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hazelfoureyes · 10 months ago

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The Big Part

Alastor x Virgin FemReader smut

(part 2)

You were dead, it was time to divest yourself of your virginity. When you ask Alastor, he takes to the task immediately. Unfortunately, he seems to enjoy surprising you.

warnings/promises: Alastor x Reader smut, Alastor dislikes getting naked, virginity does not rock, possessive Alastor, head pats, reader is an adult she’s just a nervous idiot bad at words

Horny little deer cult: @frompeach , @chirimeimei , @poppingaround , @polytheatrix , @itsmskeisha , @stygianoir , @celestial-vomit , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @amurtan

minors dni, this isn’t educational in the slightest and is just straight smut

It made sense, at the time. You didn’t want a relationship and you didn’t want to meet a stranger you couldn’t trust, that left very few people to ask. Husk would say no, and probably stop serving you drinks. Angel would most likely agree, but you were a little intimidated by his experience. That left Alastor. While you hadn’t spent much time together, your interactions were always cordial. And plus, this was hell. Isn’t this kind of situation a sinners dream come true?

For most, maybe. But you didn’t know Alastor. Not yet, not really. Everything he did had some ulterior motive. Perhaps nothing he had ever done was simply selfless. If Alastor wasn’t gaining something, Alastor wasn’t interested.

You caught him in the hallway one evening after redemption-oriented activities, deciding to get the moment over with as quickly as possible.

“It’s a favor, little… odd. But you’re the only person I have to ask.” Your eyes darted around his face, down the hall, up the walls, anywhere really but his eyes.

“I’m all ears!” Alastor tapped the microphone to the ground with a satisfying ‘thud’.

Oh— you had rehearsed this but you hadn’t prepared to be staring at that large, toothy grin. It wasn’t unsettling, it was just distracting. Would he be smiling the entire time he… ya know.

“I am,” you steepled your hands, pointing them at him, “a virgin.” You paused, hoping maybe he’d just infer the rest and you could stop talking.

His face was motionless save his eyelids rising up.

“And I don’t want to be. Anymore.” Your lips pursed together. C’mon, Alastor. Figure it out.

Alastor nodded.

You dragged your fingers down your face, “Would you help me with that?”

His head cocked to the side like a golden retriever being handed a book on ancient Egypt. Very nice offer but what exactly do I do with it?

“Help how, precisely?” He finally spoke, tone unchanged from any normal topic of discussion. Alastor watched your face scrunch up, mouth moving around words you abandoned half way through. You weren’t saying anything, just making panicked sounds. “I find annunciation most helpful when wanting to be understood, dear.”

You wanted to somersault out the nearest window. “Alastor will you take my virginity?”

“Take it where?”

You groaned, he laughed, “Just kidding, my dear! All in good fun. So, to be clear, you would like your first sexual experience to be with me?” He pointed the microphone from you to him.

You nodded, “Yes, please.”

His smile seemed to strain. Staring down at you, he tried to understand what your motivation was for this. But as he looked into your big, concerningly innocent eyes, he realized there was none. You really, simply, want him to be the first.

Ooh, as he thought it, he felt his pulse quicken in his lap. The first. A spot no one else could take. For the rest of your afterlife, he would always be the one who was first in you. A delicious thought. He could work with that.

“Are you free now?” He leaned down to your level.

“Oh. I wasn’t-,”

“Expecting immediacy? Perfect, the element of surprise has never failed me before.” His hand wrapped around your waist and drew you in to his chest, there was a rush of cold air over your skin before you felt yourself falling back.

It was soft, the room was dark, save for a small floor lamp in the corner. Your room, you realized.

“I didn’t know you knew my room number.”

“It’s my job to know everything about the hotel.” He said, tossing your shoes behind him. Was this happening now? Right now?

“I can do it, it’s, it’s fine.” You sat up and began undoing your pants. Alastor just standing there, watching. Smiling. Fuck, was it going to be this awkward the entire time? Should you say something? Touch him? You were lifting the hem of your shirt when you realized he was still fully dressed. “Are you going to take off your clothes?”

“Why would I do that?” Head lolled to the side.

You stopped mid-way through unhooking your bra, “Alastor you do know I was asking you to fuck me, right?”

He nodded. Maybe this was a mistake.

After taking off your bra, and finally your panties, you crawled to the top of your bed and drew your knees to your chest. Your feet hid your sex from view. Heart racing, but it wasn’t excitement, as you had anticipated. It was nerves. Would it hurt? Would you make a stupid face? What if he didn’t like the sounds you made? What if you regretted it after?

Alastor got on the bed on his knees, undoing his belt buckle but not his pants. The way he looked at you, your heart skipped a beat. You suddenly remembered he was called the ‘cannibal deer’ as you saw something akin to hunger in his eyes.

“What experience do you have?” His voice was suddenly low, deeper than before. This wasn’t the pun loving radio man you saw prodding the staff.

“I dated. Before. Kissing, um, I don’t know the bases. Groping?” You grimaced, it sounded so formal.

“Have you ever,” he began to slink toward you on his hands and knees, red eyes glowing in the dim light of your room, “been entered?”

Your cheeks burned, your head suddenly swayed as if it was half full of water and someone tipped you over. “Just myself, my,” you lifted your hand.

“Show me.”

All the air left the room, sucked out of your lungs and into his grin.

Uncrossing your feet, you tried to open your thighs without seperating your knees. It didn’t work, but you still managed to get a hand between your legs and to your entrance. You could have cried, you were soaking wet to an embarrassing degree. Your eyes return to Alastor, his gaze never leaving you. Even as you slipped a finger, then two, into yourself. You thought for sure he would want to watch your hands playing with your wet pussy but no, his eyes stayed on your face. Somehow, that was worse.

A shaky sigh escaped, your eyes closing as you tried to focus on relaxing around your digits.

Your head smacked against the headboard when you felt a third finger enter. Not yours. Your eyes flew back open to see him now directly in front of you.

“Two won’t do, dear.” He spun his finger around, pulling slightly at the thin skin of your entrance. “Unless you’d prefer this to hurt?”

You shook your head no, still stinging from the impact you had made. “May I?” His hand took your wrist and removing your fingers. Swiping your wetness from your ass to your clit, he coated his claw-like digits and pushed three back in. They were longer than yours, sharper. You could feel he moved gently, in and out. Your head was heavy, breath short and fast.

He laughed, bringing your consciousness fully back into the room, “Already wanting to change your mind?”

You shook your head side to side, still too embarrassed to speak, and took a grounding breath to help your body accept his fingers. He took his time, sliding in and out of you. His fingers picking up the slick and letting it lubricate your lips. It was so slow, the only pleasure for you was knowing it wasn’t your hand doing it.

But then his stretching of your hole stopped, and he grabbed both of your knees from underneath and pulled you down toward him. Now on your back, legs up and in his hands, you heard his belt slide through the loopholes, his zipper drop. You wanted to look, but you also absolutely did not want to look.

Your knees came together when you felt something hot and round at your entrance. “Ah-ah,” He opened them immediately. He reached for one of your hands, and brought it down to his cock. It was so hard under your fingers, but gave a little when you squeezed. It made him hiss.

“You tell me when to stop, little doe.” He pressed into your opening, pulled back. Pressed in, just barely making it past your lips, pulled back. He kept this pressing and pulling, head making slightly more leeway every time. Your fingers were holding right behind the tip.

“How about this, dear. I’ll just get the head in for now. Manageable!”

“Just— just get the big part in first?” You asked, the pressure at your entrance building with every shallow thrust.

He laughed, nodding as he held both of your knees further apart. When he attempted to get past the curve of his cock’s head, your hands flew down to press against his thigh, pushing back with the intrusion. Alastor stilled, sighed, and pressed his head fully in with a determined thrust. Instinctively, your feet came to his chest and tried to push away from him. It felt like you were being torn down the middle, your body forced apart at your most sensitive junction. He held you still now by the ankles, legs splayed in the air.

It burned where your walls were pushed aside. Stinging where the skin tore slightly just beneath your hole, unable to stretch.

“Breath, sweetheart.” He set your ankles down. “Does it hurt?”

You nodded.

“I’ll stay here for a bit,” he settled on his legs, looking down at where he was connected to you. Your pink little pussy looking positively overwhelmed by his cock. No one has ever been here before, and he could feel it. Your walls were pressing so hard against him his shaft was slightly curved from the force pushing his head out. You still had so much to take, there was so much more of you for him to explore. You tried to calm your breathing but your heart was racking against your sternum.

Hand reaching down again, you let your fingers count little paces from his core to yours. You knew the hardest part was over, but that didn’t bring much comfort as you felt how far you still had to go.

Alastor let his eyes wander away from your not-so-virgin cunt to your face. Your expression was twisted, not pained but clearly uncomfortable.

“How does it feel?” He asked, gesturing to your lap with a nod of his head.

“Full, so full.”

His cackle disheartened you, “Darling I am no where done filling you up.”

You clenched when he said it, earning a small groan from him. You were already too tight, when you spasmed on him it was nearly painful. There was more to do yet, more of you to claim as his. Just the tip of his cock was simply not enough.

His hips started moving again, the folds of his head pulling at the skin of your entrance but not actually crossing the barrier. He was gently rocking, barely making friction between you two. Your hand clawed at his knee, breath hitching. You let an airy moan slip, his head no longer an intrusion but something hot and melty barely rubbing your walls. It started to feel almost good.

Alastor’s cock was throbbing, his shaft touch-starved and desperate for the heat of your cunt. Your face was relaxing now, eyes blinking around new sensations. He wanted to see you experience more, more firsts and frighteningly foreign pleasures. He wanted to see you scared of how good he could make you feel. Alastor wanted you to never feel whole again without him buried balls deep in you.

“Can you take more?” His voice was like gravel, a radio static crackling in.

You met his eyes, glowing still in the dim light, wide and nearly frenzied in their dilation. His smile was practically beaming down at you.

“I don’t know.” You were scared to move forward, even though you wanted more.

“I don’t like liars.” A pop of electricity arcing at the end of his words. You pulled a pillow over your face, trying to hide from the reaction you knew he’d have as his voice made you tighten around him. “Your body says otherwise,” he hissed.

You wanted to say ‘yes’, if this could feel good then how great would all of him feel? But you were scared to vocalize it. Scared to make it start. Alastor lifted the pillow, “I need to see you, dear.” He set it beside his leg, “Do you remember what I said earlier?”

Brow furrowed, you shook your head. His grin widened to his ears as his hands slid down your thighs to your hips and he sank his cock to the hilt.

The element of surprise definitely made the nerves of saying ‘yes’ dissipate, but you were now choking on your breath, hands gripping at the blankets beneath you. Was this normal? Was he too far inside you? You felt nauseous, your guts prodded by Alastor’s member.

“How does it feel now?” He watched your eyes scanning the ceiling for an answer. You felt sure there was no way his head could leave you ever again. It was so snuggly fit in you, you feared you’d be pulled inside out. “Words, dear.”

You sat up on your elbows, sweating from the nerves of it all. “Like there’s a big stick stuck in me.”

“Accurate!” He laughed, and began pulling out. You whined, head dropping back. Almost taking himself out completely, he paused before thrusting back in. The head of his cock dragged against your walls, you could feel him with such detail. Every inch of him leaving impressions behind. Alastor could feel it too, how your soft warmth moved out of his way with every push. How pliable your womb was to his intrusions.

More. You could take more, he was positive of it.

Slowly, your moans began to get louder as the pressure faded into pleasure. Every time he bottomed out, you jumped. Every time he pulled out, you wanted to chase after him with your hips.

Watching your face soften, eyes now watery, Alastor was sure you were relaxed enough. He grabbed the pillow beside him, lifting your ass and sliding it under the small of your back. You didn’t ask, just waited to see what the point was. Dissatisfied, he grabbed another and added it under you.

Your hips were up, ass hanging over the ledge the pillows made, back bent upward. When he began to thrust again, you whinced feeling a new part of you widen for him. “Can you see me?” You looked at him when he said it, but he grabbed your hand and placed it beneath your belly button. When he pushed back in, you could feel his cock beneath your hand. Moving it, you watched your stomach bulge slightly when he was completely sheathed in you.

“Oh fuck-,” your head fell back into the bed, it was too much to feel let alone to watch, “Too deep.”

He hummed an acknowledgement, picking up his pace. “Let me see how you cum.”

Your face was hot, reluctantly bringing your hand to your clit and rubbing.

No, this wasn’t a mistake at all. If anything you regretted not asking sooner.

His thrusts now brought lightning to your core, your finger quickening in speed with the realization of just how good he could feel.

Studying your face still, he adjusted his angle until he saw the muscles in your neck tighten. He knew he found your g-spot, your moans dipping into cries.

“I can’t—,” You couldn’t get over the hump, knowing he was watching you, waiting for you.

“You can”, the lights flickered, his eyes now black with small red pupils illuminating your naked body, “and you will, my dear.” One of his hands stopped pressing finger sized bruises into your hips to instead push your own finger aside. The wide pad of his thumb took over and began thrumming you fast and hard.

That familiar build up of pleasure was stronger than you’d ever felt it, and when it finally snapped your muscles from your thighs to your toes cramped. How long had you been tensing?

You practically sobbed into the crook of your arm, Alastor’s hips slowing but still carrying you through your orgasm. They moved slower and slower, until stopping entirely. His head popped out of you, leaving you feeling hollow. Cold.

Eyes wet and blurry, you looked up at him, “Aren’t you going to finish?”

“If we do everything now, what ‘first’ will we have for tomorrow night? And the night after that?” He smiled, member already hidden away and pants buttoned. Your thighs twitched. “Same time tomorrow, little doe?”

You covered your face with both hands, and nodded.

His big hand came to your head and patted you gently, “Good girl.”

I hope you liked it 🥺 I don’t feel as confident about this one. Fun fact, my first time involved bondage. Very on brand, huh? 💖

༻Masterlist༺

Gonna start calling his dick ‘the element of surprise’. You look tired today! What happened? Oh the element of surprise kept me up all night.

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ghost-proofbaby · 3 months ago

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SIMPLE. (astarion ancunin x afab!reader)

based upon this request by @leahthesith: you've grown tired of astarion's games of jealousy, and it all comes crashing down one night when he chooses to spoil your fun with shadowheart.

warnings: mentions and allusions to astarion's past, as well as his sexual trauma. biting. lots, and lots, and lots of biting. oral sex ('f' receiving), smut. reader is not explicitly gendered/no pronouns are used. only a brief comparison of a 'schoolgirl crush'. reader has also had almost romantic interactions with several companions. 18+ - minors dni.

wc: 7.4k+

kinktober masterlist

There’s no reason for him to be looking at you like that.

No explanation, no justification, no reason for those jewel eyes to be glowering at you from across the tavern. For his fist to wrap around the mug of whatever he’s sipping on for show, pale skin going translucent in the dancing candlelight. For his entire chest having gone still the last several minutes, and for you to be unable to decipher if he’s simply too distracted to bother with the last of what remains of his living instincts or if it’s another instinct all on its own – if he’s holding his breath as he watches your conversation with Shadowheart.

Then again, there’s no real reason for you to be watching him back.

The matter of the fact is that you’re watching him just as closely, just as captivated by his presence from across the room, just to simply notice these things. The stillness in his shoulders and the glint that you swear must be his fangs poking past his lips should not be in your periphery. Your focus, all your attention, should be on the vibrant girl on the stool beside you. The dark beauty who’s speaking more with her hands than her lips, giggling over yet another glass of wine.

“You know,” she sighs wistfully, and you have to tear your gaze away from where it had wandered towards the vampire currently sulking away from the group, “The wine here in the city is much better than on the road.”

You hum as you distractedly take a sip from your own glass, tongue immediately peeking out to trace along your bottom lip subconsciously, as if you might be trying to savor the flavor. As if you can even taste the flavor. Your tongue has gone all but numb to the ruby liquid as a very different shade of red has captured your interest.

This could be the same wine from the druid party at the beginning of your journey, the party in which you snatched a bottle from the very shadow that is watching your every move, and you wouldn’t know the difference.

“It is,” you lie, swirling the red liquid a little bit, an attempt to bring back the taste all over your tongue.

And even if she buys your lie, Shadowheart can tell something is off, leaning in just a bit closer, peering at you just a little more concerningly, “Is everything okay? You don’t seem yourself.”

You don’t feel yourself. You should be feeling much more jubilant. You should be joining in on the same fun everyone else is having, toasting to yet another battle won. The end of it all was so close you could taste it.

And yet, you don’t. Because he’s in the corner brooding, and with him he’s seemingly taken both your mind and your mood.

“It’s been a long day,” It’s been one long day after another for months, it seems, “I suppose the wine is just making me relax a bit too much.”

That it is. The alcohol has managed to wiggle its way into your bloodstream, heading straight up your spine and to your brain. All your thoughts feather at the edge, and perhaps that was why you were watching Astarion back so intensely.

Months of this journey, and you still felt no closer to figuring him out than you had that very first night of discovering his vampirism. Each layer of him that you had peeled back only revealed more confusion to sit with. Some days, you swore you had him entirely figured out. You knew every in and every out of all his wits, and you knew all the steps to the dance in which he’d attempt to draw you into. You could play into whatever design he was spinning between the two of you; you could beat him at his own game.

But other days, days like today, you simply couldn’t.

All his flirtations, all his subtle seductions – you couldn’t decipher what was real and what was still for show. For every innuendo he’d whispered into your ear, he shared just as scandalous a comment with another party member. For every seemingly accidental graze of his cold skin against yours, he was attaching himself at the hip of another one of your companions. For all he gave, he would take just as much. Leaving you spinning in the hope of it all; leaving you with a yearning hunger that probably neared the threshold of his own vampiric hunger.

You want him. You hate him. He infatuates you. He irritates you. He is both sides of the same coin that has damned you every step along the way of this peculiar journey you’ve embarked on together.

“I know what you mean,” Shadowheart brings you back to reality with one swoop of her hair, a careful gathering of the locks to leave a shoulder exposed, “What is it that they always say? Wine is the secret ingredient for every bad decision?”

Your eyes trace carefully over her skin, the slope of where her neck meets her collarbone, the residual bruising leftover from the latest fight blooming beautifully over her. A welcome distraction.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard them say that,” you muse, a smile tugging on your lips, eyes still traveling. Up, up, up.

Over the line of her jaw, across the curve of her chin. Pillowy bottom lip and softly rounded nose. Softness – she’s made up of all soft and delicate features, such a contrast to someone such as Ast-

You must stop thinking about Astarion.

You’re no longer asking yourself of it, you’re demanding yourself of it. You make a point to move your body and head carefully, positioning yourself just so that the outline of the confusing vampire on your mind is entirely blocked out by Shadowheart’s silhouette.

“Oh, trust me – they say it all the time,” something simmers beneath Shadowheart’s returning grin, a sparkle in her eyes that should spark some sort of excitement in you. But it’s a hollow ache; you’re still painfully aware that he’s in the room, “Say, would you like to maybe… I don’t know, get out of here? I’m sure we could sneak some more of this exquisite wine to the room upstairs, perhaps find somewhere to relax together even more-”

“Oh, my dear Shadowheart, don’t you know that that would be thievery?”

His voice, so close and sudden, sucks all of the air out of your lungs.

“Astarion!” Shadowheart jumps a bit at his sudden appearance, but you hardly move a muscle. As though your body had been expecting him, as if you had always known the night was leading to this outcome, “I’m surprised to see you’ve given up your gloomy act to join us all. I thought you might sulk in the corner all night.”

His eyes lock on you, and the facade of his usual self seemingly melts. There’s something darker beneath the surface, an animal caged away, and you can see it as it bares its teeth, “Not sulking. Merely observing.”

You can’t speak. Your entire chest is still tight, lungs still deflated, by his proximity.

“Well, hard to tell the difference when you hide away in the darkness,” Shadowheart manages to get out before her lips press tightly together, clearly irritated at your companion.

She’d nearly had you. She had been giving you clear signals, doing away with any games of cats and mice, and she had nearly had you.

“It’s in my nature, I suppose,” his tone falls flatter than normal, the words void of all the airiness and usual cadence he accentuates.

He still has you far more enraptured than she’d ever stood a chance of accomplishing.

“We were just heading upstairs,” you blurt out, and Astarion’s eyebrows raise at your proclamation.

“Is that so?”

You don’t quite understand why, but you feel the need to over explain yourself, painfully aware of Shadowheart’s inquisitive gaze as she watches you fumble with your words, “Yes! I- I was just telling Shadowheart how tired I’ve grown. We were just calling it a night-”

“By stealing a bottle of wine?” his tone is growing sharper, and you squirm beneath what has almost become a glare. In an instant, he’s noticing all that discomfort, and you watch the facade be built back up in real time. Brick by brick, he once again resumes his usual role, voice raising a few octaves and a dangerous smirk returning, “And stealing our dearest cleric away from such a wonderful night of celebration? Nonsense! Allow me to accompany you instead, my sweet.”

The nickname rolls off his tongue as naturally as it always does. Sugary syllables, predatory purring. It almost reels you in until you remember the give and the take. The push and the pull.

Two sides, same coin. And you’ve yet to figure out the value of that coin.

“There’s no need for that-” Shadowheart begins to protest, but Astarion quickly cuts her off with a flourish of his hand.

“Please, I insist,” even with his words lightened, sweetened up the slightest bit, that animal still lingers below the tone. Shadowheart will not be accompanying you up to the room. That much you know. “You were clearly having such a good time. It’s truly no problem, I don’t mind watching after our fearless leader.”

“I don’t need to be babysat,” you snap, reactive like a dog threatened.

Like a dog cornered.

Yes, that was what you were. A rapid animal, backed up into a space, given no choice. Your heart was racing at the idea of being alone with Astarion. It was no longer a game of mental chess played across a busy tavern – it would be just you, just him, and all those terrible layers you had yet to decipher. It was a recipe for disaster. It was the perfect storm brewing, set for the destruction of you.

“I won’t be babysitting you, dear,” he smiles, and it looks more like a hungered sneer than a sign of genuinity, “Simply there, at your service, for whatever you may need.

I need you to leave me alone. I need our journey to be over so I can stop being your puppet to string along.

You wonder if the thought may have traveled over the tadpole bond and that was why his face falls, rather than your stubborn silence.

For a moment, you think Shadowheart is going to speak up. That possibly, she might just fight back against him, save you from the impending doom. But when her mouth opens, you hear the last possible thing you could have ached to have fallen from her lips.

“I… suppose I’ll be on my way then. Have a good night.”

Defeat.

It wraps around your name as she whispers it before she stands from her stool, unassuming to all your silent signals begging her to stay. Footsteps echoing over the commotion around you as she turns her back, and you feel the walls of this corner drawing in on you.

“I-” you start when you finally look back to Astarion, but he’s already reaching out to grab you.

“She’ll get over it,” he says harshly, pulling you along as if you were nothing. As though you weren’t digging your heels into the creaking floorboards below, as if you weren’t resisting him with every fiber of your being.

“Astarion- stop, I’m- I’m not worried about her,” you stutter out, cursing the way your voice falters, tugging against his grip on you, “Gods, why do you do that?”

The question has him halting at the foot of the stairs. The shadows encase the two of you as his eyes glow in the subtle darkness.

“Do what?”

“This.”

You wave your free hand in the space between the two of you wildly, as though that might suffice for explanation. But when Astarion only levels you with a blank stare, you know it won’t. You know it doesn’t.

“You pull me along, you push me away,” you continue, heart still racing wildly, breaths coming out short and fast, “You treat me like something special and then discard me, and the moment I seek out that genuine treatment from someone else, you’re back to collect me as your own personal play toy. I want to know why.”

For all the exasperation you feel, there’s a pride beneath it all. The pride of being able to articulate, the smugness of assuming you’ve left him speechless. You haven’t.

Today is not one of the days in which you can beat him at his own game.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he claims, chin lifting just an inch, eyes flitting towards the ceiling before making their way to the bar scene behind you. Anywhere but you. “I’ve done no such thing-”

“Bullshit,” you spit out, “Bull-fucking-shit. You’ve done it numerous times, Astarion. Do you not recall the night in which Gale had approached me, offering to teach me about the Weave, and how you’d interrupted-”

“Our dearest wizard would have bored you to death. It was a mercy to interject.”

“-or the night of the tiefling party, when Karlach had been on the verge of confessing something that seemed an awful lot like an admittance of liking me-”

“Karlach likes everyone. Have you seen the eyes she makes at Wyll?”

“-And how about the time when Lae’zel openly invited me to share a bed with her, and you’d overheard, and obnoxiously guffawed? Hm? What’s your excuse there?”

Finally, his grip has slackened on your wrist, allowing you to pull both arms tightly across your chest as you glare at him. Chest still heaving, mind still reeling.

He clearly doesn’t have a very good answer as his lips twitch briefly into a pathetic smile, fading quickly as he shrugs, “Well, I simply found the entire image conjured amusing.”

Your heart nearly stops, leaving your chest as empty a cavern as Astarion’s, “You find the image of someone wanting me, wanting to lay with me, amusing?”

And for all he plays dumb, Astarion is not a fool.

He catches the fall in your demeanor, the way your arms slowly drop and your entire face contorts with your frown. Damage has been done.

“No, wait, I-” he tries to begin damage control, but the damage has been done.

“Save it,” you cut him off, “I’m going upstairs now. You can continue on your moping down here in the shadows – I don’t need a babysitter.”

He almost looks as defeated as Shadowheart had when he’d intervened for a second, a second just long enough that you begin taking the long strides up the stairs. You think you’ve gotten the last word, for that eternity of a second. Making it all the way to the first platform, turning to take on the second set of stairs.

When suddenly, your back is flat against the wall behind you, a cold body pressed against the entirety of yours.

“I do not find it amusing,” Astarion huffs, those beady eyes suddenly staring right into yours, lips dangerously close to your own. The defeat has been long forgotten, “The image of you with the others – entranced by Gale’s magic, giggling by the fire with Karlach, on your knees for Lae’zel – is not amusing,” his hands are tight on your hips, bruising grip keeping you pinned with no escape. His body rolls, every inch of his clothed skin beginning to press against your own, “You, laying with anyone else, is the farthest thing from amusing, darling.”

His head tilts in warning, forehead nearly pressed to yours, the end of his nose bumping against yours. You can feel every unnecessary breath he takes. Every huff of his sudden irritation invades your space, and all you can do is attempt to turn your head.

One of his hands is quick to reach up, pinching your chin between his thumb and pointer. You want to look away, but he won’t allow it.

“Would you like to know the truth?”

A loaded question. A ticking time bomb when it comes to this game between the two of you.

You decide to set the fuse aflame when you nod your stiff head against his pinching grip.

“The truth is,” he takes a deep breath, one you know he doesn’t need. He’s sucking all the air out of the room, air he has no need for, before his heavy eyes pour into yours. You’re blinded, all visions of red and smoky warning signs, the chatter of the tavern faded to nothing, “the image of you laying with anyone else absolutely infuriates me.”

Anyone else.

You open your mouth to respond, not even sure what you could possibly say to that, but it’s Astarion’s lips on yours that kills all words on your tongue.

There are no witnesses. Not a single soul below can see as he all but devours you, hungry lips melding to yours in desperation. The shadows he had been taunted for haunting for the night now serve as a veil, allowing you to cling to what’s left of your dignity. If anything, it feels as though he might be controlling the shadows, beckoning them to come and wrap the two of you up as his arm sneaks behind your back, pulling your body tightly to his as he chooses to steal the breath directly from your lungs now.

The push, the pull – the coin. The value, it seems, is finally coming to light.

Through the kiss, you can feel the damnation of all the emotions Astarion must have been holding back for the journey. All the want, all the yearning, all the anger, all the confusion – every single emotion you’ve been battling, breaking the surface as his fangs nip at your bottom lip.

It takes more willpower than you’d expected to shove him away.

“Astarion-” you gasp out, taking gulps of air into your burning lungs.

“Tell me to walk away,” he begs, body still aligned with yours, hands still clinging to you, “Tell me to leave you alone, and this time, I’ll obey.”

Your tongue can’t move. The depths of his whispers, his pleads, are ringing in your bones, and you can’t say the words he asks of you.

“Say it,” he presses on, his fingers only digging deeper into your hips. You can’t tell if they’ve gone numb from the chill of his fingers, or from the lack of circulation due to his strength, “Just say it, and I’ll do it. Say anything. I’m yours to command.”

You should tell him to walk away. You should call off the game of cat and mouse. You should save what’s left of your soul for someone else, anyone else, who won’t send your head spinning with a plethora of mixed signals.

“Room. Now.”

Of course, you don’t.

The game was never one-sided. It was never you, a merciful victim of Astarion, always trapped in his shadows. It’s a game for two – and you’ve earned your blame in it all, the same as Astarion.

And you continue to earn it as your hands tangle up in the snowy curls at the nape of his neck, silvery strands slipping between aching knuckles, lips attaching themselves to his porcelain skin as he guides you up that final flight of stairs. You’re not thinking of Shadowheart, not thinking of anything delicate or soft. Harsh clashes of teeth, harsh bites to rebuttal his fangs against you, harsh fingers digging into soft meat, harsh red lines left behind across his skin that fade away too quickly for your liking.

Harsh, harsh, harsh.

All your tensions and frustrations are put into the meshing, and you hardly notice once Astarion’s gotten the two of you through the threshold of the shared room. Everyone else is still downstairs, still celebrating, still cheersing and chatting away. Completely unaware of your demise. Oblivious to what’s about to happen.

Anyone else.

It’s been a long time coming.

You can see flashes of it in your mind as he carries you with him, door locked behind his back before he’s finding one of the vacated beds to lay you down onto. The night you’d discovered his vampiric nature, the night you had been his mirror with his scars, all the times in which he’d blatantly saved your ass during fights. The blurry figure that is your savior, conveniently getting between you and goblins or shadows alike as he buries his daggers to the hilt. Always there, always watching.

Always yearning.

Your heads sing in tune as that tadpole connection comes to life, like an exposed nerve as you feel it all reciprocated from him tenfold. Flashes of yourself, with soft eyes and gentle words. Patient palms and charming smiles. A pulling gravity so grandiose that it sparks sheer fear.

The room is quiet save for your gasps every time Astarion’s lips leave yours long enough to allow for breathing, the ruffling of clothing and bed sheets filling the air soon enough. Just quiet enough you can hone in on that fear, dig your claws into it instead of his back, focused entirely on following it all the way down.

More memories of his overriding yours. His exposure of Cazador, his admittance of his past. All the trust he put into you – all the faith he’d blindly handed over to you on a silver platter, only reminiscing and regretting once he was left to his own devices at the end of the day.

And then came the jealousy.

You’d already felt enough of it through his kisses and movements – the way he pins your body beneath his, the way his fangs graze your exposed neck – but it nearly drowns you once the connection has opened the floodgates.

The image of you and Gale, and a twist in your gut like no other. Incomparable to even vampiric hunger.

The image of you and Lae’zel, and a burn in the back of your throat that drives you beyond reason.

The glimpse of you and Karlach, and the urgency rising in your chest to simply stop it. To pull the brakes, not once considering the consequences.

Every small moment between you and someone else – companions, strangers, those who have helped along the way – is given to you from Astarion’s point of view. You feel all that he has felt; you burn as he has burned.

You feel a glimmer of understanding, a pitiful ounce of sympathy, but then you remember all that you have felt. All that confusion, all that unsureness. Every time you’ve had to question the glances the vampire offers in your direction or double back on his words.

He’d done it to himself. You had to remember that – he’d done it to himself every single step of the way.

“You could have said something,” you whisper out as his lips travel down the path of your neck, sharp tips of his fangs pressing to your pulse but not quite breaking skin, “You could have just told me.”

He’s lithe as a cat above you, each scrap of clothing being removed between the two of you exposing more of your bare flesh to the chill of his. You can feel all those muscles beneath his surface, and you can feel the hesitation as you say this. The freeze – the pause.

“You make it sound so simple.”

The fangs scrape at your jugular as he whispers it, mouth shaking as he uses all his self-constraint to not simply bite down. Taste your sweet blood, let it sing on his tongue rather than this conversation you can tell is setting fire to all his anxieties. He doesn’t want to talk.

You’re not even sure if you want to talk.

But you do, with the weight of him between your hips and his hands dancing along your torso. Your head is thrown back as you sigh, “It could be.”

It could be simple, it could have been simple this entire time, if only he’d allow it.

He’s had you dancing beneath his spell since the moment you’d met him. You had offered yourself over to him, time and time again, knowing all the costs. Despite the warnings from others, and despite all the sirens sounding off in your head every time your eyes had met his, you’d still pined. Still fantasized what this current moment might taste like as you’d lay in your tent at night, still chased after his attention across Faerun. If he had just directly said the word rather than stringing you along, burning in private – you would have been his far sooner than now. He could have had you in the palm of his hands long before he’d ever spotted the Gate of the city.

He has you now, though. Entirely encapsulated, bending to every whim of his fingertips.

A flick of his wrist, and you’re exposing more of your neck. A nudge of his knee, and you’re arching your back to press more of yourself against him. Offering your skin, offering your soul, offering your blood. A silent temptation for him to simply devour you whole; a silent begging to not complicate things more than what was necessary.

You had both been in the wrong. He had sent mixed signals, and you had been complicit in your own silence.

And right now, you weren’t particularly in the mood to rehash and reassign blame.

“Show me how simple it could be,” his voice is muffled against your skin, lips velvet against your pulse. It nearly frustrates you – was that not what you were currently doing? Were you not proving to him just how easily he could unravel you with those cold, cold palms? “Go ahead, darling. Prove me wrong.”

You’re not the one meant to take an action, though. Your hands fly up, fisting at his white curls, and you apply pressure to let him sink deeper into your skin, but you’re not the one who can break the barrier.

It’s him that must – his fangs must do it. The first bite, the smallest of sips.

Your blood trickles past his lips and you let out a sigh. As if this was what you were waiting for, as if this was all that it took. Your vitality draining slowly to invigorate him, your breath becoming his, your heart now beating for both of you.

He must feel it. He must taste it.

The simple entanglement of the living and unliving. How simple it was to become his.

You swear you only allow your heart to race as it does to encourage your blood to pump faster onto his eager tongue. He laps at it, hums at the taste, his grip on you becoming stronger with each pass of the ichor. Each passing second with his mouth glued to the side of your neck isn’t marked with the tick of a clock, but the roll of his hips, and your own desperate legs shaking in those precious moments between, cursed to choose between tightening shut around his hips or spreading wider to encourage more of him to occupy you.

Just as you start to feel light-headed, he pulls back. Wide and vibrant scarlet eyes boring into yours, fangs tinged pink with you poking against his bottom lip.

The tadpole connection has gone silent. Not due to either of you cutting it off entirely, but due to the lack of thoughts transpiring. Both your minds have gone quiet, and all that’s left is the warm buzz of knowing you’re connected. Static that you can feel at the back of your head, running down your spine, all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes.

Simple. Mind-numbingly simple.

You can feel the spark of something snapping after only a few moments of eye-contact, and you know it’s the ember that blazes within him as his next few actions transpire. Messy kisses leaving behind a trail of pink spit along your skin, hands no longer grappling at you mindlessly but with intention. He slips them between your thighs, a finger trailing down your cunt in time with his tongue down your sternum. What might be a memorized dance to him has become an entirely unknown experience to you, body buzzing with the novelty when his fingertip’s cool caress circles your clit before he slips down to your hole. It’s seamless – the stretch, the crook of his knuckle against you as he sinks deeper, the relief in the curl of your toes.

“You’re not another mindless dance,” he murmurs as he sinks deeper and lower, an unnecessary breath escaping him across your lower abdomen.

He’d heard it. He’d heard all of your thoughts at the moment.

You peer down at the ethereal sight of him between your thighs, his hair and mouth seemingly shimmering with all the stars and moon itself, “No?”

“No,” his voice is strong as he lets the tip of his nose press against you, mouth creeping closer to where two fingers now pump within you, “You’re not like the others.”

He doesn’t elaborate, even as the haunting question of who the others might be echoes within you. He completely distracts you as his fingers slip from your cunt and his tongue begins its work, worshiping you with every flick of it. Nose, tongue, breath – they all work in conglomeration as the unraveling truly begins. Every ounce of you is tensing, combating all the relief of having his mouth on you, as he pushes you closer and closer to a precipice you’ve only dreamed of him guiding you to.

The suckle of his lips. The cut of his fangs when he gets a bit too excited. The lap of a tongue like a dog worshiping at your altar. It’s all almost a bit much.

When your hands travel to entangle in his hair, you can feel the hesitation. For a moment, you believe he might reach up to take your touch away. Force you to grasp at the bed sheets, at the edge of the mattress, at the frame above your head. Anywhere but him.

But he doesn’t.

The pause only lasts a few seconds before he’s returning to his mitigations, even more intent than before. Words that could never be spoken between the two of you take the shape of his lips around your clit, sucking almost as hard as he had at your neck. An animal seemingly overtakes him, his mouth not leaving you for the mortal necessity of breathing, but rather for something harsher; he breaks away only for his fingers to slide back within you, and immediately takes to biting at your thighs.

It isn’t like he had done to your neck. This time, he’s not chasing after your blood. Nips and fuller bites, not just his sharpened canines sinking into fletch but his front teeth as well.

These aren’t bites to drink from you. These are bites to claim you.

He lines your legs with them, scattered sporadically as he shifts himself up and down. From the apex of your thigh down to your ankle, there’s hardly an inch of your skin that doesn’t paint with Astarion’s touch. The bite marks, lingering outlines of his hands clinging to your flesh, patient hickies left throughout.

You’re mine.

The message is clear enough whether you had seen it in his actions, or if he had sent it through the bond. You understand well what point he is making.

The point stands stronger and stronger when he works his way back up your body. He offers your hips the same worshiping treatment, leaves his imprints across your chest as well. A few marks brand your shoulders and neck, matching the two pricks that started this entire devourment.

“Do you have any idea of the hold you have upon me?” he sighs out as he holds himself above your body, hovering just close enough that your skin jumps as the skin of his abdomen brushes your own, “Our entire journey, I have been so focused on… on freedom, on abandoning the concept of ever being controlled…” he trails off, and when he looks into your eyes this time, you can see something clicking into place. A fearsome realization. “Only to end up in the thralls of your beck and call.”

You hold your breath and await the inevitable. This is the part where he runs. Where he removes his flesh from yours, where he jumps across the room and surely spits out some sarcastic remark. It’s the time in which he is meant to break all the hope that had been built over the minutes spent alone. He’ll make some nonchalant remark, or a crude joke, and he’ll go make eyes at some other poor fool below. He’ll cast his spell over someone else, anyone else. He’ll leave you, wanting and yearning and hopeless, once more.

His body stays above yours, the thin fabric of space shaking between you two.

With a trembling hand, warm against his skin, you take a chance, “I’m not your master, Astarion.”

You aren’t.

You have no desire to control him the way he describes. You would curse the day should you ever become something even comparable to being a placeholder for Cazador. He isn’t telling you anything new; you’ve known his end goal of this entire journey. Astarion has always wanted one thing and one thing only – freedom.

And you thought you’d been helping him. Following him blindly through the woes, helping him achieve his ultimate goal wholeheartedly. Never for a single second had you assumed the role he’s seemingly given you.

A short laugh escapes him, the smallest of smiles flitting his face, “No. No, you aren’t. And that only enthralls me further.”

His lips descend upon yours in a fervent fashion, even more desperate than before. It feels as if he’s actually trying to devour you whole this time – it feels as though he might actually accomplish melding you into his existence, sinking you right into the marrow of his hollow bones.

When his cock sinks into your heat, it’s ecstasy. Euphoria. Everything you’ve been wishing for. Everything you’d been hoping for. You stretch around him, just as you had his fingers, body eager to take in every last inch of him. The buzz becomes a roar and your entire body feels as though it might be on fire. You want more, you need more, and he’s more than willing to give it.

More, more, more.

His hips roll agonizingly slow against yours, making sure every movement is felt across every nerve ending within your body. Deep within your gut, down along your thighs, all the way up your chest. You feel him everywhere – he makes sure of it.

Centuries, his voice curls through your mind like dark smoke. For centuries, this body has felt tainted. Never quite mine, never quite clean.

His hands are shaking as he lets them caress down your sides, over your hips, clinging for support.

You take that feeling away.

The words are heavy, the press of his chest over you heavier. Your own hands wander, and you make a point to avoid the scars on his back. The ones hardly deciphered, the ones that have tied him to a fate you refuse to let him succumb to. No amount of jealousy, no amount of spite, can reverse that ardent decision within your mind.

You’re not an old coat, Astarion. You whisper it back, along the bond, your physical mouth gaping wide open as you tilt your head back into the pillow, feeling yourself tighten around him. You’re not a worn pair of boots. You’re a person.

A terrible mon-

You cut off his rebuttal, a complicated person. Snarky, indecisive, too flirtatious for your own good. But still a person, and still worthy.

Two simple words, and they send shudders through his entire body. Still worthy. You don’t look at him as something to be discarded or owned; you don’t envision him as a prize or a trophy. And you certainly don’t see only his flaws when you look at him. When his ruby eyes meet yours, both his and your own eyelashes flutter ridiculously as all the pressure mounts, the blush of your blood across his cheeks and running down his throat, you both know. You don’t need to put it into words.

Even when he infuriated you. Even when he made you second-guess his companionship in the beginning. Even when he made you swoon like a schoolgirl only to divert his attention. Never once have you fully faulted him for the mistakes.

He’s done bad things. You’ve all done terrible things. And yet, you still want him.

He’s worth more than the sum of his worst moments, even if he hadn’t bedded you tonight. You would still help slay Cazador. You would still fight tooth and claw for his freedom.

You love him. You hate him. You hate to love him, you love to hate him. It’s all smoke and mirrors at the end of the day when you’re feeling the weight of him collapse on top of you. And it’s mutual. The complicated, infuriating emotions are all reciprocated.

Every inch of your skin stings with the lingerance of his fangs and lips, gasps and mews slipping between your lips as he picks up his pace. His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs and hips in a failing attempt to pull your body back to his, the reciprocation languid in every stroke. Every slap of his skin against yours, every moan of his own – they mingle in the air and spell out the inevitability of this moment. You swear you feel his sharp nails nick you, a bead of blood no doubt bubbling and staining the sheets below.

You don’t care. He doesn’t, either.

Your whine echoes through the empty room right along with a harsh grunt from him. He’s ravaging you. Bruising you inside and out.

“Fuck, Astarion,” you gasp out, giving up using the bond. Your mind has melted far too much for coherent thoughts as both your breaths quicken, both abdomens tightening as you feel him reach even deeper inside your cunt, “Fuck.”

You can feel him letting go just as it feels as though your body might give out. Blissful soreness hidden behind a curtain of pleasure that turns your vision white. You almost wonder if your body had been simply a vessel for his own pleasure this entire time.

You wouldn’t mind if it had been, but he’s made damn sure it isn’t.

You’ve never felt quite as cared for as when his hips stutter, feeling warmth fill your fluttering cunt as his open mouth places random kisses anywhere they can reach. His head falls to the crook of your neck and you can feel his tired lips pressing repetitively over your marked neck, your shoulder. They even graze the original bite mark, and the simple action sends shockwaves through you to join the rest of the residual quakes that keep your legs shaking around his waist.

The bedlinen sticks to your skin from a mixture of blood and sweat as he collapses next to you for a moment, still curling up to you like a cat. Nose running along your bare shoulder, lips still reaching out for you.

It takes you a second, but when you finally catch your breath, you can’t help but ask the dreaded question, “Does this mean you’re officially mine?”

His chuckle is unexpected, vibrating against your chest as he rolls most of his weight off you and lifts his head, “Have I not made that much obvious?”

“I just needed to make sur-”

He cuts off all your hesitation, lifting the entirety of his upper body now, “Allow me to make this very clear to you, darling. I have been yours since the moment you reacted to me holding a dagger to your throat with a damned headbutt.”

You smile sheepishly, “So you’re telling me when I did that… I knocked some sense into you?”

“Never,” he scoffs, waving a hand, the only sign of his own fatigue to match yours being the way he drops back down at your side. You don’t miss the faint smile gracing his lips, “But it was an impressive move. Quite enchanting for this old heart of mine.”

“So now you admit that you’re old?” you joke, prodding at an inside joke that had been ongoing since he’d admitted the entirety of his vampiric nature to you. He’d always pouted like a child at any mention of his age, but he’d always allowed only you to get away with any jabs at it. Your entire group still doesn’t speak of his reaction to Gale trying his hand at one of the jokes, “Goodness, what has gotten into you, my Star?”

He flushes at the nickname, eyes diverting as he slowly creeps his body up the bed, face to face with you now. Your heart tightens a bit when he takes his time replying, swallowing hard, tongue peeking out instinctively as he runs it over his lips and fangs slowly.

You almost believe he won’t look you in the eyes again, but he does. As he says the heaviest words yet, he looks to you as if you’re the only thing in the room for this moment.

“I care for you,” his voice comes out tight, nearly strained. “Deeply. You make me want to be… a better… man, monster, whatever I might be. And if that’s a crime?” he pauses, and takes another one of those pesky deep breaths that you’re well aware aren’t vital to him. A glimmer of the human, the person, beneath the self-proclaimed monster. “Well, I haven’t been much of a rule follower thus far in our journey anyways, have I?”

You pay no mind to his joking tone, seeing the words for what they are. Your hand reaches up, fingers carding through silver waves, and you can’t help your grin when he doesn’t swat you away as he had done Shadowheart for the exact same show of affection the week before.

I adore you, Astarion.

Quiet words. Silent words. Only for the two of you, within the confines of a shared mine.

He clears his throat uncomfortably, “Mind you, I may need some time, given all the memories this wretched city brings-”

“Take all the time you need,” you interrupt. From the second he’d opened up to you, offering that vulnerability in the heat of the moment regarding his body, you’d seen this coming. “I can wait for you, my love. Let’s just focus on surviving all this, yeah?”

He can’t hide his affection. It’s written plainly on his face, it travels clearly across the bond.

“Yes,” he whispers back, reaching for your wrist finally, but only to hold it placid as he turns his lips towards it. You think for a moment he might bite you one final time, and you’d let him, but he surprises you. No fangs appear – only the softest of kisses against the most vulnerable of skin. “Survival. Of course.”

It’s not so much words as it is an image, a promise, that comes to mind from him. The fluttering of a future he sees being possible, the threat of a city burned down should any harm come to you.

“And no more jealousy,” you croak out, trying to not be overwhelmed by his own emotions mixing with yours. “You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

Another kiss to your wrist, this one far quicker, far more habitual than the first. He’s kissing you simply because he can.

You know there’s more behind his smile when he whispers, “Oh, of course, lover.”

And you find out later on the reason for such a mischievous smile, once he’s cleaned you both up and migrated for you two to rest in his claimed bed. When Shadowheart is the first of the group to enter the room, confronted with the image of you curled up on Astarion’s chest as his fingers dance over your aching skin, you don’t even have to wake up properly to see the vision of a smug Astarion through your dreary eyes.

Words are exchanged, but they’re lost to you in your sleepy state. You only catch the ones that matter.

“Astarion! Are those bite marks-”

“Mine?” if you were any more conscious, you would have scolded him. He knows it, too, as he squeezes you closer to him, “Why, yes. Yes, they are, our dearest Shadowheart.”

Shadowheart’s huff of breath tells you all you need to know about Astarion’s smirk. You’ll talk more of jealousy in the morning.

#ghost's writing #kinktober #week 1: vampiric desires #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion smut #astarion x tav

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angxlofvenus · 1 year ago

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hi, hi, hi! could I request the brothers + diavolo during a meeting together when their s/o (the mc) starts to doze off and then suddenly faint? Turns out, the MC forgot to drink water that day-

That happened to mr a few days ago, it wasn't fun - so here's a reminder for you to drink some water too :')

Thank you so much for the request!!! I am so so sorry to hear that happened, I hope you're doing better <3 If anything in this post seems insensitive please let me know! Have a wonderful rest of your day/night

Genre: Mostly fluff, Some Hurt/Comfort Ship: Demon Brother+Diavolo x reader (individual) TW: Minimal cussing, mentions of fainting, mass panic, yelling, second person pov for reader (If I missed anything please tell me!!)

When You Faint

You watched as the clock slowly ticked by the minutes as the Demons around you spoke amongst themselves, Your talking had slowly come to a stop as the room started to spin, Some of the men looked at you strangely but nobody expected you to fall out of your chair and onto the council room floor...

Lucifer

He's immediately up out of his chair

Oh lord, he’s now fully in mother mode-

Barking orders at everyone, Yes this includes Dia

As soon as he gets over to you his wings are out, shielding you from everyone else

Once you come to, He isn’t letting you out of his sight

And once he finds out you fainted because of dehydration?

He would so buy you one of those big ass waterbottles

One of these mfs

Mammon

Freaking out pt. 1

Definitely hootin’ and hollering

He is indeed making a scene

Won’t really be on you until after you wake up because he knows Lucifer and Diavolo can do more for you then he can

After you have awoken though? He isn’t letting you out of his sight

You don’t have to worry about remembering to drink water, He’s there to remind you now!

Humans are such fragile creatures and now that he's seen that firsthand, He will barely let you do anything

He will make sure you are healthy whether you like it or not dammit

Levi

Freaks out pt. 2

Somehow freaking out even more then Mammon

He doesn’t know what to do! He leaves his room one time and this is what happens!

Will kind of just stand there in shock as everyone erupts into chaos

He isn’t the best example of someone who looks after their body lets be honest

But when ya’ll are gaming You’ll start to see some more healthy options popping up in the mix of chips and soda

He will beat himself up over not noticing, Please comfort this man before he decides you resent him

He won’t ever really bring it up but rest assured, It will never happen again

Satan

Would also run to your aid

He has read a lot of medical books in his time, He knows what to do

Would take you to a doctor afterwards, just in case

Kind of beats himself up for being unaware of your condition

I don’t think he’d freak out as badly after the incident, He knows it was probably a one time thing

Will bring up in conversation casually if you’ve eaten and drank water today, just to be sure

Asmo

Screams

Freaks out pt. 3

Yelling at Lucifer/Satan to do something!

Will be all over you as soon as you’re awake

Don’t scare him like that!

Will get extra pouty when he learns why you passed out

Has Ya’lls self-care sessions meant nothing to you?!

No more of that, not on his watch

He will offer you water at random times throughout the day

Studying? Water! Watching Tv? Water! Sleeping? Water! no, no, Beauty sleep is important

Beel

Doesn’t knows what's happening, Why are you on the floor?

Will stand on the sidelines concerningly as he watches Lucifer take over, He trusts his brother to help you

Will also feel immense guilt he didn’t see the signs, He just wants to keep everyone safe 🙁

When he thinks Ya’ll are doing something too straining for a human, He’ll stop to ask if you’re okay/ need a break

Will start carrying around a water bottle specifically for you

Belphie

He totally wasn’t sleeping when it happened, nope

Woke up to his brothers and the Prince of the Devildom freaking out around you

I don’t think he’d really get too involved with helping since he doesn’t actually know wtf just happened

If you don’t immediately perk back up, He’s gonna cuss out Lucifer and maybe try to fight him

Gets a little snappy at everyone (except you ofc) after the incident

He even started to set alarms on your DDD as reminders to drink water

Will tease you just a teeny bit, But you can tell how worried the entire thing actually makes him

Diavolo

Was over to you in record time

Commands everyone to step back from you while he calls Barbatos and a royal doctor

You will be given the best treatment don't worry

He thinks he's being very sneaky about making you drink more water He is so obvious about it, it hurts

You will definitely notice how Barbatos now almost immediately refills your glass as soon as it’s half full

Another one to openly ask if you’ve drank enough water that day

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lionhanie · 7 months ago

Text

leehan as your boyfriend! ♡

established relationship, PURE fluff, leehan x reader, leehan is IN LOVE with you, also not proofread LOL!!!!!!!

word count: ~800 i think lol

warnings: none

a/n: i can't lie this whole thing was sooo self indulgent i just love him so bad #GUILTY!

literally does everything in his power to make you smile and feel good... #1 boyfriend in the world i fear!

he must have the ability to read the minds of the people he loves bc he just knows what you need all the time

...or rather than this, all of his opinions and preferences become whatever you like! (without complaint ofc, because he’s okay with anything as long as you’re satisfied)

this makes me think he’s rlly big on quality time because he seems like the type of bf to be content with just. whatever! as long as you’re there ^_^

quite literally only has eyes for you

he doesn’t really *intend* to do this, but it is so difficult for him to focus on anyone else if he has *you* there with him

everyone will always complain when they hangout with just you two bc they will always end up feeling like a third wheel :skull:

even if you try to tease him for literally adoring you 24/7 he wouldn’t even be flustered or embarrassed. he would just nod and smile in agreeance U_U

he’ll always go out of his way to compliment you too, telling you how cute you look or how good you are at doing something. he gets a little shy every time you compliment him, but he always recovers by turning the praise back to you

even though he isn’t the best texter, i imagine he would put in extra effort to keep you updated throughout the day-- especially if it's hard to spend a lot of time together in person

you're just going about your day at school/work and you hear a notification on your phone... it's leehan sending you like 10 different angles of the new friends he got for his fish tank

or it's one of his selfies that are either 1) blurry, 2) crop out like 80% of his face, 3) at an unnatural selfie angle, or 4) all of the above. regardless, he's still your handsome boyfriend & looks amazing in every pic he sends

unironically i think he would be a DRY texter LMFAO but the way he communicates is kind of endearing. rather than sending messages, he def has a concerningly large album of reaction pics he uses for every possible situation (including ones he made himself using pics of you & the members)

dates with him are SO fun.

again, he doesn't really care too much about what you two do as long as he gets to spend time together... he's just down to try Anything and Everything so you guys never really run out of things to do together

being so eager to try new activities, i can 100% see him suggesting the most obscure data ideas & being so genuinely excited to do it no matter how odd it may seem given the context

cause Boy wdym you think fishing in a river at 12am is a fun idea for a date... it’s not necessarily like you were going to say no .... but also… this isn’t a common date activity, right?

i think he loves staying in with you the most….. sleepover!!! :3

especially after you both had tiring days; spending a night in with each other never fails to recharge you both!

ordering any food you want (he isn’t planning on eating much, so he’d rather get something you’re craving) ((after a couple bites he sits back and watches you eat w/ the biggest grin on his face))

but i think the absolute BEST part of the night is when the two of you are side by side at the bathroom counter doing a Twelve Step Skincare Routine that leehan made himself

and you’re giggling the whole time bc he takes his skincare SERIOUSLY. (that one mf who don’t play about his skincare bye)

i think he’d be super attentive, but silently though

you’d never know he’s constantly keeping track of your reactions to certain things, your different routines, your food preferences, the types of clothes you like

Ok in theory it /sounds/ creepy but he just puts in the effort to observe the way you like to do things so he can help you whenever you need it

IMAGINE you’re running late & you can’t find your phone /again/ and you’re lowkey freaking out because you Need To Leave Now but leehan just steadies you and hands you your phone

and ur kind of in awe ??? i've been looking for this for ten minutes now... How Do you have this …?

he just shrugs and explains “you always leave it underneath the blanket when you make the bed so i figured it might be there again" and motions for you to hurry before you’re late

or maybe you’re feeling under the weather & you ask him to make you a hot drink to help soothe your throat and he comes back with a mug of tea made EXACTLY how you make it for yourself

you're pleasantly surprised upon taking your first sip because …you don’t recall ever telling him how you like your tea?

then he's sitting there with stars in his eyes and saying “i made it properly, right? :3” (clearly very proud of himself bc he remembered how you like it)

doesn't seem like the type to be too extra when it comes to PDA. if anything, he prefers small and/or secret interactions in public (it feels more intimate if only you guys know what's happening)

head pats. that’s it. he thinks the way you literally melt whenever he pats your head is the most endearing thing ever, so he'll save it /specifically/ when you're out w/ a group of people because he loves seeing you so flustered afterwards

keeping a hand on the small of your back or resting his arm on the back of your chair when you're sitting next to each other

holding your hand in his under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze as the two of you continue to talk with the others at the table

at the end of the day... he just loves you so dearly & couldn't be happier knowing that he can call you his, and you can call him yours :,)

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eunandonly · 3 months ago

Text

⟡ — falling in love with you

enhypen x fem. reader | enhypen realising that they’re slowly but surely falling for you

genre: fluff, friends to lovers | wc. 1.2k EN- a/n: i had sm fun writing this <3 i hope you guys enjoy it as much as i did ^^ also!! i think i may be shadowbanned..?

lee heeseung

there had never been anything romantic between you two - you were just friends. it had been that way for years. heeseung still vividly remembered you in fifth grade gagging when your classmates asked you if you liked him in a game of truth or dare at someone’s birthday party. he remembered the disgusted and incredulous look on your face when people started shipping you together, carving little hearts between your names on wooden desks and lockers. the relationship between you and heeseung was almost sibling like, constantly bickering but looking out for each other. — more under cut!!

but then why was heeseung finding himself distracted by you in class, staring at you from his seat wondering when the hell you got so pretty? why did he feel his heart hammering in his chest whenever you leaned your head on his shoulder on a movie night, a jolt of electricity for every touch exchanged? it probably meant nothing to you, but heeseung could feel himself falling deeper and deeper into you.

park jongseong

never had jay thought of you romantically, you guys were nothing but coworkers, working together and suffering together in the office. but it seemed the shift in his feelings was slow but sure. it was the small things, car rides with you on rainy days whilst listening to music you both liked, saturday nights spent together in the city. he wanted to give you everything you yearned for, money, love, you name it. he would see you eyeing an expensive leather bag at a store and before he knew it, he would be carrying it to the counter and sliding his card, giddy at the thought of gifting you. seeing you happy made jay happy, and he took any chance he had to have you all to himself. he would take you to fancy restaurants that seemed like a place that coworkers wouldn’t go to, buying movie tickets and coaxing you to go with him instead of going out with your friends. jay wasn’t sure what was happening: when did the change in his heart happen?

sim jaeyun

you were always the one people overlooked, too quiet for people to notice. for years, jake was like all the others. one could mention your name and he would ask “who?” before looking at you and wondering since when you had been in his class. you two were just on completely different rungs on the social ladder, much too far apart for jake to be able to see.

but in sophomore year, jake finally started noticing you after getting seated together. first of all, you were pretty. you weren’t pretty in the way his past girlfriends were pretty, it was something else that made you attractive. you were nice, you weren’t shallow nor were you arrogant, and jake started to look forward to seeing you again in boring english class. you gave him the sort of attention that no one else gave him - it wasn’t to gain popularity or to make a move on him. it was the sort of attention that was given simply because you cared.

park sunghoon

it was strange, the attraction sunghoon was feeling for you, because the only emotions he remembered feeling for you before were hatred, jealousy and annoyance.

you two were both figure skaters, and there had always been a strange rivalry between you two. it didn’t matter that he was in the male division and you were in the female’s. both of you were concerningly competitive and the only thing that mattered was who landed the best double axels and quad toes. glares and looks were always exchanged on the rink and praises dripping with sarcasm were presented.

so why did sunghoon feel a strange warmth in his chest at the sight of you practising so hard? why did he feel concern and a need to comfort you when he saw you sobbing on the cold ice all alone after a particularly nasty fall? he tried to tell himself it was nothing, but oh, it definitely was not nothing.

kim sunoo

you and sunoo had been best friends since childhood. he was the kid who was always loitering in your house when even you weren’t there, the friend you would fall asleep with in your room after a long yap session.

though your relationship had been platonic for years, sunoo couldn’t deny that the strange feelings creeping in was a sense of attraction. you were the only one who understood him, and his attraction for you only grew from the passing days. warm spring afternoon spent with you lying in your backyard made him feel fuzzy inside, taking glances at your pretty face and swallowing the urge to sweep your hair away from your face. he would involuntarily jump when you started tracing shapes on his skin at night, just like you used to as kids.

“guess what i’m drawing.” you would say, and sunoo would try so very hard to concentrate, was it a butterfly? or perhaps a tulip? but it was so very hard to focus with your soft hand on his arm.

yang jungwon

jungwon’s only feeling for you since middle school had been competitiveness. you were both top students, battling for the best grades, student council spots and badminton tournament championships. if you were running for school president, jungwon was running for school president. if jungwon was doing mun, you were doing mun.

but despite the constant fight to be the best, jungwon couldn’t help but admire your hard work and determination. he kind of saw himself in you, the commitment and will to push yourself to be the best of the best. he was impressed, and his praises started to get more genuine each day, his happiness for your achievements more and more real. he couldn’t help but feel a leap in his heart when you were ranked first in school, something that had never happened before, and his heart beat faster at the sight of your sparkling eyes meet his on stage as you hugged a bouquet of flowers in your arms. at that moment, he would be hit by a sudden pang in the chest that left him breathless, an unfamiliar tug in his heartstrings.

nishimura riki

riki had always seen you as the girl that was in the same dance studio as him. you two hadn’t exactly been close, but you had known each other fairly well.

people had been talking about your dancing skills for some time now, but he only really believed it after he saw it himself for monthly evaluations. he was extremely impressed, your footwork was so intricate and your moves smooth yet clean.

slowly over the months, riki’s feelings for you grew, the attraction increasing even more for every dance he saw you dance. sometimes it would just be you two in the practice room late at night, riki’s hands on your waist guiding you through particularly hard dance move, or helping you stretch and giving you soft massages for pain. but really, it was all just an excuse to get to spend time with you alone. he would sometimes stand staring at the doorway of the room watching your silhouette in the dark practice room, wondering just how you had gotten such a tight hold on him.

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aouiaa · 9 months ago

Text

Loser!Ellie Hcs

Imagining Loser! Ellie who makes fart noises with her mouth when you bend down to pick up something, and makes fun of you for “farting.”

“Ewww, that one was nasty!”

A scoff leaves your mouth as you stand up, looking back to send a death stare her way to which makes her walk over to you, giggling.

“It’s okay, everyone farts.” she says with a cheeky grin.

An eye roll from you further causes Ellie to full on laugh and wrap her arms around your waist, pressing kisses to your neck.

She would be so silly with it too. Finding different ways to comment on you “farting.”

“That’s some narly tooting there, babe.”

“Woof, another left the cannon!” she says, pinching her nose while actually fanning the air to shooing away the smell as if it was real.

“A bomb just dropped, take cover!”

Imagining Loser! Ellie who invites you over to her house when you first started dating to review her concerningly large comic book collection.

“How many do you have?!” you exclaim, looking over the many boxes filled with comics.

“I had to do some things to acquire such items that I rather not corrupt your mind with.” she says in a rather poor attempt of sounding suspicious and menacing.

“God, you’re such a loser! you laugh, and watch as Ellie immediately drops the act and turns into a big giant tomato.

A little shy “no” leaves her lips to which makes you smile and lean over to kiss her, “It’s okay, you’re my loser.”

Imagining Loser! Ellie who also has a smaller collection of space related books than the rather getting out-of-hand comic collection.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who has the deadliest grip over the last chicken while sending a death stare your way when you do that one trend on her to see if she’d grab her phone instead.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who’s laughing to the point there’s tears in her eyes when she suggested the both of you paint each other. And when revealed, hers was very detailed and while yours…’was insteresting.’ Ellie’s words…

Imagining Loser! Ellie who makes fun of people who dress “cringe”, but also wears this.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who write love songs for you in her little journal of hers and even plays them on her guitar. You’ve even caught her once.

Upon walking into your home, you hear muffled talking or singing. Presuming it’s Ellie, you walk into the room to see her with gutiar in hand. Immediately when she sees you she stops what she’s doing and look up, her face turning red.

“Oh—shit, you’re home early…” she says, laughing nervously, settling her guitar aside and greeting you with a hug and kiss as usual.

A little laugh leaves your lips as you reciprocate the greeting and ask, “What were you doing?”

She pulls away from the embrace and looks down upon hearing the question. Playing with her pinky and ring finger, she responds, “Oh, ya’ know—just…playing.”

“Just playing? But I heard you singing.”

An audible gulp is heard from the nervous girl as she looks up at you, “I was writing a song.” she finally admits.

A wave of surprise washed over you, “Oh—wow. Can…I hear it?”

“Uhh, maybe later..”

You chuckle and nod, “Alright then, my little musician. You can work on!” you quip.

A nervous smile presents itself on Ellie’s lips, “Shut up.”

Loser! Ellie who does let you listen to the song, but is stuttering and messing up the whole time!—Poor girl, you make her nervous :(—To which earns her a kiss on the cheek and a “You got this, baby. Just relax” To which she actually does! She Some might say it was the kiss that did it.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who has a special spot in her journal filled with doodles of you.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who has multiple unfinished paintings of you that with time will be finished, just has to find time in her super busy schedule—that consists of sleeping and bothering you—to finish them.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who sleeps with stuffed animals.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who HAS to absolutely listen to music when doing anything, literally doesn’t matter it could be showering, dishes, getting ready, etc. There’s music playing.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who’s a big ‘Savage Starlight’ nerd and actually at some point sent in one of her best fanart to the official insta page, but never got a response. :(

But the girl can’t take failure as an option and is still hopeful saying, “They’ll open my message…eventually.” with a sad little huff.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who’s screaming from the bathroom when she actually gets a response back!

You knock frantically on the door to startled by the screaming and when she does finally open the door you’re met with her phone being shoved into your face, “Look, Look, Look!”

A slightly irritated sigh leaves your lips as you look at Ellies phone—which has mysterious residue stains on it—and see the instagram post.

Once reading the caption praising Ellie for her work, you look up from the phone and at her, “I thought you were getting killed, Ellie! God…”

“Aweeee, you care about me?” she says, putting her hands on her chest.

“No, I came to make sure they finished the job.” you reply with a cheeky grin.

“Oh wow…well in that case, gimme my phone and get out!” she frowns.

You roll my eyes playfully and chuckle, giving back her phone, “Make sure to flush.” you say, closing the door.

“That was one time!” you hear a muffled shout.

Imagining Loser! Ellie whose phone is filled with multiple pictures of you. Some of you, sleeping, doing chores around the house, cooking—and some with you seeming to be yelling at her in the photo for not helping, and terrible pictures of you that you beg her to delete, but she protests saying they’re “beautiful” to her.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who steals your chapstick since she always loses her’s within a few days of having it.

“Ellie?” you call out, searching in your nightstand for your chapstick.

“Yeah, babe?” you hear her voice become more clearly as she walks into the bedroom.

“Have you seen my chapstick? My lips are terribly dry…” you huff, unable to find it in your clutter.

“Uhh, no.”

*Imagine her in the background, sneakily swiping your chapstick back and forth on her lips as you annoyedly rummage through your stuff for it.* LMAOOO

Imagining Loser! Ellie who does feel bad and buys you a ten pack of chapstick, stealing one of course for herself.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who buys those princess or even soda chapstick ones.

(Okay i’ll stop talking about chapsticks…😭)

Imagining Loser! Ellie who seems to never drink water, but instead drinks like Arizona, Dr. Pepper, or Canada-dry, etc.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who’s rather disgusting when eating. Having dried up residue on the side of her mouth from dinner which was hours ago only to lick it off.

“Mmm, that burger was good.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Imagining Loser! Ellie who sometimes, but not all the time, thinks about how lucky she is/was to get—or “pull” as she says to her friends—someone like you.

Loser! Ellie who loves you for loving her despite her quirks!

How you can help Palestine, Why you shouldn’t support tlou/ buy the remastered, Educate yourself, #FREEPALESTINE.

a/n; Who wants Dina or Abby hcs? 🤭

Perm taglist: @elliesprettygirl, @dyk3ang3l, @ellies2fingers, @r3starttt, @slut4mascss, @k1ssesworld

Ellie Only fics: @herelieskrisy, @mikellie , @slaysksmska, @mina-281, @teawithnosugar, @kitkatkittycat111

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carmenized-onions · 8 months ago

Text

I Want To. | Wellness Check

logline; Such is life, you go from not being needed at The Bear today to being more needed than you ever have been.

[!!!] series history, this is the fourth; First, Second, Third

portion; 4.7k+

possible allergies; a dash of Tony's former paramedic background (and just medical shit in general) in this one, so, a sprinkle of post-trauma stress (and her usual yikes psyche). Mikey comes up a bit, as usual! despite the ops, we ball.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (pretty unavoidably gendered episode, mb non-fem folks)

we'll talk after babe, have a good time w/ this one.

Falling asleep was easy— par for Carmen fighting to keep his 6:30 am alarm on. When he finds out you don’t have a plug on his side of the bed and he has to charge his phone on your side, he turns it off. Cute.

Well, there’s also the part where you had to ask if he was okay because it sounded like he wasn’t breathing and it turns out —He was not breathing— He then pointed out that it sounded like you weren’t breathing —You were not breathing— Both of you thought the sound of your lungs would bother the other, so you opted not to use them at all. Turns out, counterproductive; you notice each other’s absences pretty well.

But besides that, it's easy. Carmen isn’t an awful bedfellow. He’s not super shifty, he doesn’t tug the blanket, he doesn’t roll all the fucking way over to your side, or anything like that. He’s honestly concerningly still. Is he annoyed that you’ve gotta toss and turn a little to get comfortable? Probably. He's probably dreaming of you exploding right now, he’s so annoyed. He didn’t make fun of your ages old build-a-bear plush nor it’s Cubs jersey, so that was nice. Pity, probably.

...If Carmen wasn’t here, he knows he’d be stirring and kicking and probably sleep-walking to his oven to light it on fire. But he is here. Where kicking would hurt. Where stirring would wake you. Where a fire would cause more anxiety than relief because all your plants and projects would die. Where you washed his hair and told him that taking care of people doesn’t feel like a lot of work to you. Was it not a lot of work, to take care of his brother? Was it worth it, to you? Probably not. How could it be?

He wills his body to not fucking move because if he does it's going to ruin everything. He's going to ruin everything.

He wakes up at 6:30 on the dot, alarm or no. He’d be concerned if his body functioned any differently. But he can’t get to his phone while you’re sleeping in his way and you’re so comfortable. You’re clutching a bear that’s undeniably on a losing team and you’re at peace with it. He’s trying not to make a metaphor out of this in his mind; alas, it’s already there. The only thing he can do is go back to sleep and dream about killing the teenage boy in his head before he can escape again and call you pretty.

It's around ten when you wake up, you try not to wake him when you turn to grab your phone, but the split second of motion makes him flinch like he’s about to get jumped. “Relax!” You hiss, but like, soft, whispered. “I’m doin’ the fuckin’ Wordle, not smothering you with a pillow.”

“You do the Wordle?”

“Oh, fuck you—”

“The first fuckin’ thing you do in the morning is the Wordle?”

“And I do the Crossword too, bitch, what of it?”

“…I like Connections.”

“I fuckin' hate Connections.”

“Alright, damn!”

The Chicago accent in both of you is stronger in your rasping morning voices. As is the laughter. You roll onto your stomach to get closer to him and let him see your screen. Neither of you have entirely woken up yet and that means it’s the perfect time to do a puzzle. If you don't focus on this puzzle right now, you fear you will get too comfortable in this idea of domesticity.

“C’s in the right place. Nothin’ else though.”

He’s the one that figures out its Cumin. You pretend not to be mad about this. You’re furious. Of course, it’d be a spice on the day Mr Food Guy sleeps over. Bullshit.

When you finally sit up, stretch, and say, “I’m just gonna shower real quick ‘nd—”

He’s at a breakneck speed to reply, “I’ll make breakfast.”

“Oh, you cook all the fuckin’ time, you don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

You blink, then shrug, the man likes to cook, c’est la vie. “Who am I to refuse?”

He looks far too happy about this, as though he’s won a lottery. A lottery of manual labour. He rolls out of bed, grabbing his back pack stuffed with yesterday’s clothes before leaving you to your own devices. In a literal sense, too, since you get a text. Ugh.

‘Gigi called in, can you reach?’

You would prefer not to reach, but this is capitalism.

‘When's the shift?’

‘6:30 to 12:30’

Why couldn’t something else at The Bear be fuckin’ broken today?

‘yeah i can reach’

‘that’s my girl, red tops today, see u’

You have also won the lottery of manual labour today. Look at you and Carm, luckiest people alive. Something like that. Alright, go shower and be normal about the fact that there’s a Michelin Star Chef making you breakfast in your kitchen. And he’s prett—

“You make your own bread.”

“I do.” You sit at your own little breakfast nook, waiting to be served. Towel hung around your neck post shower. You’d offer to help, but based on his urgency to cook for you, it’s gonna be a no. Plus, the gift on the table you’ve got for him is going to piss him off enough, can't poke this bear too much. He's already given you a mile. Too many idioms.

“I like to think in another universe I am a homesteader who makes her own soaps and renders tallow n’ shit. But I settle for growing basil and making sourdough in my shitty little Chicago apartment for now.”

“I like your apartment.” He hums, though amused. He turns and sets your plate—the one black plate— in front of you with a small smile. This smile immediately falls when he pushes the plate towards you and you push a travel bag of toiletries towards him.

“Fuck is this?”

“I don’t want to hear any complaints, Irish Spring.”

“How d’you know I use Irish Spring?”

“It’s all five of your routine, it’s going to be pungent— Now listen.” You pick up the bag; you’d dug through your sink cabinet and found a dollar store pack of plastic travel bottles, unused from cancelled trips of yesteryear. You've decanted your own products for him. It's fine, you buy jumbo sizes anyways...

“Shampoo, conditioner, face wash—They’ve even got labels.”

He takes the bag from you, setting it down on his side of the counter, begrudgingly. Though he hasn’t particularly paid it much mind, tunnelled on something else entirely, “Do you not like Irish Spring?”

"I didn't give you a body wash, you can still use it for that one purpose."

"Yeah, but do you not like Irish Spring?"

"...I think it's fine."

“Fine?”

“I’m more of an Old Spice fan.”

“You don’t deserve breakfast—” He pulls your plate, you pull it back.

“All I said—” “Thinkin’ I smell like shit—” “Did not say that—!” “Just cause you use the fruity stuff—” “I smell good! Deny that I smell good!” “You smell fine.” “Wowww—Whatever, do the thing.”

“Bruschetta with a breakfast twist.” Ah, that makes him give you the plate back. His kink is explaining food. “Sourdough toasted, topped with fresh basil—”

“Courtesy of me.”

“Courtesy of you, yes. Tomatoes, bacon glazed in balsamic, and you didn’t have parm so I used feta. And then, y’know, over medium egg on top.”

“You’re very good, Carmen.”

“Oh, I—Uh—” You haven’t even tried it yet. You’re telling him he’s good for the sake of the effort he’s given alone. He needs an antacid. “Thank you.”

It’s redundant to say his food is good. But what else can you say? It’s a fucking perfect open face sandwich. But he’s eating it with you, and half of it’s your own handiwork, and all of your pantry, so you leave your praises purely reaction based, unsaid.

You're honestly a little distracted, reading too hard into the act of him giving you the black plate and taking one of your shitty plastic ones for himself. Time to talk.

“Itinerary for today?”

“Gotta talk chaos menu with Syd before opening, then, well, running the restaurant all night… And then I’ll—I’ll go home.”

“Yeah? You can come back here, if you want to.” Thank God you took a bite in time to hide your selfish disappointment. It’s good for him to go home, but then he’s not here. Real Catch-22.

He shakes his head, “I think I’m good now. Thanks, though. What’s—What’s uh, your plans for today?”

“I’m gonna drop you off wherever you’re going, n’ then I’m gonna go shopping for Syd’s gift—”

“It’s her fuckin’ birthday or somethin?” It’s a delight how immediately panicked he is by this. You're also thankful because he's so distracted it means you won't have to tell him the rest of your plans for today. You'd like to keep that life separate. For as long as possible, at least.

“Nono, it’s just, I didn’t get her anything for her opening night and I wanna change that. I’ll get you something too.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” The very idea of waiting for his response is freaking you the fuck out, so you’re quick to clear your voice and add. “I’ll give you my number, in case you end up needing to crash.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Ey, text me your invoice too.”

You take both your cleared plates to the sink, and the lie is swift. You've gotten a lot better at that, in the past year.

“Oh no worries, your sister already covered it.”

It is 6:30 and your life is over. Kidding. Unless? You dropped off Carmen at the train station hours ago and, to use his words, ‘it’s hit’. He’s at The Bear and there’s nothing for you to fix there— So you’re not.

You’ve only been there like three times and yet it started to feel… Like your thing!

Like, like you’d just come in everyday and… Dunno, fix something... But it’s not like they’re gonna have a crisis everyday. Especially not ones that Fak can't handle himself if needed— There's no way he's gonna last at hosting, anyways. You’re now realizing the unrealistic dream— Possibly more unrealistic than homestead you.

Speaking of, Homestead You would probably throw up, if she saw the you you’re looking at in the mirror right now. You look good. Objectively, you know you look good. The mug is stamped. Your pants are black, high-waisted, and give you an ass. The bright red leather corset top is… Chafing, but it looks good! It's a sweetheart neckline so you have to take off your long rope chain necklace from Mikey and shove it in your pocket— Which is fine and doesn't feel bad at all. And listen, listen, being an on-call bottle girl is good money!

And you might get put on bar tonight! You don’t know for sure if you’re gonna have to juggle around lit up bottles for a bunch of fucking geezers!

...

God, fuck, it’s 10:20 and your life is over.

This group of geezers have been fucking annoying and fucking Cherry wouldn’t get off fucking bar even though you literally covered for her last week and these stupid grandpas asked if gratuity is included— No fucking shit! Did you take their card and put a 40% tip? Yeah, maybe. Fuck them! They’re too fucking rich to notice! And they took three hours to leave! Gonna bash this champagne bottle over his bald fucking—

“Ey! That’s a face I remember.”

You hear your name— Not Tony, not Chip, not Cousin. Your name.

You turn to see, oh fucking hell, let God kill you—

“Uncle J!~ Good to see you!~ What a surprise! It’s Jack, here.” Jack of all Trades. It was cute at the time of sign up. Your smile is bright, fake, strained, and beautiful.

“Been too long, really.” Cicero isn’t a bad guy—Correction: Cicero isn’t a bad guy, to you, but as Mikey once put it, he’s a fuckin’ ball buster and in your case, you’re one of the few people beneath him that he asks favours from. Always wants free labour and your expertise. And he always has a habit of asking for favours the second you need one back. But you don’t need one right now! So it’s fine! Everything’s fine!

“Do your Uncle a favour,”—Fully not your Uncle—“Could you pair me and my friends here with a good red?”

You let it go that they’re having fish and asking for a red. Stupid thing to get hung up over right now. You make a commission of it anyways; you just pick the most expensive bottle. He won’t know the difference. The Bear would know the difference. Carmen would notice the difference... Alright, relax.

While pouring glasses, Jimmy whispers to his compatriots and one by one they all peel off. It is almost alarming how quickly this group of men turn and leave without a second thought, taking their glasses with them.

You raise your brows and look at Cicero. “Ah. This is the moment where I sit?”

He nods, gesturing to the booth. “This is the moment where you sit.”

You slip into the booth, sitting across from him. “What do you need?”

“Right to the point with you.”

“I hate suspense.” You shrug.

“You liked Mikey.”

What the fuck?

You bite your inner cheek, hard. “Don’t say that shit.”

“I liked him too,” He says it solemnly, like your mutual grief is a proper apology. He takes a long sip of his stupid red wine. “Did you hear? Cousin Vinnie and Mira are gettin’ hitched, finally.”

“I have no fucking idea who Vinnie and Mira are.” You take the glass when he hands it to you, taking a sip. Small. You gotta drive home, after all.

“Really? It’s a big wedding—Destination too, in New York—”

“I hate to remind you, but I was friends with Mikey, not his family.” Not his biological one, at least. The Beef, sure. But you literally only met his siblings two days ago. “What’s a wedding gotta do with me?”

He bristles, and finally cuts it short. “Around three hundred guests, seven-hour shift, open bar—” “Oh, for fuckssake—” “Listen—”

“It’s an easy gig, I’ll fly you out for it, it’s a month and a half away, you’ll get to attend a big fuckin’ Italian wedding— Which will be a shitshow, certainly, so free entertainment; and Michelin Star level catering, kind of.”

You squint. Kind of? “You got Carmy in on this shit?”

“You know ‘em?”

You nod, pressing your elbows on the table, “We’ve recently become acquainted. What d’you got on him for him to cater a wedding?”

“He’s eight-hundred grand in the hole.” “Fuck!” “He gets thirty off for catering. Smart boy, said yes.”

Christ, you massage the bridge of your brow with one hand and pull out your phone with another to check your calendar, you might as well see if you can even entertain the idea. You don’t need a favour right now, maybe you can bargain and get him to actually pay you for it, this time.

“I dunno, Uncle J…”

Oh.

28 unread texts from Syd.

3 unread texts from an unknown number— Probably Carmen.

9 missed calls from Syd.

Uncle Jimmy, always, always, has a fucking way, of asking for a favour when you need one…

You slam your phone, screen down on the table, straightening your posture in your seat. “I have demands.”

He motions for you to continue, taking his wine glass back. “You always do.”

“You and your friends are gonna tip a hundred percent tonight.”

“That why you give me a 2016 Fisher?”

“I like to think ahead.”

“Smart girl.” He shrugs, palms of his hands out. Which means yes.

“If Uncle Lee comes up to the bar I’m throwing a fork at him and leaping over the counter.”

He chuckles, “Thought you 'didn’t know family'.”

“I remember what I'm told.”

His amusement fades quickly, remembering first hand. He nods. “…You’re allowed to jump him if I’m watching first.”

“And you’re friends with my boss, right?”

“We’re acquainted.”

“I’m gonna punch out now and you’re gonna smooth that out for me.”

He perks up, amused, glancing at your phone, “Somethin’ come up, Chip?”

“Don’t call me Chip.” He wants to poke at you, just a little bit more, but there’s a rattled look in your eyes that he’s so rarely seen that he lets it go.

He waves his hand, shrugging, “Be safe. I'll send you the details. December wedding, remember.”

At the end of the day, Cicero isn’t a bad guy to you, someone who loved his nephew as much as he did.

You’re running to your car while you dial back Syd. You don’t have time to read the texts, all you need to know is that it’s an emergency. She picks up just after the first ring.

“Syd what the—” “Code blue!”

You almost fall on your face and eat asphalt. For a flash, you’re in the back of an ambulance being handed a defibrillator at the age of 22, surrounded by faces just as scared and young as you. Then you’re back in the parking lot, slotting the key into your car door because the fob doesn’t work. It’s never worked.

“S-Someone’s having a fucking heart attack!?”

“What?!”

“That’s what fucking code blue means!”

“Oh my god! Sorry! No, I was just saying the thing that scares doctors the most!”

“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ scared Syd!” You slide into the driver’s seat and slam your car door shut. You take a deep breath, white knuckling the steering wheel. “…I’m-I'm sorry for yelling! Where are you, what’s going on?”

“The—The Bear, the restaurant.” The second you have a location you’re revving off.

“Nat locked herself in the office—” “Like trapped?” This shit again?

“No, no— Like she locked herself in— She did this like two hours ago and I thought she was just taking a breather— But we’ve closed and, and like almost everyone left and she’s still not coming out— And she blocked the door inside— and— And I think she’s trying to hide that she’s basically shrieking in pain every five minutes.”

You take a long time to register anything she’s just said. Her tone is as panicked as you feel on the inside. You’re only now registering the ambient yelling of Richie and Carmen in the background.

“…Did—Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah Syd, I’m just thinking.” You don’t step on the gas on purpose, it just happens. “A pregnant woman is screaming in pain— in intervals— behind a blockaded door?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Have you called an ambulance?”

There’s a much more distinct yell in the background from Richie, “No cops!”

Then from Carmen, “No coverage!”

“Yeah…” Syd shakily continues for them, “The insurance is a problem, and Richie said— Motherfucker—” You hear a muffled scrap over the phone before Richie continues on for Syd.

“Er, yeah, Cousin, Sugar keeps yelling that she’s fine ‘n blocked the door, if we call the cops they’re gonna ram that shit down and take her to the loony bin.”

“That’s not— That’s not what paramedics do.”

“That’s what they all do.”

“Richie, y’know, I was a paramedic, right?”

“…You a fuckin’ fed, Chip?”

“Richie, if I was a fuckin' narc you would be in prison by now. I, I— I'll be there in like, like eight minutes, everyone stop fucking yelling at Sugar!”

You’re there in four. You almost rear end someone and you run every yellow you get but you’re there in four. You don’t park properly in the back, you just drive your car in and turn it off in the middle of the lot. You don’t bother to be let in, you just punch the code in as you remember it. As Natalie told you.

“Oh good you—Oh my, God?” Syd is no better than a man in this moment, going from grateful for your presence to being one intrusive thought away from whistling.

You did not have time to change out of your ...outfit and someone has been hogging your Carhartt. You pass Syd quickly, waving a hand in front of her face. Goddammit, why do your boot heels have to have that incredibly satisfying femme fatale click right now?

“Alright— Relax—”

“Holy shit, Chippy!” Richie was yelling at Sugar through the door along with Carm, but once alerted to your presence is now snapping his fingers. You'd describe him more as impressed than actually attracted to you. “You clean up!”

“Cousin, are you—” He grabs Carmen’s face, turning it to you— Carmen does of course, immediately slap Richie’s hand away which of course, means they just start smacking each other's hands. Like preteen girls. “Ey, get the fuck off—” “I just want you to look at a pretty girl, Cousin—!” “Stop fuckin’ touchin’ me!” “Are you looking!?” “I—”

“Everyone shut the fuck up!”

You silence the room. You’re thankful most of the staff has left by now since it’s well after close. It's just Carmen, Syd, Richie, Tina, and Fak for some goddamn reason...You can't be mean you're handymen, you have to stick together.

“I look different from the usual jumpsuit, yes, we get it, can we move on? Pregnant woman?”

Syd is the first to speak, “…Were you on a date, though?”

You blink and roll your eyes all at once, twisting your head to her, “Syd—”

“It’s good to see you getting out there, baby.” Tina, deeply unhelpful in this moment, puts a hand around your shoulder. Oh to have a mother’s judgment when she’s not even your mother.

“O-kay!” You drag on the ‘kay’, clapping your hands together, “Everyone, just get your thoughts out in the next five seconds and then we’re moving on.”

“Chippy, I cannot believe you’ve held this out on me—” “—I meant it like-like a concerned, did we interrupt your date—” “—The red is unbelievable on you, Cousin!” “I need you to teach me how you do your makeup—” “Can you— can you yell again—?” “Fak!” “Oh, so that’s too much?”

A cacophony, it continues on. Your eyes glaze over, and you’re waiting for Sugar to let out a scream so everyone remembers the fucking point of being here. But then you look at Carmen. Everyone’s pivoted from staring at you to yelling at each other. But Carmen; Carmen is still looking at you. Stupid soft scary eye contact. And his voice is so much quieter than the yelling but it’s the thing that you hear anyways.

“It looks tight.”

There’s a possibility that when you killed the teenage girl inside you that you also killed the feminist. Because there’s a small sub-sect of you that’s upset that he’s not objectifying you right now. That his vision is focused on you. Not the changes. He doesn’t seem to look at you any differently than when you’re wearing a jumpsuit and utility belt, covered in toilet water. This should not be annoying and yet it is.

“It is.”

He nods, eye contact unshifting, unblinking, “You wanna change?”

“Maybe after we find out whether or not your sister is in labour.”

He nods. He takes a second but he nods.

You approach him, rather, the door, knocking gently. Everyone quiets down.

You clear your throat, and once more, the persona is put on, you’re a paramedic, putting on that soft but firm reassuring authoritative tone. “E-M Rescue, I got a call for a wellness check on Natalie Berzatto?”

“Tony—” A groan of pain behind the door, “I am perfectly well! Everyone go home!”

You grimace, you motion with your hand for Fak to hand you a screwdriver— He keeps one in his breast-pocket, even when wearing a suit. Hey, you should start doing that.

“Nat, I’m a paramedic— Or I was—will you please let me in?”

“I don’t— Fuck! —Need a paramedic!”

“Never hurts to do a check-up, Nat.” You speak calmly, like you always did. “Listen, lover, if you don’t open the door, I’m gonna have to take it off its hinges, and we're gonna lose medic patient confidentiality.”

When she doesn’t reply after a good beat, you start to unscrew the top hinge; she can hear it, “Wait, wait, wait— Fuck-Fuck— I’m opening it!”

There’s another series of pained groans as she exerts herself to open the door, and once she does, it’s only by a crack, to look at you and you alone. She’s absolutely been crying. She speaks in a whispered tone. “Just you.”

You nod, handing the screwdriver back to Fak without breaking eye contact with her. “Just me.”

She cracks it open just enough for you to come in. And so, you do. Everyone is, for the first time, too worried about her shutting down to interrupt or yell a complaint.

You close the door behind you, pressing your back to it. You note the toppled over chair by your feet that she must’ve blocked it with. Plus the puddle of amniotic fluid beneath her. Oh fuck.

...

“You wanna talk or do you just want me to check your contractions?”

“I’m—” She shakes her head, covering her face. She half sits on the desk. “I’m fucking— I am not ready for this.”

“Yeah.” You nod. You’re not here to convince anyone they’re ready to be a fucking mother. But you’re here to listen, certainly.

“She’s gonna hate me.”

“Who?”

“Her—!” Her voice is choked, another contraction. You’re silently taking the time in your head. She points to her stomach.

“And— And we just opened, and— And I’m gonna have to go on maternity leave, which is the last fucking thing we need and— and— If I could just fucking keep her in!”

“Natalie.” You put a hand on her shoulder, she finally looks at you. “This is happening.”

“Not help—fu—ll.”

“I know it’s not. This is scary and there are no take backs—” “Very unhelp—”

“Nat, your daughter wants to meet you.”

You squeeze her shoulder; she looks like she’s gonna cry all over again for a completely different reason. “She probably won’t hate you. Who’s to say. But I know you’ll love her. And that’s enough, isn’t it?”

She nods, emphatically, but something is still bothering her. You squeeze her shoulder again. You whisper, so even if everyone’s ear is pressed to the door— Which you doubt, she’s screaming after all, they won’t hear.

“Carmen will still know you love him, even when you're not here.”

She immediately goes for a hug, you reciprocate with a shuddered ease. She sniffs, head on your shoulder. She stays there for a while before letting you go, nodding. “Okay.”

You hand her the tissue box next to her on the table, she takes it thankfully, crushing it in her hand. Another contraction. Oh, that couldn't have been more than 2 minutes. Oh fuck.

You kneel down in front of her, and you’re simply no longer in your body as a person but just the paramedic. You could not be more thankful that she’s wearing a dress today. Awkward requests of spreading legs and pulling off underwear aside, Natalie’s daughter does in fact really want to meet her. Oh fuck.

You look up at Natalie, between her knees, you speak cool, professional. “You’re crowning. This is gonna have to happen here. I'll have someone call your husband.”

You’re so calm that it doesn’t give Natalie the feeling or need to freak out, she just breathes. “Okay. Okay.”

You stand upright. “Do you prefer this office or somewhere else?”

“I can’t— Move.”

“Makes sense. Makes total sense. Okay. I’ll go get everything we need, I’ll be right back. I might send some people in, okay, love?”

She just grunts in reply, nodding, now that she’s not in as much emotional pain, she can entirely focus on her brutalizing physical pain.

“Oh, hey, I know—” You grab her purse, pulling out her phone and ear buds, handing them to her with haste, your calm demeanour is faltering just a bit. “Listen to some music, loud, y’know, chill…” You put the pods in her ear for her. She’s again, in too much pain to tell you to fuck off, and just plays her music loud.

You softly open the door, smiling just a bit too much as you leave, and very softly close the door behind you. Looking at the motley crew before you, your persona immediately falls apart. You really only wanted her to play music so you could scream. “Oh, my fucking God.”

“What’s happening, she good?” What a sweet, stupid brother, Sugar has.

You purse your lips together, eyes wide, shaking your head. “She’s going to give birth in like— Maybe six minutes. Max ten.” Everyone goes to speak in an uproar of panic, and then you slap yourself in the face. Hard. That stuns them silent.

“Alright!” You press your hands over your eyes, “Tina!”

She’s been around this block before, “What do you need?”

“Can you go sit in there with her? Tell her all the breathing exercises and shit? Keep her calm? Coming from you it won’t seem so—”

“Condescending as fuck?”

“Yes, exactly, can you?”

“Gotchu, baby.” She claps your shoulder when she walks past and into the office.

You clap hers in tandem, “Thank you, Mama—Okay, Richie!”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna need you to call Nat’s husband—”

“Why do I—”

“Because you’re a fuckin’ dad, Rich, and he will need you!” You’re yelling all pissed, snapping your fingers at him, but he does light up when you say it like that. “I don’t care if he wets his fuckin’ bed, tell him to get here!”

He salutes, walking off, “Aye aye, Cap’n Chip.”

You shake off the sting in your hand, God, you really did slap yourself too hard. You turn to the next targets. “Syd, Fak.”

Syd responds hesitantly for the both of them, since Fak is silently enjoying your colonel persona a little too much. “…Yes, C-Captain?”

“I need towels, a lot of clean towels— cloth ones, like sanitized clean— Warm half in water— And then I need a clean sheet— A table cloth or something, I don’t fucking care, something clean and big that you’re fine destroying. I need sterile sheaths, Syd you get those— Other than that, however they get to me, I don’t give a shit— Just scrub in before you touch anything!”

They almost knock into each other the way they run so fast. You yell after them. “Get the big sheet first, she needs to lay down!”

“Yes, Chef!”

You take a deep breath before moving your gaze onto Carmy. The screaming lead EM in you melts off your shoulders, just for the second.

He asks before you can even say anything, “Yes, Chef?”

“I need you to scrub in and get me gloves and an apron—” “On it, Chef—” “And you’re gonna sit in with me for the birth of your niece.”

He cringes, not to refuse, but just the mounting reality of the situation is dawning on him. His sister is going to give birth to his niece in their shared office of his high-class restaurant within it's first week of open.

But you then tag on, “Carmy, she needs you— Frankly, I’m not the one giving birth but fuckin' I need you. T-There.”

He softens instantly, like tranquilizing— Well, a bear.

“Yes, Chef.”

I know the opening probably feels so far away by now, but i do want to note that Breakfast Bruschetta is my own recipe that I used to make like every fuckin' day pre-employment. It's so goddamn good. I highly recommend it, babes. It's balsamic with brown sugar dissolved, btw, Carmy's just a quick explainer.

I wrote like a solid 75% of the labour sequence before deciding it just needed to have the breathing room of it's own chapter, so until next time for that one bbs. But I'm excited for it! And also dreading it! A lot of hard conversations combined with giving birth = nightmare to write, but well worth it, i think. Speaking of: I don't believe at the end of Season 2 that Sugar is at the end of her term of 36 weeks, but in our case here, she is. I'm very much so not interested in a very scary premature birth for our girl!! She's okay!! Dw!! I just wonked with time a little, hope that's okay.

And hey, look at that reveal! Bartender/Sommelier was code for bottle service-- Which is a very respectable career, btw, don't get it twisted-- I was critiquing it only in the way I would critique literally any other job: Misery Under Capitalism. And now we've got that fuckin' wedding in the future midst! Ah!!

Anyways please send me your thoughts ad nauseam, I reload my activity feed every 3 seconds to see what you guys are thinking. If you reblog, tell me what you think in the tags!! Yell at me in the replies!! Send an anon in!! I don't bite, I swear <3

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#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #the bear fanfiction #the bear x reader #carmy the bear #the bear fx

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eddiestightywhities · 4 months ago

Text

Eddie stumbles from his tangled bedsheets to go take his nightly piss—alarm clock beaming its 4:03 AM display directly onto his sleep-wrecked retinas and etching it there for what will possibly be all of eternity—because being past the age of thirty is all fun and games.

Bare feet padding quietly as an exhausted still half-asleep one hundred and seventy-five pounds not far off six-foot guy can manage, he's just about to pass the living room when he hears... something.

He stops. Holds his breath. Listens.

Buck is mumbling, talking in his sleep.

“And, man, I (something something) you. Because you always listen to me; never make me feel bad for (something something), always make me feel like I'm worth sticking around for, and I (something something) for that, Eddie.”

Buck is dreaming. Buck is dreaming about Eddie. Buck is dreaming about Eddie making Buck feel wanted.

Eddie smiles—and before realising what he's doing he is in his living room, leaning over his couch, leaning over Buck, and pressing a soft kiss to Buck's birthmark as if he's done this a thousand times before.

Buck wakes, blinks, smiles sleepily back at Eddie, cute as a bug, and is then craning his neck to peck his own soft kiss to the small mole underneath Eddie's left eye.

With the speed of a gunshot or a lightning strike, Eddie suddenly doesn't know why the hell Buck is sleeping on his couch instead of in his bed, or why the hell he hasn't had the guts to tell Buck that he is so, so in love with him—especially after Buck split with Tommy a few weeks back and started testing the water with Eddie when Eddie grew a moustache and styled his hair a little differently and suggested they go to that gay club down on Burbank together to drink stupid amazing pink cocktails and dance the night away as if they didn't have a care in the world)—and then just as fast, he's thinking fuck it, and la vida es demasiado corta, deciding to remedy the latter (with the hope it might remedy the former) by saying, “It's ass o'clock in the morning, Buck, and I really fucking love you.”

Eddie's best friend is at once wide a-fucking-wake, eyes the size of abuela’s best Talavera dinner plates, mouth doing a pretty great impression of a guppy as he gawps up at Eddie.

There's a concerningly long moment of silence, before Buck says, “Oh.”

Like a champ, Eddie chooses to ignore the way his heart plummets as it tries to relocate somewhere deep in his gut, because he's had to get pretty damn good at that, what with everything that has happened in his loco life. So he just smiles again, a little dimmer, a little more tight-lipped, while nodding his head and rolling his eyes in a yeah, silly ol’me, huh? sort of way, and is about to push himself upright with the hand gripping the top of the couch so that he can drag his sorry ass back to his bedroom and get a tension headache from not allowing himself to cry and getting zero sleep for what will probably be the rest his life and—

That's when Buck reaches out, a big hand grabbing at Eddie's waist.

Eddie's gaze tears itself away from those beautiful Talavera eyes that are shining brightly in the thick darkness of his sleeping house, settling where Buck's hand is holding him in place, where the contact blazes; not like fire but like the ever-burning candle flame that's lived behind Eddie's ribcage for the past seven or so years.

“Eds, I’m—I wasn't, like, awake enough to, uh, to, to, to process that? And the thing is—”

“Hey, no, Buck, it's okay, you don't need to explain.” Eddie's heart is falling, falling, falling, right to the very soles of his feet. “I shouldn't have just blurted that out at you, without any preamble—

“Eddie.”

“—and I definitely shouldn't have bothered you while your were—”

“Eddie."

“—sleeping, I just—

“Eddie, will you shut up!”

Eddie's teeth clack as he dutifully swallows the rest of his rambling.

“Can you please just listen to me for a sec?” Buck pleads.

“I—yeah, Buck, sure. I'm sorry, ‘course. Sorry.”

Buck takes a breath. “You don't gotta be sorry, Eds, I was just trying to say: The thing is, I have said a lot of dumb things in my life—like a lot—but me saying ‘oh’ to you telling me that you love me? Yeah, no, that has to top the bill. Dumbest fucking thing that's ever left these lips.” Eddie can't help it when his gaze flickers to the pretty culprits; it's an involuntary action by this point. “Because,” and Buck is now licking at them—tongue wet and lush against plush red—before he's honest to Dios batting those beautiful blonde eyelashes of his in Eddie's helpless direction, then breathing his next words right into Eddie's mouth as he leans up, pulling Eddie into him at the same time and fanning the flame in Eddie's chest by saying, “I really fucking love you too, Eds.”

And then he's kissing Eddie again—only this time he's pressing his lips into Eddie's lips, and Eddie is right there with him, kissing Buck back as if they've done this a thousand times before.

When Buck has to pull away, presumably to prevent a crick in his neck—Eddie cannot fathom even half of another good reason to stop—Eddie goes to follow him down, so eager after so long, wanting to cover the entirety of Buck's body with the entirety of his own. But Buck shakes his head and says says, “No, wait, Eddie.”

Before Eddie's heart can start digging its way down through the carpet and floorboards and foundations and dirt to some place that resembles an old forgotten underground well, Buck is asking, “Can I come to bed with you?”

Then Eddie gets whiplash from having to will his heart from beating right out of his chest with just how much happiness is bursting its way in there; with Buck bursting in with all of his love and sharing it with Eddie, just like everything else in their lives.

Eddie feels his cheeks flush when he says, “That's, uh—honestly, Buck? You'd kinda be making my favourite recurring dream come true, if you did.”

“Well, you shot my recurring dream down in flames, Eds, by not listening to me for what must be the very first time in seven literal years and talking right over my heartfelt love confession—even if I did end up stealing your line,” Buck smiles. Then he frowns and tuts dramatically.“You're a monster, Eddie Diaz,” he adds, teasing.

Eddie pays back Buck's grin with added interest, because it's as infectious and unstoppable as the common cold.

“Firstly, you had just answered 'oh' when I told you that I loved you, and secondly, does this monster not get a pass seeing as we just got off a clusterfuck of a twenty-four and it's ass o'clock in the morning and I'd assumed you were trying to let me down gently?”

“Absolutely not, Firefighter Diaz. One should never assume when it comes to a Buckley.” He follows the statement with a pointed look. “But I might think about letting you make it up to me,” and he's now grinning again, and this time it's a sort of sheepish, hopeful thing, “if you agree to being the teaspoon to my tablespoon in your big, comfortable bed. What do you say?” He bats those blonde lashes again, as if Eddie would need convincing.

“I say yes sir, Firefighter Buckley,” Eddie agrees instantly, obviously, bending down to scoop a surprised Buck up and over his shoulder and into a very appropriate Evacuation Lift, Buck kind of squealing hilariously when Eddie sets off for his bedroom at what is a pretty impressive pace, if you were to ask Eddie.

And after they've sunk their bodies beneath the tangled bedsheets at ass o'clock in the morning (4.12 AM to be precise), and as Buck wraps the entirety of his long self around the entirety of Eddie, in Eddie's bed—their bed, now, Eddie's hoping—Eddie breathes in a full breath for the first time all summer, allowing himself to love and be loved.

His next big breath is a couple of weeks later, when Christopher comes home and rolls his eyes at Eddie and Buck after they tell him they're together, merely giving them a slightly obnoxious finally! in that patented teenage tone before heading to his room to set up his gaming station and settle back in, like he'd never even been away.

Oh, and in case anyone were to wonder, Eddie would have to admit that he really, really loves being the little spoon—almost as much as he and Buck love each other.

on ao3 HERE if you'd like to leave me a comment!

#i really should be sleep taking like buck whoops—thank you and goodnight!#buddie #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #pov eddie #fluff #love confessions #getting together #911 #911 fic #queer fic #queer writer #qww writes #queerweewoo #sweet talk me in your sleep

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