a particular day. He’ll never admit it, of course, but if you get embarrassed thinking about it (since you know he can hear your thoughts), he secretly enjoys that. Seeing you flustered is one of his guilty pleasures—even though he’d never show it.

And yeah, Saiki’s protective. He won’t say it, and he won’t make a big show of it like other people would, but he does care. If something’s bothering you, he’ll subtly step in. Like if someone’s making you uncomfortable, he’ll use his telekinesis to, throw something at them or trip them up—whatever works, as long as no one knows it was him.

He doesn’t like people messing with you, and he won’t hesitate to shut them down, even if he keeps it minimal to avoid drawing attention to himself.

In this following scenario you're another Nendou. He hardly ever gets surprised. I mean, hearing everyone’s thoughts kind of ruins surprises, spoilers for a new tv show, honestly anything for him. But maybe—just maybe—the only way to startle or fluster him is by turning the tables on that. Maybe it’s the first time you show affection in your relationship.

Saiki’s not big on physical touch– we all know that much. If you want to hug him, go ahead, but he’ll probably just stand there like a statue. So, let’s say you somehow convince him to come over to your place, and then you, attempted subtly, suggest that you kiss him out of nowhere.

He’d choke on his drink and immediately try to cover it up. Forget not hearing your thoughts, he literally didn’t think you’d want to kiss him anytime soon. He won’t show it (obviously) but deep down, he’s definitely a little shaken.

Now, in the chance that you two do kiss, (which is chapters later– in fanfiction terms) he’s very hesitant? Like sure, he can destroy the entire Earth if he even wanted to but the idea is still startling. He thinks it over and once he agrees (which is the only kiss you’ll get until the next blue moon) he is admittedly worried.

He’s never kissed anyone, he never planned to so he tries to be collected like he always is. If a satellite suddenly went offline somewhere in space, well that’s nothing to do with him.

Also, an extra that isn’t a dating hc is that Saikis mom and dad love you so much, his dad literally asked if you were actually real which earned a side eye from Saiki. It does get annoying for Saiki, but he’s pretty glad you all get along.

#fanfic #gn reader #male reader #female reader #fanfic fluff #fluff #fluff headcanons #saiki k fanfic #saiki k x reader #the disastrous life of saiki k.#saiki x reader #saiki kusuo #kusuo x reader #kusuo saiki x reader #psychic kusuo #saiki k #kusuo saiki #dating hcs #fluff hcs

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slut4megantheestallion · 2 days ago

Note

Hello! I don't know if you have any rules regarding requests, but I sent you my idea. Arcane women x female reader! Especially Vi, Jinx and Caitlyn. They wanted to have something more intimate with the reader, but she can't because of past experiences and she feels frustrated with herself, and she doesn't feel able to tell her partner because she thinks he will judge and abandon her. Many times, the reader has stayed awake while her partner is sleeping and begins to cry, then her partner wakes up after sobs and finds the reader crying, and she finally confesses her trauma and her love comforts her. Again, if you're uncomfortable with this, you're free not to write it down! Hugs!

Characters: Vi, Jinx, Caitlyn.

Hiii<3 yeahh, I'll do this, and yes, I write for arcane sometimes, I do take requests 😄.

Arcane Women x Reader w/ trauma Headcannons

Scenario: The reader struggles with intimacy due to past trauma, afraid of judgment and abandonment. She often stays awake, crying, feeling frustrated herself, and ashamed. Until one night, her partner wakes up and finds her breaking down. Comfort and love follow.

Warning ⚠️: angst, trauma, past abuse, comfort, fluff.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Before you ended up in Zaun/Piltover and met, vi, Jinx, or caitlyn, your life was far from kind. You had experienced relationships that weren't built on love or trust, just lust, power, control, manipulation, and fear.

You were once with someone who made you feel like your body was something they deserved rather than something you owned. Your bound were ignored - your "no" was met with guilt tripping, anger, or silent treatment until you gave in. You learned to freeze rather than fight back because arguing led to worse outcomes. Over time, you started believing that love was something you had to earn by giving parts of yourself away.

Even after escaping that life, the scars lingered. You told yourself you were free and that no one can hurt you again, but when it comes to intimacy, your body still remembers what it felt like to be powerless.

Kisses sometimes feels like suffocating.

Touch- no matter how gentle - could make your skin crawl.

Even when your partner held you in the safest way, your mind whispered, what if they get tired of waiting? What if they leave?

You love them, but you hated yourself for feeling like this.

-Vi

● Vi had always been patient with you. She never pushes, never pressures you - just waits for you to come to her when you're ready, but she does notice this from the beginning of the relationship. How you'd tense slightly when things got to heated. How your kisses always stopped before they could get too deep. She doesn't pressure you or anything. She waits for to be ready, but what she doesn't know is that you don't think you'll ever be ready.

●Tonight is another restless night. You lie beside vi, staring at the ceiling while she sleeps, steady and warm next to you. You wish you could be at peace like that, but the weight on your chest won't let you breathe properly. You bite lips, trying to hold the tears back, but your body betrays you. A quiet sob escapes before you can stop it.

●A slight shift, then a groggy, sleep rough voice:

●"Babe?" Her voice is thick with sleep, but the concern is immediate.

●She sees you curled up, shaking. Something in her chest hurts.

●She reaches out, but the moment her hand brushes your back, you flinch. That makes her freeze.

●"Talk to me, sweetheart."

●You shake your head, hands gripping the sheets like they're the only thing keeping you together. "I'm sorry," you whisper.

●"For what?" Vi asks, brow furrowing.

●You try to explain how you want to be normal, how you hate that you pull away when she touches you, how you're afraid she'll get frustrated and walk away like everyone else did. Your voice cracks as you confess what happened in the past, how you were used, how your body never felt like yours.

●Vi listens, silent, herfists clenching under the blankets. Not at you, but at the people who did this to you. At the world that made you feel so fucking small.

●She leans in, gently tilting your chin up so you can see her eyes - so full of love and unwavering devotion.

●"You never have to apologize for this. Ever." She kisses your forehead, slow and lingering. "I don't need anything from you, okay? Just you. However you are, whenever you're ready. And if you're never ready? That's fine, too."

●Your breath hitches. "But... what if you get tired of waiting?

●Vi huffs a small laugh, but there's no humor in it - only warmth.

●"Then I'll wait longer."

●For the first time in a long time, you believe someone.

-Jinx

●Jinx sleeps like the dead usually, but tonight, something pulls her from her dreams - maybe it's instinct, maybe it's the way the bed feels too cold despite your body being right there.

●And then she hears it. Soft, muffled crying, her heart clenches.

● Jinx turns over, rubbing her eyes, then freezes when she sees you curled up, facing away from her, shoulders shaking.

●"Babe?"

●You stiffen, hurriedly wiping your face. "Sorry, I - just go back to sleep."

●Jinx isn't having it. Within seconds, she's hovering over you, pressing her forehead against the back of your head.

●"Nuh-uh, nice try. What's wrong, sugarplum?"

●You try to hold it in. You do. But the moment she snakes an arm around your waist, anchoring you to her, it all comes spilling out in broken whispers.

●Jinx listens. And for once, she doesn't joke, doesn't deflect - just holds you, silent and still, until you're done. When you finally stop, she exhales a shaky breath.

●"Damn, that's been eatin' at you this whole time, huh?" You nodded.

●Jinx is quiet for a long moment, and then she turns you into her arms, cupping your face. "Listen up, cause I ain't sayin' this twice. You? You're the best damn thing that's ever happened to me. And I don't give a shit if we ever do anything like that. I just want you, yeah?" Tears spill over again, but this time, there's relief in them.

●Jinx smirks softly, brushing a thumb over your cheek. "Now come here, lemme squeeze the sadness outta ya." She pulls you against her, tucking you under her chin, holding you like she'll never let go, Because she won't.

-Caitlyn Kirraman

●Caitlyn has always been patient, but tonight, when she wakes to the sound of your quiet sobs, her heart shatters.

●"Darling?" Her voice is soft, laced with concern. You curl in on yourself. "I- I can't do this."

●"Do what?" Caitlyn sits up, brushing her fingers over your back. "Be what you deserve." Caitlyn breath catches, "love, look at me."

●You hesitate, but finally do. And when you see her face - soft, full of love, worried - the words come pouring out.

●You tell her everything. The past, the guilt, the fear that she'll leave. Caitlyn listens, her hand gently rubbing yours.

●"I wish I could take the pain away." She says softly. "I wish I could erase every horrible thing they did to you. But since I can't... let me show you that love doesn't have to be like that."

●You choke back a sob.

●Caitlyn presses a tender kiss to your knuckles. "No matter what, I'm here. We go at your pace, always."

●Her words wrap around you like the warmest blanket. And finally, after all these years, you believe it.

#vi arcane x reader #vi arcane #black!reader #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn kirraman x reader #arcane x black reader #jinx x reader #jinx arcane #angst #arcane angst #arcane fluff #wlw #wlw x reader #pls dont flop #it's pretty short 😅

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partoffantasy · 3 days ago

Text

Playing Dirty - Liam Mairi

summary: when their latest round of flirtation turns into something more, reader finds herself on the losing end for the first time. Because Liam isn’t just playing anymore. And when he finally makes his move, she realizes—maybe she never stood a chance to begin with.

pairing: liam mairi x fem!reader warnings: MDNI!, smut, swearing, unprotected p in v, oral (f & m) word count: 3.1k

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

–Liam’s POV–

I am going to die. Not from battle. Not from a wyvern attack. Not even from the war. No. I am going to die because of her. Because Y/N just peeled off her shirt like it was nothing, revealing a tight black sports bra and an equally tight pair of shorts that should be illegal. I feel my brain short-circuit.

Every thought evaporates from my head, leaving only one very obvious fact: She is wearing that on purpose. And she knows exactly what she’s doing. I catch the way her lips quirk when she stretches, rolling out her shoulders, pretending she doesn’t notice the way half the damn training grounds are watching her.

I definitely notice. And so does everyone else.

Sawyer whistles under his breath. “Oh, she’s playing dirty today.” Ridoc snickers. “Wonder who she’s trying to kill.” “Me,” I say immediately. “The answer is me.” Violet, standing beside me, hums knowingly. “Well, it’s about time someone made a move.” I shoot her a look, but my attention snaps back to the mat as Y/N steps up to her opponent—another first-year I don’t recognize.

And then she smirks. Oh, fuck me. Because I know that smirk. That smirk means trouble. That smirk means she’s about to put on a show. And I should look away. I should not let myself get sucked into this game she’s playing. But then she moves. Quick, sharp, precise—like she’s dancing, like she was born for this.

She dodges her opponent’s first hit with ease, twisting gracefully, using her smaller size to her advantage. And then she strikes—landing a hit so fast the first-year doesn’t even see it coming. He stumbles back. She smiles sweetly. And gods help me, I am not okay. Sawyer nudges me. “You’re staring.” I don’t even deny it. “She’s doing this on purpose.” Rhi grins. “Of course she is.”

“She’s trying to get in my head,” I mutter, watching as Y/N dodges another attack, her body twisting in a way that is absolutely illegal. “She thinks she’s winning.” Ridoc snorts. “Well… she kinda is.” I shoot him a glare. “Not for long.”

Because two can play this game. And the second Instructor Emet calls my name, I don’t hesitate. I grab the back of my shirt and tug it over my head, dropping it to the mat before stepping forward, letting my shoulders roll loose, letting my muscles flex just enough.

I hear the sharp intake of breath behind me. And when I turn to face Lorena, her eyes are locked on my chest. I smirk. Got her. Her throat bobs. I raise a brow. “Something wrong, Y/N?” She blinks fast, clearing her throat, forcing her gaze up. “Not at all.” But her voice wobbles.

–Y/N’s POV–

Oh, he thinks he’s so smart. Thinks he can one-up me. Thinks that just because he took his damn shirt off—and yes, okay, it’s annoyingly distracting—he has the upper hand. But what Liam doesn’t realize? I like a challenge.

Instructor Emet doesn’t waste time. “Cadets,” he calls, stepping back. “Begin.” And I don’t hesitate. I lunge first, aiming for his left side. He dodges. I spin, barely missing his grip, and twist—using the momentum to aim a sharp kick at his ribs.

He blocks me with his forearm, but his smile widens. “You’re fast,” he murmurs. I smirk. “You hesitated.” And then I strike again. We move like clockwork—fluid, sharp, precise. Attack. Block. Counter. Strike. It’s a deadly, dangerous dance, and neither of us are willing to give in. But the thing about Liam? He’s stronger.

And the second he catches my wrist, I know I’m in trouble. Because I might be fast, but he’s got sheer, unfair brute force on his side. He yanks me forward, using my own momentum against me, spinning me midair before pinning me flat against the mat.

And suddenly—He’s everywhere. His chest pressing into mine, his breath warm against my cheek, his fingers tight around my wrists. I freeze. Because fuck. Because he’s really close. Because his pupils are blown wide and his golden-retriever face is looking far too pleased with himself.

“Pinned you,” he murmurs, way too smug. I swallow hard. “You think you’ve won.” His grip tightens. “Haven’t I?” Oh, hell no. He’s playing dirty. So I do, too. I shift beneath him—arching just enough, pressing against the solid weight of him, letting my breath hitch just slightly. His whole body tenses. His jaw locks.

And I see it—the brief flicker of panic in his eyes, the moment he realizes that he might have just played himself. I smirk. “Not quite,” I whisper. And then I flip him.

He grunts as his back hits the mat, and before he can react, I’m on top of him, straddling his waist, pinning his wrists to the ground. His eyes go wild. “Oh,” he breathes. Just that. Just oh.

Like he finally understands.

Like he finally sees me.

Like he finally realizes that this game we’re playing? Neither of us are winning.

Because we’re both already gone.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The second classes end, I don’t hesitate. Liam is still talking to Ridoc about something utterly irrelevant—something about lunch, maybe? I don’t care. Because I have one goal.

I grab his wrist, fingers wrapping tight, and yank. “Whoa—Y/N?” His voice is confused, but his feet follow without hesitation. I don’t stop until we’re behind the massive stone statue near the edge of the courtyard—tucked away from prying eyes, away from everyone.

Alone.

The moment we’re in the shadows, I turn, my back hitting the cold stone, Liam right there in front of me, confused but very interested. “What are you—” “I’m tired of this game,” I cut him off, my voice low, breath coming fast.

His expression shifts—just slightly. His head tilts, watching me closely. He’s amused. That should infuriate me. Instead, it makes my stomach tighten. “Oh?” His voice is soft, teasing. “What game, exactly?”

Infuriating.

I step closer, closing the space between us, looking up at him through my lashes. He’s so tall, so broad, his shoulders blocking out the light. “The one we’ve been playing all day,” I whisper-shout at him, getting angry.

I see it—the flicker in his eyes, the moment my words hit. But then he does something I don’t expect. He laughs. Soft. Low. And then, in one slow movement, he steps closer. And closer.

Until I’m fully pinned against the statue, his hands braced on either side of me, caging me in.

Until I have nowhere to go.

Until his mouth is just at my ear, his breath warm against my skin.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice lower, rougher than I’ve ever heard it. “Stop calling this a game, you know it isn’t.” My breath catches. Oh, fuck. My heartbeat slams against my ribs. I refuse to break eye contact, but my fingers betray me—curling slightly, gripping his bicep just a little too tight.

He notices. And he smiles. A slow, knowing, dangerous smile. “Here’s the thing, baby,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing just barely over my hip. “I see you. I see right through you. You act like you’re in control. Like you’re the one calling the shots.” His fingers tighten slightly. “But that’s not what you really want, is it?”

I don’t react. I can’t. Because he’s right. He knows he’s right. And fuck, that should scare me. But all it does is set me on fire. I open my mouth, but he’s already there—tilting my chin just slightly with his fingers, making me look at him.

“You need someone who isn’t afraid to take control,” he continues, his voice like gravel and heat. “Someone who doesn’t let you push them around. Someone who knows exactly what you need and isn’t afraid to give it to you.”

I suck in a sharp breath. His thumb brushes my lower lip, just barely. And then he pulls back. Just enough to make me feel the distance. Just enough to make me ache. Then he smirks. “Are you going to finally give in, Y/N?” I stop myself to think. Because if we start—We won’t stop.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Liam pulls me into his room, the door falling softly behind us, the sound of the lock clicking in place. The air between us crackles with anticipation. Before I can even process it, he presses me against the wall with a force that leaves me breathless, his lips crashing onto mine in a searing kiss. His hands grip my sides, pulling me closer, and I can feel the heat radiating off him. I tangle my fingers in his soft blonde hair, tugging at the strands as if grounding myself in the sensation of him.

His lips move from my mouth to my neck, trailing hot, wet kisses along my sensitive skin. My head falls back, instinctively giving him more access, and I shiver, feeling his warmth spread through me. His breath is ragged against my throat, and when he sucks gently on the skin there, a quiet moan escapes my lips. His grin is audible as he murmurs, “Fuck, I’ve been waiting to hear that.”

The sound of his voice makes my pulse spike, and the desire that has been simmering between us finally erupts into something urgent. I pull back slightly to look at him, my eyes locking onto his as I tug his shirt off. The moment his chest is exposed, the dim moonlight catches on the sculpted lines of his body, the muscles flexing under his smooth skin. My hands trace the ridges of his abs, traveling lower, grazing the waistband of his pants, and then finally dipping to the v-line that dips below. My breath catches in my throat as I look up at him, and his eyes are burning with something almost dangerous.

“You’re perfect,” I breathe out, my voice low and full of need.

Liam’s hands travel down my body, undoing the buttons of my shirt with an ease that speaks to how well he knows me. As the fabric slides off my shoulders, I stand before him in nothing but a delicate lace bra, my skin flushed and my heart pounding in anticipation. His eyes drop to my chest, his gaze dark and hungry, and I can’t stop the flush that blooms in my cheeks.

“You’re fucking stunning,” he mutters before his lips crash back onto mine in a kiss that leaves me breathless. I respond, hungry for more, my hands slipping to his belt, undoing it slowly, teasingly, my fingers brushing against the hardness I can feel through his pants. He groans into my mouth, and I smile against his lips as I slide down to my knees before him, feeling the heat of his body against mine.

I look up at him, his body towering above me, and my hands work swiftly to undo his pants. I hear the rustle of fabric, and then he’s free, his cock already thick and hard. I bite my lip, unable to suppress the smirk that tugs at the corner of my mouth.

“Someone’s eager,” I tease, my voice breathy with desire.

Liam’s breath hitches, his hands threading through my hair, pulling me closer. I look up at him one last time before I lean forward, brushing my lips over the tip of his cock. The taste of him is divine, and I slide my tongue along the length of him, savoring the salty, intoxicating flavor.

His hands tighten in my hair, guiding me slowly, and I take him deeper, inch by inch, until I can feel him at the back of my throat. My mouth moves with precision, hollowing my cheeks as I take him in completely, every inch of him filling me. Liam’s breathing becomes ragged as he watches me, his eyes dark and stormy.

“Gods, Y/N,” he groans, his hips thrusting slightly, urging me to take more. I hum in approval, the vibration causing him to shudder beneath my touch. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good.”

I hollow my cheeks, sucking him in deeper, my hand gripping his thick thighs as I let myself fall into the rhythm, sucking and licking in time with his movements. I can feel the tension building between us, the heat intensifying as I take him deeper, pushing him to the back of my throat.

“Fuck,” he curses, and the sound of his voice is raw with need. “I can’t hold back much longer.”

He pulls me off him, and I gasp for air, my lips swollen from the intensity. Without missing a beat, he pulls me up, capturing my lips in a kiss that tastes like fire. He moves with purpose, his hands guiding me onto the bed. His lips travel down my neck, his breath warm against my skin. He’s moving with a controlled urgency, as if he’s trying to savor every moment of this.

He pauses, his eyes darkening as he looks at me with that intense, commanding gaze. “You’re perfect,” he breathes, his hands slipping to the waistband of my panties. In one swift motion, he pulls them off, throwing them aside. He looks down at me, his eyes hungry, and I feel a thrill of anticipation rush through me.

“Gods, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss the swell of my breasts. His lips tease along the lace of my bra, and I arch into him, desperate for more. My hands slide into his hair, tugging him closer, urging him on.

Without warning, his lips trail lower, and he places a soft kiss on my stomach before continuing downward. My breath catches as he reaches my inner thighs, his breath warm against my skin. I squirm beneath him, and he chuckles darkly, the sound making me ache with need.

Then, finally, he’s there, his tongue sweeping over my most sensitive part. A gasp escapes my lips, and I feel my body tremble at the sheer sensation of his mouth on me. He’s slow at first, his tongue exploring, teasing, before he presses harder, his lips suckling gently. I can feel the tension building inside me, a knot coiling tight as his fingers slip inside, stretching me as he works me open.

“Liam, please,” I whisper, my body arching into his touch.

He responds with a low groan, his fingers moving faster, harder, as his tongue works in rhythm with his hands. I can feel myself unraveling, the pleasure building to an unbearable height. “Cum for me, baby,” he urges, his voice a breathless command.

That’s all it takes. My body shudders as I reach the peak, and I scream his name, the force of my orgasm taking me completely. Liam doesn’t stop, continuing to stroke me through my release, his fingers pumping slowly, drawing out every last tremor.

When I finally collapse back onto the bed, panting and spent, he moves up beside me, kissing my forehead before trailing his lips down to my neck. His breath is ragged, and I can feel his heart racing as his hands roam over my body, grounding me back in the moment.

“Good girl,” he whispers, kissing me softly as he brushes his thumb over my lips. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come apart for me.”

I smile up at him, hazy with pleasure, my body still tingling from the aftershocks of my release. I run my finger along his jawline, tracing the lines of his face as I catch my breath.

But there’s no time to recover. He’s not done yet, and as he pulls me closer, I feel his cock pressing against my thigh, hard and ready once more. “You good?”, he asks, looking at me with those big blue eyes. My body responds to him instinctively, nodding and craving more of him.

He pushes my legs apart, settling between them as his tongue tangles with mine in a deep, hungry kiss. I feel the heat of him at my entrance, the weight of him pressing against me before he enters with a single, powerful thrust.

"Oh, fuck!" I cry out, my nails digging into his back, leaving crimson marks that I can’t bring myself to care about. He grins at me, eyes dark with desire.

"I couldn’t hold back," he murmurs, his breath ragged as he pulls out slowly before pushing back in, inch by inch.

I moan in response, my body aching for more. "Faster, please."

He obliges, his thrusts becoming relentless, the sound of our bodies colliding filling the room. The rhythm of it—raw, urgent—has me gasping for air, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper. My hands rake over his back, leaving trails of fire in their wake as he kisses my neck.

But I push him away, a spark of something wild igniting within me. I twist, flipping us so that I’m on top. He smirks up at me, his hands settling on my waist, gripping hard. I move my hair from my face, letting it fall over my back as I use my hands to steady myself, planting them on his abs.

This position drives him deeper, and I’m sensitive, every inch of him sending waves of pleasure through me. "Fuck, you look like a goddess, Y/N," Liam moans, his voice strained, and he helps guide my movements with his hands.

I move faster, hips circling, driving him wild. His moans, raw and primal, spur me on. "That’s so good," he groans.

After a few minutes of blissful, unrelenting rhythm, he flips us again.

"Get on your knees, head down," he orders, voice thick with need. I bite my lip and obey, shivering with anticipation.

His thrusts come from behind, a new angle that has us both gasping. The intensity of it makes me push back, meeting each thrust with frantic urgency. His hands find my arms, guiding them to my back, holding me still as he presses my face into the pillow.

The scent of him—warm, familiar, intoxicating—fills my senses, and then his hand lands on my ass, a sharp slap that has me gasping, a strangled moan escaping my throat. It’s so damn sexy, I can’t help but cry out louder.

He drives into me, relentless, and the pressure builds—faster, stronger—until I’m teetering on the edge.

"Can you come for me, baby?" Liam groans, his hips faltering for just a moment.

"Yes, gods, Liam!" I moan, feeling the waves crash over me as my orgasm hits, intense and overwhelming. Moments later, he follows, his hips stuttering as he spills into me, the weight of his release pushing me over the edge again.

For a moment, we both lie still, breathless, before he gently pulls out and falls back onto the cushions beside me. He takes a deep breath, his body still trembling with aftershocks. I move toward him, resting my head on his chest as he wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer, his bare skin warm against mine.

“That was fucking incredible,” he mutters, his lips brushing my temple.

I smile against him, my eyes fluttering closed. “It was. So, so good.”

#fourth wing #liam fourth wing #liam mairi #liam mairi x reader #liam mairi smut #liam x reader #fourth wing smut #onyx storm smut #iron flame smut #the empyrean #xaden riorson #fourth wing fanfic #fourth wing imagine

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hitlikehammers · 23 hours ago

Text

tremolo

…what if instead of learning clarinet or percussion, you could learn to read the music of hearts? 💕

rating: t ♥️ cw: love at first sight, car crash (off-screen), SUCH FLUFF ♥️ tags: ✨magical realism au, musician eddie munson, paramedic steve harrington, kinda soulmates (it makes more sense with the magical realism part), character study, softness

for @steddielovemonth day one: "Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet." —Plato

It was just like learning any instrument, really.

At least what they tried to convince Eddie to believe at the tender age of nine.

But it was all about finding an aptitude, apparently. Developing a talent. Fourth grade rolls around and he fucks up blowing with a reed, manages to give himself a tongue splinter. Nearly passes out on the brass. Ends up with the choir lady looking over horn-rimmed glasses and narrowing her eyes at him less like a teacher and more like a fortune teller or something, scrying what’s to come of him, like she can see through all that he is and will be, before she goes scribbling something on his little slip of paper already marking all the failed kinds of music he’ll never get to make and telling him: go to Room 011.

But no one ever goes to Room 011.

He meets a petite woman with mousy hair and clothes that look like they belong to someone else, somehow. She introduces herself as Miss L. She looks like a Miss L., so he doesn’t think any further on the point.

You will not play much, really, she tells him, and the way she talks is kinda funny, like she learned words but not from people actually saying them out loud. Eddie kinda likes it, though. The playing is only for emergencies, and if you find your True Note.

Eddie doesn’t know what most of that means, except for the fact that the whole point of trying—and failing—at all the instruments was to join the school band with something to play. So if that’s not what he’s going to learn, then what the heck is Eddie meant to be doing down here—is what he wants to ask.

He manages a little politer version of the same, his nan’d be proud. His dad wouldn’t care even if he was around and not behind bars. His uncle might be happy that Eddie’s kept his nose clean just this one time. So he figures he does okay.

But really, he just wants an answer. He was supposed to get to learn music. It was the one thing that was keeping this whole year feeling like he could maybe, maybe survive it.

It also means he doesn’t have to take the art class that’s mostly kindergarten crafts instead of real art, so.

“You will be learning music,” Miss L. answers, more patient than most grownups; “you are here to learn how to read the songs that hearts sing.”

And that is, by far, in all of his whole nine years of living, the most fucking absurd sentence that Eddie has ever heard.

——

He’d kinda thought it was a joke, when he left that first afternoon to get back before Language Arts.

Turned out: nope. It was not.

He’d maybe thrown something slightly less childish than a tantrum, when what he got was a big set of earphones and a box the size of an Easy-Bake Oven, where apparently he’d be playing some kind of recordings to start his lessons.

“Do you not wish to learn?” Miss L. asked so simply, and Eddie…

Eddie reminded himself that no matter how foolish and stupid this was, it couldn’t possibly be worse than making construction paper collages with Elmer’s glue, so.

He put the headphones on and pressed play.

——

His workbooks didn’t look like anyone else’s in band—in fact, Eddie didn’t think he was actually a part of the class band, like, he wasn’t expecting to play at the spring concert with the flutes and the trombones, anymore. When he had sheets of staves to fill out they didn’t have straight lines. He didn’t draw different circles with little flags and bridges connecting them. He…

“When there are no keys, and there is no time signature,” Miss L. had explained, and it took time to make any sense; “you are the rules, and you feel what is a melody,” she’d tapped something that feltbeautiful, like daffodils blooming, though Eddie couldn’t say why; “and what is a warning.”

And then she’d tapped again, and it clenched in Eddie’s chest like a tornado siren, and…yeah.

That was kind of the best explanation he could have asked for.

——

It’s in middle school, when everyone else gets new band directors while Eddie sticks with Miss L., that it starts to…well.

That’s when the fact that Eddie’s alone in his lessons, and no one seems to know quite what he does—and the other kids who get that kind of treatment are usually the ones who can’t add or spell right, who have some kind of problem to work on extra hard—but it’s around then that Eddie starts being called names for it.

It’s not too bad, at first. Eddie’s worked for his two full years of elementary school lessons to get through recognizing the songs, suffers the point where recognizing becomes unbearable, overwhelming—Miss L. never left his side when he held his head in pain for all the noise, all the songs because they were everywhere, in everyone, and how was he supposed to learn what was right and what was good and what was just okay but then what was also everything the opposite when he couldn’t even think—

But she taught him the tools, the ways to sift through the chatter, as she called it. Because not all of it was a warning; not all of it was bad just because it wasn’t beautiful.

Some of the noise just was.

She showed him how to trust his own ear; his own song in his own chest as a guide, because that’s why he was here: he had a gift, an aptitude, built in and in need of development. Liked they’d said in the beginning.

He’s nearly thirteen when she teaches him how to write his own songs, in the not-notes and the no-tempos. In the nameless flow of sound.

It’s when his classmates overhear one of those works-in-progress, the taunting gets worse, starts to hedge toward unbearable.

Until Eddie asks if he can just stop: quit this. It’s not worth it. He doesn’t want to be a freak.

“It is a rite of passage, to ask this,” Miss L. says slowly, no judgement, and weirdly no pity; “but I should tell you first,” and her eyes narrow more than Eddie thinks he’s ever seen them.

“Your skill is already greater than any I have seen, and is only getting sharper, more keen.”

And hell if a teacher’s ever said something niceabout Eddie Munson, let alone something that sounds like flat-out praise.

“They cannot hear the music, this is why they say those things,” she flicks her wrist less like conducting a chorus and more like shooing a gnat, like that’s the appropriate amount of consideration the comments deserve. “Your task has always been to teach them what they do not know, to show them the wonder they are ignoring as they live and breathe.”

And while it really would have been nice to know that before signing up for this…this what, calling? Vocation?

While that would’ve been nice, Eddie…Eddie can at least mostly understand he wouldn’t have understood any of it in the fourth grade.

He barely understands now.

But he can feel it. He understands how to feel the music that fills all those gaps.

“This is common,” Miss L. turns back to him, steeples her fingers while humming something from the radio: not bad, but not beautiful. That’s what she means, he realizes. The radio plays common.

“This,” and she puts a hand over her own chest and keeps time with her fingers on the tabletop as she hums a wholly novel thing out of thin air, and Eddie has never seen someone else recognize the music, has never watched someone compose in the veins where the songs that hearts sing are played, let alone in real time; maybe she never had because he had to lean for himself, first.

But it is kind of exquisite to witness.

“This,” she stops, and raises a brow pointedly in Eddie’s direction; “is human, built in your cells.”

Eddie couldn’t name why, precisely, but he feels…shamed, but also empowered. So different, but they make an almost compelling melody together as they clash.

“They will call you freak before they call you prodigy,” Miss L. says it like a fact, which…kinda sucks to hear, in all honesty.

“They will label you insane, before they recognize you as genius,” and the way she adds that part makes him feel like that was her personal burden to bear, and he aches for her in it.

“They will cry out garbage and nonsense,” and here, these words: these are the ones Eddie knows immediately he’s meant to be hearing, be weaving into notes the strongest, the ones she wants him to keep closest and never lose:

“They will cry out worthless,” she spits out with a venom he’s never heard her use; “before they will sob in the face of your masterworks, and how they will breathe magic in the soul.”

And…Eddie doesn’t know exactly what to do in the face of the conviction she says that last part with. To doubt it, as he instinctively wants to, feels vile; the most egregious disrespect. He can’t bring himself to even try. So, he asks instead, voice rough:

“When will it change?”

Because despite everything: he doesn’t want to be a freak.

“That I cannot say,” she sighs, and she does sound sorry; “and it may never change at all.”

Eddie doesn’t know if he’s built to handle that, the possibility of never.

“But even if you leave, here and now,” Miss L. cuts into his despairing; “even if you stop your learning, the songs will never leave you.”

Oh.

Oh, so did they…did they teach him to hear a endless goddamn curse, and as a fucking kid—

“You would always have come to hear them,” Miss L. must read his mind, or maybe just his face; “just never with any place to funnel the noise,” and he…guesses he should be grateful. He nearly went mad in those early years, before she taught him how to make new melodies, concertos the likes of which even the great masters hadn’t penned, because they played in a different medium. Their notes and structured time were useful, but limited.

And if they never heard otherwise, how would even the most brilliant talents know what they were passing over, leaving behind?

“Do you still wish to leave?”

Eddie turns, almost having forgotten Miss L. was still sitting there, watching him. Almost having forgotten what he’d come to ask, to give up.

There’s no question left, now.

He gets out his notebook, his pen, and starts as he always does.

With the listening.

——

It’s a genuine distraction—the songs get louder with time, but Miss L. tells him that’s a sign of his skill growing, his notice of the equivalents of key signatures and ligature notes in the heartbeats he passes every day—but it costs him passing senior year once, and then again, and almost a third time until by the skin of his teeth, he manages. While every other teacher shames him for it, derides him as incurably stupid, or at the very least unambitious to the point of embarrassment, the extra years mean more time with Miss L., and Eddie…most days, Eddie is nothing but thankful.

More time means Eddie also learns that the songs he hears are as much a public service as they are an art form, as much a defense mechanism as a craft. He knows when bullies are on the prowl, and to make himself scarce for their screeching cacophonies. He knows when he has to be less of a coward and step in when a wild rhythm makes him sick with its fear.

The more he pays attention to the not-quite-beautiful songs—especially when he thinks on them later and stumbles upon nuggets of the exquisite inside every way they weren’t—the more he remembers years ago, out of almost nowhere, but maybe…maybe everywhere, like it’d been written in his heart’s song the day she spoke it:

“My first day,” he enters the same room—not the same-same room but the one in the high school that’s as abandoned as all of them have been, always Room 011—but he enters the room close to the end of the year, the last year, with the question thick on his tongue, and woven the same in his song as he closes the door and feels his heartbeat quicken for no reason and every reason, like he’s long learned these songs always do.

Miss L., for her part, just nods; waits.

“You said,” Eddie rolls his lips together; “emergencies.”

It’s a delay tactic. They both know it.

She’s kind to play along.

“Mmm,” she hums; “the slightest bits, yes, you can shift the rules to change the song, because you made the rules to begin with,” she eyes him carefully, then. “But only by bits, and in only the most dire moments.”

Yeah, yeah, sure. He never thought he could like…write lines to coax a heart to sing itself back from the dead or some shit. He gets the point.

Again, they both know: that’s not the point he’s here for, heart pounding high in his throat.

“But then you also said something else.”

This time, she doesn’t nod at all; just stares. Eddie has to clear his throat twice to make a sound so as to ask:

“What’s a True Note?”

Because Eddie’s had a couple flings here and there. And the idea of anything real with someone else, alongside the weight of this…talent of his, this training that’s defined half his life by now: it’s really nothing more than a stray idea. But Eddie can’t really hide from the fact that, somewhere along the way, he’s suffused that idea with so much promise and potential, but with no legs for it to fucking stand on.

And he’s about to graduate. About to go out into the world and…who the fuck knows what.

He needs to either hold onto this insane, silly notion of some cosmic meant-to-be match waiting for him somewhere, that it’s at least possible, and then hold on to it like burning—or let it go, and get on with the rest of his fucking life.

“Do you know how I said you could sway the rhythm just the littlest bit, in the greatest of need?”

Of course he did. She literally just said it.

“Your True Note will sing like you have never heard before,” she tells him like it’s not something…immense; “and that song will sway your rhythm so much more than the littlest of anything.”

She just fucking says it, like it isn’t already swaying the rhythm his heart sings in. Here and now.

“That heartsong will change your world.”

And all Eddie can even think to ask, to make more plain in it, is just one thing:

“Will I change theirs, too?”

Miss L’s eyes lock to his and hold for enough seconds where it should be uncomfortable, where his chest starts to grow unbearably tight.

“Hmm,” she considers finally; “if it is meant to be that way.”

Eddie wants to scream. It’s not enough.

And still somehow, it will have to be.

——

In the months that follow his freedom, he misses Miss L. Kinda desperately.

But the lack of structure, the openness of knowing he has to find a way to piece together all the snippets of song he’s bombarded with: it is the reason he ever picks up a guitar. It’s the whole learning heartsongs thing that he has to thank for it, a roundabout journey toward the destination he’d wanted from the beginning.

Or else, that he thought he did.

It’s not just guitar, though. He eventually learns the woodwinds without ending up with a splinter in his mouth. Figures out the different harmonies at hand in making sure he tempers the way he breathes for the brass. He loves the piano, and the cello especially, alongside guitar and double bass: he makes a trip back home specifically to see her and ask—Miss L. tells him it’s probably because of their strings, like hearts have, too.

It feels right in a way things haven’t felt in a very long time.

Which is really how he comes to not only understand, but to accept in his bones: no matter if they ever call him prodigy or genius, if he ever plays a concert hall or anywhere but on a street corner with an open case for change, he was made for this; built for this. The woman with the horn-rimmed glasses who sent him to the basement music room saw it in him. Miss L. proved it to him by teaching him to prove it to himself. He doesn’t know if he’d have picked it, but he knows it was never something he could have picked or turned down in the first place at all: it’s who he is.

He is the music. He is the songs that hearts use for singing. And maybe someday he’ll meet someone who sees it in him, and hears his song, and sings ecstatic. Maybe.

He hopes.

But either way: this is his life.

This is his melody.

——

It takes years before they do sob for his masterpieces, for them to be ready for a style and cadence they don’t understand because they will never comprehend the language, that speaks deeper than the logic required for any of those rules. It takes a long fucking time before they start listening with the lens of the first song any of them ever learned. But the time does come, and Eddie is grateful, because he’d genuinely feared the maybe-never he’d been warned about. He’s glad that’s not where he is, now.

But now? Things start to happen almost unbearably fast. Shows here and flights there, guest appearances and interviews, record labels and live recordings, a book deal he can’t even begin to think about. The world tips on its axis and Eddie only really considered that happening to him for one reason: because of a song so beautiful, in a Note so True—this isn’t that.

But everything still feels upside down anyway; totally off-kilter.

He’s crossed ten time-zones this time. He’s exhausted, but he has a performance tonight, just like he did in the tonight of the place he just left. The car he’s in on his way to the next venue is sleek, like they all are now; his team is already there preparing, so it’s just him and some local hires he hasn’t even had a chance to learn the names of yet, which he hates. He hates being privy to their songs and not even knowing their names, let alone their stories.

He jots the notes he gleans from how they sing without their words on the drive across town anyway. Waste not, and all that.

Eddie has the pen in hand, cap between his teeth, when the truck plows straight into them.

What follows would be unsurprising, if Eddie could process it from a bystander’s point of view—as it is, the only thing he knows in the melee is the music.

He is devastated, as he reaches out for the slowing songs around him, knowing in the back of his mind what their slacking tempos mean, and marveling with something like horror at how beautiful each one is as it starts to fade: still unique, still something Eddie could braid into a piece, certainly one to draw tears.

His own song is ebbing, he knows, but it’s less important than the sweet melodies around him, especially—

Oh.

Eddie thinks, with what may be the last thought left to him as pressure and heat and pain tingle at the edges of the music, almost too strong now to be drowned out by the notes that are what Eddie is at his core: but he thinks he may be too far gone already, because what he begins to hear is…

Exultant. It’s…

If Eddie believed in a heaven, this would be what the hosts there sang. When the idea of divinity is bandied about, they can only ever be talking about some cheap imitation of what Eddie hears now. Luminous. Effervescent.

Beautiful in a way that exceeds the word itself so deeply that it barely fits, obliterates the notion on sight.

And what a gift, Eddie muses as everything dims to black, to hear such Notes, such perfect music as the last thing he has to hold onto in the end.

To end on something that’s True.

——

The next tones Eddie hears are mechanical. He winces—not bad but certainly not beautiful—and then winces harder because wincing itself fucking hurts.

He holds himself still, seeks the song he knows in his own veins: yes, and he’d been so sure it was gone, because there’d be an accident, a crash, he’d been thrown, crushed, songs all around him were dying and he’d heard the magnificent symphony of otherworldly perfection so—

“I’m technically not supposed to be here,” a voice interjects, or no: drips in leisurely, like comfort, like honey; “because you’re a patient, and I’m,” and Eddie forces his eyes open to see the voice come out of a man, who is pointing at his chest: a uniform. Medical.

“I’m not dead?”

All signs do point that direction but…Eddie had been kinda fairly sure he was done for.

“God,” the man chokes like he’s pained, like the idea hurts him, and why; “no,” and he says that a little fiercely, protective almost; “though not for lack of an effort.”

He looks tired, as Eddie’s vision starts to clear some more. He looks radiant. Exquisite.

Beautiful.

“You saved me?”

Because Eddie clocks the uniform now: paramedic. The ones who come onto the scenes and try like hell to save who they can. Heroes.

“I helped,” the beautiful man says, like a hero would, of course. But…it still doesn’t make sense. If the man does this for his job, then Eddie isn’t special, so then why is he so vehement, and then what of all the fading songs Eddie remembers, because Eddie had heard—

“What about,” he starts, but there’s a hand over his quickly, soothing.

“Everyone’s here, different wards,” the hero-beauty tells him in lows tones; “we don’t know if they’ll all make it through the night, but,” he nods, like…this is enough.

And it is. Except…

“How?”

And where Eddie is baffled, his hero just quirks a brow.

“Don’t tell me you never covered emergencies?” he asks skeptically. “Most dire moments, greatest of need?”

And it’s with those words that Eddie’s world slows very quickly to a halt. The music swells in a way he’s never known: because it’s always present to hear.

Buts it’s never been so tangible to feel, not like this, and with such…magnificence, no lesser word could touch it. Maybe he truly is closer to death than not, maybe that’s the reason for the fervor in this man he doesn’t know—the choirs of the angels Eddie wasn’t banking on swells and is visceral, and this hero sits before him, speaks the words that have haunted Eddie more days of his life than not, and—

“This was where the music took my life,” the man pulls at his collar, indicative again: the heroism. He…he saves people, because he, he also hears…

“But I couldn’t have done it without you.”

His hand on Eddie’s tightens, like gratitude, and Eddie…gapes like a fucking fish, and then—

“There’s something else.”

“Not just here to check up on the fruits of your medical miracle?” Eddie’s tongue feels heavy, thick in his mouth; he feels sluggish all over, weighted down and like he can barely move because…this man hears the music that hearts make.

Can he hear the ineffable beauty, like Eddie can? He must, that’s how it works, so why is he not in the same amount of awe—

“Not just,” the man smiles small, but real, a little hesitant. A little…shy, maybe, before he straightens, leans a little closer.

“Watch that screen,” and he tracks Eddie’s gaze until Eddie’s fixed upon the ECG, the most disappointing distillation of the songs he’s learned to find so much wonder in.

But then the man is pressing Eddie’s hand to his own chest, which…is forward, given they don’t even know each other.

Eddie is maybe still on, or at least just-recently-off, death’s door, and either way he’s fucking thrilledwith this development, warm beneath his palm.

“Now count.”

It only takes a moment, to put the gestures together into a statement.

The beat under his touch matches the line across the screen. Exactly.

But this man’s not the one attached to the monitor.

“Got it?”

Eddie nods, and the man doesn’t hesitate, lifts Eddie’s hand and presses it back to Eddie’s own chest.

“Again.”

And that’s…that’s not the same rhythm as the one on the screen; the songs don’t match at all.

But Eddie can still hear the one that does—the beauty. The exaltation.

“Can you,” Eddie asks, lifts his finger that’s got a clip on it, and the man’s a professional, he’ll understand—looks less than conflicted about disconnecting Eddie from wires and leads before clipping his own finger and letting the screen shift to a new cadence.

The same one under Eddie’s hand, in Eddie’s own chest.

“Holy fuck.”

“Yeah,” the man barely breathes, and Eddie notices now how intense his eyes are, focused solely on Eddie, and…Eddie remembers the words that came after the ones about emergencies. About how little he could help, but that he could still do something.

But with only one person, it could be—

“You didn’t just sway my rhythm,” Eddie half-gasps; “you made it your own.”

And oh: Eddie never tied the song of hearts to the song of laughter, but from this man, the huff of incredulous joy that slips from him now—they’re made wholly of the same stuff.

Symphonic. Staggering. Weeping to feel this much, in the soul, to be privy to such a…

Masterpiece.

“Worked both ways, it seems.”

“I heard you,” Eddie blurts out, because it makes sense now; “before I, when I thought I was,” dying, when he thought it was all over; “like I’ve never heard anything before.”

And now: of course this man hears the heavenly movement Eddie thought was a mercy before the end but was instead the arrival of everything he’d ever hoped to one day find, literally coming to rescue him in more ways than one; but that song is somehow commonplace to this unfathomable angel on the earth.

And what this man hears stronger, louder, dearer seems somehow to be Eddie, the song he sings from the chest, in how it’s causing those caramel eyes to glimmer, and to barely blink lest they miss something in just…Eddie.

“You never stopped,” the man says with urgency, with feeling; “your song never stopped,” and then he’s closing his eyes and laying both his hands over his own chest, where Eddie’s heartsong is ringing full and maybe changing his world, because the song in Eddie’s chest sure as hell has already changed his, and—

“It’s extraordinary.”

And Eddie, in years of ridicule, in months of celebration, in all the ups and downs and doubts and hopes this life of songs and hearts and rhythms and beats has left him with, in all of it—

Those two words rewrite his whole fucking being.

“True Note,” Eddie mouths more than speaks before he scoffs; “shit, but that seems like a really fucking inadequate thing to call it,” and his eyes lift to take in the man who he knows, he knows is going to be his magnum opus, or more: is going to write the magnum opus they will be and breathe and share from here to all ends:

“To call you.”

And there’s the clearest sense of a trip in a beat, but who it belongs to isn’t clear, and maybe that’s the reality for them both now: every subtlety of the song is now shared, now theirs.

“You could start with Steve.”

Eddie looks up, breath a little heavy, but the smile on the man’s face is broad and kind of overjoyed, kind of looks like Eddie’s chest feels:

“My name’s Steve.”

And that?

Best damn title for a symphony Eddie’s ever fucking heard.

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nibbelraz · 9 hours ago

Note

if you have more yqy + baby thoughts i would love to hear them ouo

I DO I REALLY DO THANK YOU ANON

I was talking with @/artsarasp about it a couple days ago but I just keep thinking about how Yue Qingyuan finding out that he's pregnant after either having a one time heat of the moment fling with Shen Jiu (he can never think fo Shen Jiu as a fling, it was everything to him) OR he's pregnant from some plant that involved both of there DNA. I like the idea they had a heated moment because already with that Yue Qingyuan would be riddled with guilt about how much he misses Shen Jiu, How he's always wanted to be close to him like that and how he can't ever get that again and how he failed him so he should've never been able to have something like that even for a moment how dare he, How dare he even think of wanting an OUNCE of anything from Shen Jiu after leaving him

And then he's pregnant. He's witn Mu Qingfang. He promises not to say anything to anyone especially because it can put the Sect Master at risk. Especially when he can see how Yue Qingyuan goes white as a sheet after telling him the news.

Yue Qingyuan would be silent. Thinking. He can't tell him. He's already taken so much from him, he's already abandoned him, he's already hurt him so much what would he think of this? He'd never speak to him again, he can handle yelling, the comments, the glare but if he was to never see Shen Jiu again he'd be nothing. He doesn't want to get rid of it the fact he has something of his and his Xiao Jiu he selfishly wants this baby as proof that they were something once, for a time. For a moment. It's not the right reasons to have a child by far and he knows it but he refuses to do anything to stop it.

Mu Qingfang would tell him what he needs and what to do and how they'd try to keep it a secret from everyone but Yue Qingyuan is half listening he has to think of how to hide this from everyone for life.

I keep also thinking about after he has the baby. Successfully without Shen Jiu knowing, except his baby has those eyes, those beautifully sharp eyes that he's used to looking at him with contempt. But on his baby they're wide with curiosity and grabbing at him with such a tenderness its making him want to scream.

Ah but I'm a softie and I physically cannot let a bad ending happen so I feel like of course Shen Jiu would find out. I'm not sure how but he does and it's more gut wrenching than Yue Qingyuan can imagine because he think he hid his own son away from him because he doesn't trust him or that he hates him so much he can't even allow a vulnerability like this. I'm sorry i don't know how but AFTER HARDSHIP AND PAIN AND TIME THEY ARE A HAPPY FAMILY YAY!!!!!

#oh wow I was really into it here TBH THE AU CAN BE ANYTHING WITH PREGNANT YQY I WAS JUST HAVING PAIN THOUGHTS WITH THEM!!!#svsss #yue qingyuan #shen qingqiu #shen jiu #qijiu #ask #nib rambles #ah im not a writer so i genuinely cant close the gap of them argueing to loving family im so sorry #artsarah was also talking about how Yue Qingyuan would have very bad postpartum too along with all his other emotions aaaaa

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autumn-sweet-fae · 12 hours ago

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Jayvik + CaitVi Arranged Marriage Royalty au concept

But, Viktor isn’t the one Jayce is engaged to.

Piltover is ruled over by a council of family houses

While Zaun has One royal family that looks out for their people and keeps the Barons in line.

The council proposed arranged marriage, declaring it a wonderful way to reforge their once severed bond, as equals. And yet, the offer is for Jayce Talis, the 24 year old head of the lesser house Talis, to marry Violet, the newly 18 year old eldest princess and heir to the thrown of Zaun.

After the proposal King Vander has to talk his husband King Silco down from declaring war for the obvious fucking slight.

To offer such a minor house as the groom-to-be to their daughter and heir, as if the kingdom of Zaun is little more than a vassal state for them to exploit yet again. They did not fight and sacrifice so much for their sovereignty to be given such disrespect.

But there are trade relations to remember, and livelyhoods of their people to protect, so they begrudgingly accept the proposal after some serious haggling.

They demand for Jayce Talis to be who travels out to Zaun, instead of the suggested insulting idea of Violet going to Piltover, and for there to be an official courting period where princess Vi holds the right to cut off the engagement at the months end if she so chooses.

The council agrees and promptly ship Jayce Talis off to Zaun by the days end.

The expediency of his quick arrival does raises a few eyebrows as well as suspicion,

As it should… because had Zaun not agreed to the proposal, Jayce Talis would have instead been exiled for his crimes of attempting to create magic.

His trial had been a secret, as all house related trials are. His mothers pleas for mercy to not have her boy banished to some far off continent had been what had given the counselors the idea to use him instead as their political pawn.

But, if he fails to secure this engagement by the months end, then both he and his mother will be stripped of their house statues and banished.

So Jayce, force to surrender his life’s work in hextech (save for a single notebook he managed to hide), is escorted across the river to Zaun to woo a princess he has never met before. He doesn’t even get to say goodbye to his mother or his only friend Caitlyn.

Meanwhile, Viktor, respected inventor and tutor to the royal children of Zaun, (and the unofficial fifth adopted sibling if you asked those children) gets a front row seat to the explosive fallout from Vi learning about the engagement.

It’s obvious to everyone who knows her that she will absolutely be rejecting the proposal to this man the second she that can. But the fact that she has to court this Piltie pretty boy for entire month?? And he’s arriving TODAY???

How Viktor got roped into being the one to welcome Jayce to Zaun, he’ll never know.

Once Viktor believes his stalled long enough for Vi to agree to the charade, he brings the him to properly meet her. Jayce and Vi’s introduction and pre planned first date would be so fucking awkward and even hostile a first.

Jayce would be spiraling because he can tell how much she hates him and it’s becoming clearer and clearer the more he get to know her that there is NO CHANCE she’ll feel anything for him beyond friendship at best by the months end.

He’s set up for failure, there’s nothing he can do here to save his mother from His mistakes…

In a rush to excuse himself, his secreted notes gets left behind. Vi finds them and mistakes the scientific and mathematic notes to be something of Viktors so returns it to him.

Viktor is enthralled by the research he finds, surprised to discover this clearly belongs to Jayce (who signs every page of his notes). He simply must find Jayce to ask him about what this all means.

Viktor does not expect to find Jayce attempting to step over the railing of his fourth floor balcony.

Much like in Arcane, Viktor talks Jayce down off the ledge, inspiring him not give up and to continue his passion for science. Jayce opens up to Viktor, telling him the true reason he was chosen for the betrothal. How he was the expendable would-be exile with ideas too dangerous for Piltover.

“But not too dangerous for Zaun.” Viktor tells him

With those words the two dive into his research together, spending days in Viktors lab to recreate Jayce’s lost equipment before they’re finally able to test their theories.

Meanwhile, Vi cannot say she’s disappointed to be stood up for another of her and Jayce’s scheduled ‘dates’, but she is curious as to what the hell he’s up to. Not enough to investigate herself, no, she’s much happier running around Zaun with her siblings and checking in on her people.

Until she finds a young Piltie enforcer trying and failing to not draw attention to herself.

The enforcer, Caitlyn, informs Vi that she’s currently investigating a sensitive case regarding the relations between Piltover and Zaun and request Vi direct her to where she might fine a contact to the royal family house hold, if not Jayce Talis himself.

Vi, deeply amused by this topsider who clearly has no idea who she is, decides to spend the day giving her the run around for her own entertainment and to get more info from her.

Now, the truth of Jayce’s situation is incredibly dangerous for anyone to know. Offering a member of a lesser house for a princess heir’s hand in marriage is bad enough, but a criminal exile?? The uproar, the unrest, what were the counselors even thinking?? A sentiment that had been privately discussed between Caitlyn and the young counselor Mel Medarda. Mel had hoped talking with you younger Kiramman might give her insight on her mother’s ideals as well as Jayce’s character due to their friendship. Instead she inspired the young woman to take up the investigation personally.

Over the plot, Vi and Caitlyn grow closer to each other. The ladies both unaware of each others true statues as the Princess of Zaun and the High Counselors daughter of the Great House Kiramman.

Meanwhile Jayce and Viktor fully realize hextech and discuss the possibilities for it in Zaun, while also trying to figure out what to do about the engagement and how to save Jayce’s mother.

My plot ideas fizzle out here, however there is still the idea of Piltover still pushing for the engagement and throwing an ultra fancy ball to celebrate the desired couple’s official announcement once the courting period ends.

Everyone is invited, the councilors, heads of houses, the Zaun royalty and barons. All waiting in anticipation for Princess Vi’s arrival on the arm of her betrothed beau Jayce Talis.

Only for Vi to appear at her own engagement party with her betrothed beauty Caitlyn Kiramman on her arm. To Caitlyn’s mother’s horror and Vi’s fathers’ delight.

All this providing ample distraction for Jayce and Viktor to smuggle Ximena Talis out the back and into a carriage headed for Zaun. Viktor making sure to act as the perfect gentlemen to his future mother-in-law.

#Jayvik #caitvi #zaundads #jayce talis #Viktor #caitlyn kiramman #vi #Vander #Silco #mel medarda #arcane text #viktor arcane #vi arcane #my babbling

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stuffeddrawer · 2 days ago

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cw: sex pollen, insanity?, lots of swearing if you're not into that. omegaverse reader is a sub alpha, tf141 are dom omegas bc i say so word count: 1497

(divider by @cafekitsune)

You fucked up.

It’s not even a big screw up, not yet. It’s not even world ending, but the tiniest inconveniences drove you up the damn wall and your mind was already distracted with a thousand other things. You find it hard to believe that people’s minds are usually quiet, are supposed to be quiet – yours has always been loud.

This isn’t what’s fucked up.

You’re in the middle of a deployment, started feeling off a few days ago but you brushed it off. Fool. Your brain chastises you. Should listen to your gut more often. Now look at you. Huffing and puffing and—

You noticed this off feeling a day before you went off on your mission – even that was supposed to be simple. Truly – get in, get out. Done. Supposedly.

But even that was still messed up.

You thought you tracked your cycle correctly, thought you had everything prepared, thought this mission wouldn’t overlap with your cycle, thought thought thought—

You picked at your gear, growing increasingly frustrated with every buckle, every strap. Every single piece of gear on your person, right down to your extra pair of gloves, was beginning to irritate you. You fucked up.

Your groan was loud enough to be heard when you couldn’t put your silencer on fast enough. You were already frustrated with your upcoming rut, skin flushed and warm, vision already tunnelled and now the sudden influx of hostiles did nothing to soothe that roar in your chest, the ringing in your ears. It did nothing to calm that angry alpha in your brain.

You were so frustrated with everything and everyone that you didn’t immediately smell something sweet in the air, something sweet enough to make you dizzy, discombobulated, your mind honing in on one thing and one thing only. That sweet, sweet omega smell. It took a moment, but your mind swam, vision blurred, growls and huffs leaving your mouth, desperate for someone to sink your teeth into, for someone to use you, for you to use someone. You didn’t care.

You fucked up.

You shouldn’t have gone on this mission, not when you knew you could go into a rut at any given time. You knew, you knew, and you still went. You knew this wasn’t going to end well, knew that something was going to happen. Fool. Knotted with anxiety and stress and you still should have trusted your gut. You wanted to wonder what the hell was wrong with you, that you could have sworn you had an extra day or two to really make sure you had everything you needed, but with that roar in your ears, the desperation seeping into your bones, you just don’t fucking care.

You pad over to where you thought the door was, rolling your eyes when you find it’s been locked. Shit. Your stomach growls, you think you growl, your blood rushing in your ears too loudly for you to understand just what the hell is happening. That smell is so sweet, like some pretty omega you just want to sink-

You huff, trying to take deep breaths once you realise what happened, just what exactly they’ve gassed you with, the room they’ve locked you in. Your cycle was forced to start, your gut was telling you this was going to happen. Your mind is racing and you just can’t keep up. You growl, yell, scream, throw yourself against the door, desperate to get it open, but it won’t budge. Like your stubbornness and inability to listen to what your body’s telling you, the door doesn’t open, doesn’t so much as whine when you press your weight against it.

You think you cry out when you move, the ache in your bones growing, the heat pooling between your legs almost burning now as your knees crash against the concrete beneath you. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. Or does it feel so fucking good when you start to palm yourself? You don’t know. Your mind is so twisted and hazy, solely focused on one thing, and to have that thing denied to you? You think you’re going insane. Your grip on reality feels like it’s starting to slip.

You can’t even hear your radio sparking to life, can’t hear Price demanding a check in, can’t hear him repeating what he said, this time more urgently, a hint of fear perhaps? You really can’t tell if it’s just the blood in your ears rushing south, your entire body aching and on fire, or if he’s actually talking. You feel like you’re going insane. Going feral.

Your body writhes on the floor, equal parts bliss and agony, stars bursting in your eyes but you can’t tell if it’s from the pain or the pleasure. Or both. Sometimes it’s both. This time it just fucking hurts. Or does it? You don’t know. You don’t care. You fucked up.

You didn’t want to fuck the seam in your pants or your hand, you just wanted to get this mission done and spend your cycle surrounded by your packmates, surrounded by the people you trusted the most, people you knew would take care of you. God, it fucking hurts.

You want Kyle against your back, holding your arms behind you, whispering sweet nothings and cooing into your ear. Johnny to tease your nipples, bite and mark up your throat. You want John and Simon to make your legs shake, want them to use you as their own toy, want to be left mindless and fucked stupid, satisfied with your pretty omegas at your side, purring and content. You want Johnny and Kyle to clean you up, lick you clean, you want all these things, but you’re left on the floor in the middle of fuck-ass nowhere, desperate and borderline feral.

You shift your hips back and forth as you practically grind on your hand, on your knees now, groaning into your arm with your eyes screwed tight. You wanted someone to take you for all you had, make your legs shake and throat raw from how you practically cry out their name, treat you right like they’ve always treated you, how you’ve always treated them.

You fucked up and were now writhing on the floor, entire body shaking from the pain in your system, a small puddle of drool forming on the floor from how you’re sat – knelt? Bowed? You peek your eyes open, try to take a look around the room, try to find another way to escape, to free yourself, to eat and be eaten. Your vision is too hazy, too fuzzy for you to make anything out. You can’t focus on anything other than the ache between your legs.

The whine that fills the room – you think fills the room – is nothing short of desperate, angry and loud. Your chest hurts from how heavy you’re breathing, you can’t think past the ache in your bones, you think you cry out again, your finger pressing a button – buttons? You don’t know – your mind’s slipping away from you faster than you can catch it, like trying to hold fog. You don’t even feel scared anymore, just so fucking horny, desperate, pleading for someone to use you and for you to take your time with them, please, please, please.

God, you’re so hungry, your entire body shaking, growls and huffs leaving your lips as it feels like the walls are closing in – it hurts, it hurts so fucking good. You hump your hand faster, angry, but it’s still not enough. You want to feel your packmates’ hands on you, want to feel every inch of them, want them on you, in you, you don’t care – you want them in the worst way, but you fucked up and you’re stuck here, growling at nothing. You draw your hand back, hand slick with your arousal, room heavy with the scent of an alpha starting their cycle, forced to start it. You try to move, throw yourself against the wall to break yourself out of this trance, out of your own mind, but it only makes your brain break faster, sanity slipping like sand through dry fingers.

That stupid omega sweet scent drove you insane, you want more, crave more, are aching for more. Your mind felt like goo, like every sense of You was long gone. You think you hear the door open. Too late.

You’re too fucked up to recognise him, too feral to notice the boonie hat, the three other men standing behind him – you snarl at whoever walked in. Your body’s tense, more tightly wound than anyone’s ever seen. Your gaze is hungry and angry, and fucking famished. You’re starving, you’re angry, you’re so desperate for an omega to fuck, you’re—

You leap, your teeth barred and mind blank, snapped like a dry twig in the middle of a sweltering summer.

The task force’s now-feral alpha is knocked out before their teeth can do any lasting damage to their captain.

#cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #things stuffed in the drawer #cod modern warfare #cod headcanons #tf141 x gn!reader #tf 141 x you #tf 141 x reader #poly!141 #cod omegaverse #alpha reader #omega 141 #mdni #pls tell me if i missed a tag - i want to tag things correctly #tw dub con #i guess would be the best tag

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