#they got their hair dyed and asked me to draw them and I was like GURL OFC | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

corpseontheloose · 1 month ago

Text

A whisker away ── .✦

Pairing: Nam-gyu x f!reader

Summary: you are actively feeding the stray cattos near the club he works at

A/N: I personally spend some of my savings on feeding the stray cats (occasionally dogs if I see any) and if you have the possibility to do the same, trust me, the pets will be extremely grateful <3 also the title is inspired by the animated movie "a whisker away" on Netflix 😺 part two is here!!!

Warnings: mentions of smoking weed,drugs (such as ecstasy) mentions of death (it doesn't happen tho)

Whoever thought about putting a club a few houses away from a school was an absolute genius (sarcastically)

College students, especially the evening students with evening classes, would spend 3-4 hours listening to booming music and occasionally new singer wannabes during their lessons

Luckily for you, most of the time the teacher was writing on the board, and you just had to rewrite everything on your papers, which was great; it gave you the possibility to have your headphones on and ignore the outside

However, some students were cursed with whatever new song Thanos came up with for tonight.

Once the lessons end, you, as usual, gather your things pretty quickly before putting your headphones away in your bag, making your way out of the building followed by others

You weren't extremely tired, just very bored. Which caused you to be a bit sleepy.

It's a good thing you chose evening lessons. You get to sleep until 6 PM, need to attend 4 hours of classes (if you feel like it), study for a few hours, and BOOM! Free time.

And you had enough time to study at home, too. A quieter place for absorbing the notes into your brain

On your way home, you always end up cornering the street that goes almost to the back of an alley, right behind the club that was bothering your classmates pretty much every night

It was your routine to come here every evening after class. Because beautiful pairs of eyes waited hungrily for you to bring them kibbles and leftovers from your breakfast

There were ten hungry bellies in total, and you always made sure all of them were full before you could leave home peacefully

You were surprised as to why the loud music never scared the cats away, but perhaps they already got used to it at this point

As you pet the fur of your colored furry friends, you hear a click of a door echoing in the alley

The cats couldn't care less about the sounds or the two people that just burst out from inside the club. They were too busy munching on their food

You curiously looked at the scene, trying not to draw too much attention.

Two guys were leaning on the nearest wall, sucking from their joints and talking about Holy Spaghetti knows what.

One had black hair, while the other dude had purple-dyed hair. They both seemed strong enough, but also extremely stoned

You were pretty skeptical about leaving the cats in here with some junkie dudes, but you were also paranoid about your life and how dangerous staying here could be

Until one of them spotted you. The one with black hair, who looked more wasted than the other guy

He just stared at you, long, shamelessly, before returning his gaze back to his friend. "She's feeding the cats again..."

"Who?" the other one asked, peeking over his shoulder

"The girl I told you about. She keeps bringing kibbles for the fur balls"

You couldn't properly hear what they were talking about, but you were grateful for the fact that they left you alone and didn't approach you, high as they were.

"What's wrong with some community help, huh? She's not doing anything wrong, my man"

The black-haired man scoffed, rolling his eyes at his friend as he stole looks from you from time to time.

"It's just... pathetic. You almost feel pitiful when you look at that," he answered his friend's words, taking a drag from the joint and letting the high sink in deeper

"Compassion is a virtue not everyone possesses. It's pretty admirable, my homie. Try to view it differently"

After a while, you decided it was time to head home and prepare some Buldak while binge-watching one of the few shows you truly liked. You missed your couch dearly.

The next evening was the same. Class at 6 PM. At 10 PM you gathered your papers and pens then got right back to haunting the streets of Korea for your fur friends

For a few days everything was normal, calm, like the usual atmosphere. You'd leave the kibbles, pet their scratched faces, then leave to go eat for yourself.

Until this evening

Once again, the doors opened. Not suddenly, not forcefully. Just opened. Then closed

You recognized the man. You saw him a few days ago with his friend,

He looked... bad. Like he hit rock bottom. His face was a mess, probably from all the substances he was consuming

You felt a bit relieved knowing it was him and not someone else. A familiar face was easier to duck than some stranger whose intentions with you were unknown

He sat down on the stairs, letting himself fall over the door and slowly slide down onto it until it felt comfortable enough

You watched. Not because you wanted to say something, but because you had this internal sympathy for him and his actions. You never knew what someone's going through, and you were glad you had that mentality

He didn't observe you at first; you were practically invisible to him. The drugs worked so well he was actually feeling the ecstasy kicking in.

After getting used to the feeling, he started to look around. He then spotted you in the same spot you always crouched at

His instinct was to scoff at you, roll his eyes, and ignore you. However... Maybe it was the Ecstasy, or perhaps what Thanos told him a few days ago, because he didn't find himself taking his eyes off of you like he'd usually do

He just stared.

"Why are you always feeding them?" you hear those words from your right.

You froze, not wanting to engage in any conversations with drug addicts, especially those who are already intoxicated

You didn't answer. You tried to remain calm as he shifted from his seat, walking towards you.

"I'm not here to scold you or anything—I just want to know why you're wasting your time on them"

Your instincts wanted to run. You definitely didn't know him and his intentions, but you've seen the way he wobbled towards you. You chose to stay calm instead.

"They've been here since I started working; no one really gave a damn about them. Then you... started showing up for the past few months."

You nodded slowly, petting their furs.

"I can't stand the sight of hungry animals," you reply softly, looking up at him

He seemed harmless, almost.

"They've been doing better since you started coming here..." he mumbled, crouching down on the pavement next to a wall to lean on

"I'll make sure not to stop, then," you assured, nodding in his direction

He didn't say anything; he just looked at you. His pupils were huge as his hands trembled slightly, but you saw the tiredness. It almost broke you

"Make sure they're all full,please." you kindly asked him, standing up on your feet and grabbing your bag from the ground

"What am I, cat security?" he asked with a scoff

But you simply chuckled, taking a few steps back slowly,"You might just become one"

You didn't see his face for a few days. It wasn't unusual; he barely went out for a breath of air or just to high himself up so you weren't expecting him, or anyone for that matter.

Today, though, the stars aligned. And as you wanted to take the turn to the alley behind the club, the guy met with your figure right at the front doors.

He curiously peeked in your direction before grinning and waving slightly at you.

"Here for the fur balls?"

You nodded, smiling slightly at him, "What else would I be here for?"

"I don't know, maybe you'd like a drink?" he shrugged, trying to give you an idea.

"I don't like drinking without my friends. And plus, it's a school day. I need to get back and study"

"You're in what, college?" He leaned on the metal bars next to him.

You learned his name. His life, in small proportions at least. His habits.

Today wasn't as lonely as the days before; he actually followed up with you in the alley corner and talked to you about different subjects while you were feeding your little friends

He still seemed skeptical about this; he couldn't see the point of feeding something that could easily be killed or taken away by tomorrow morning

But he still watched you. And, God, you were so kind to them

You seemed so sweet towards the cats, he couldn't help but think about how much he wishes someone would be just as sweet towards him

That'd be a joke, to be honest. Who would be sweet and compassionate to a screw-up like him? He barely deserved to occupy space on this planet

Nam-gyu made sure to always meet with you in that spot. He made it seem like an accident, but in reality, he'd check up the time and memorize your schedule just to see your sweet butt taking care of the cats

After a while it became a routine. He always sat with you, drugged or not, and talked about anything and everything while you took care of the small beings

"Wanna try? They don't bite, I promise," you asked while handing him a piece of chicken from your last lunch

For the first time he felt included in something that didn't mean work or drug dealing...

Nam-gyu's heart swelled the day he saw you bringing in a plastic box, rigid enough to hold steady during wind, and big enough for every one of them to curl inside and warm each other

"Autumn's coming. Thought about some shelter for them," you told him while placing soft blankets inside of the box, making it as comfortable as possible

"All of this for... them?" He seemed confused. He couldn't understand how much kindness can be in one person. It was almost sickening (in a good way)

Whenever you weren't around, for example, during 1 AM when the club was at its peak, he made sure to check up on the cats from time to time

Just to be sure no one disturbed or threw rocks at the harmless creatures

That basically became his second job. Cat security

Nam-gyu swears he didn't get attached to them, neither of you nor your companionship. He just felt like that was the right thing to do (he got attached)

And when he told you, casual as hell, you let out sweet "awww"s and "thank you, Nam-gyu, that's very nice of you"s that made him smirk under his nose

Little did you know that he wasn't as casual as you thought; he actually wanted to hear you praise him for the good work. He just didn't want to show it

But, hey! It worked!

Yeah, no, this dude fell in love. Hard.

He just didn't know how to act towards girls that seemed too good for him

He knew he'd fuck up one way or another. Whether it was with his drug addiction or just his way of being. It was always something with him...

But you accepted to go out with him either way!

That was a shock for him

He promised to take it slow with the drugs, even seek help at some point

But Nam-gyu was now protecting the cats whenever he had the chance to

It was like he became their father; that's how much responsibility he put into it.

And maybe it was because he also liked you. Like... REALLY liked you

He became softer with time. That's on you, of course

But whenever he backed into the alley to smoke a joint and escape the crowds for a while, he always sat with the cats and thought about you

Okay, he became attached to them as well

561 notes · View notes

colouredbyd · 2 months ago

Text

Bird-napped!

poly!marauders x fem!reader

synopsis: a peaceful afternoon takes a chaotic turn when the marauders mistake an eagle’s prey for flicker, sending them into full-blown panic.

warnings: starts of with the marauders pov then shifts to r’s. crack, fluff, eagle scare, suggestive comments, playful tackles, shifting, animal-related confusion, no actual danger. written at 2 am and not proofread :D

w/c: 2.1k

a/n: this was a little messy, but i still wanted to share it <3

part of my mini blurb series flicker's adventures

masterlist

The afternoon sun filtered softly through the canopy, casting dappled light on the ground.

James and Remus had agreed to meet in an old copse of trees, just a short walk from the Black Lake — far enough from the crowded castle corridors to steal a moment of peace

They spotted Padfoot already there, stretched out like a lazy shadow beneath a great oak, his tail flicking now and then in a restless dance, caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.

James crouched beside Sirius, his hand moving gently to ruffle the dark fur along his neck, drawing a low, contented rumble from Padfoot.

Remus, ever cautious, glanced around before he muttered, “Careful, Sirius. Someone might catch you shifting.” Sirius just smirked lazily, indifferent, curling his head on James’s lap and immediately launching into his usual chatter.

“Where do you think Dovey’s got to this time?” James asked, fingers still running through Sirius’s untamed hair.

“Probably tangled up in some ridiculous flower crown thing with that Slytherin Pandora.”

Remus smiled, eyes softening as he looked up from his book. “I swear, she’s lways got her nose in the strangest things. I don’t know how she puts up with Pandora dragging her into those wild plans.”

Sirius’s eyes gleamed with amusement even as he rested more heavily against James’s leg.

“Wild thing, through and through,” Sirius murmured, arms tucked behind his head as he lounged lazily in the grass.

James didn’t even look up as he tossed a twig into the air. “Speaking of wild — remind me why we agreed to play Slytherin with half the team down? I swear, if I get hit by one more poorly-aimed Bludger—”

“You’d deserve it,” Remus said mildly, flipping a page in his book. “Maybe if you actually followed the practice schedule.”

James scoffed. “I follow it religiously.”

“You show up late, eat half a pie on the pitch, and leave early.”

“And yet, I’m still the best on the team.”

Sirius shifted his weight with the grace of a sleepy cat, adjusting his head on James’s lap mid-sentence.

“Oi—Sirius—don't—” James’s words cut off into a strangled sound that landed somewhere between a yelp and a dying goose.

He jerked backwards, hands flailing. “Merlin's saggy balls, you absolute wanker!”

Remus looked up from his book, blinking. “What—?”

Sirius, perfectly unbothered, blinked up at James with mischievous eyes, head still resting in place. “What?” he asked innocently, lips twitching.

“That your... weak spot, Prongs?”

James shoved at his shoulder. “You pressed your thick skull right onto my dick, you arse. I think I just saw heaven for all the wrong reasons.”

Remus snorted, unbothered.

“I’m gonna have to hex you,” James grumbled, rubbing his temples dramatically. “Remind me why we’re dating him again?”

“Because I’m devastatingly handsome and keep your bed warm,” Sirius offered, rolling onto his back like a smug cat.

“Plus, I’m excellent at giving you the best dic—wait.”

His voice stopped. His head tilted back, eyes narrowing at the sky above.

“Wait, what the hell is that?”

James followed his gaze, frowning. “Looks like… an eagle?”

James blinked. “Wait. That’s… it’s orange.”

Sirius’s voice dropped to a horrified whisper. “It’s fluffy.”

Remus’s book fell to the ground with a dull thud. “That’s Flicker!”

Silence slammed between them for one breathless second.

And then all hell broke loose.

“Oh my god, it’s Flicker!” James leapt to his feet, nearly knocking Sirius over.

All three exploded into motion, limbs flying as they tore off the ground.

“What the fuck do we do?” Sirius was already pacing in frantic circles, hands tangled in his hair, breath shallow with panic.

“Do we fly? Do we—oh Merlin, if she gets dropped—”

“She’s gonna die,” James cried, arms flailing as his voice pitched higher, ragged with fear.

“She’s gonna die, I swear I’m gonna throw myself into the lake—”

Remus shoved both of them. “Shift. We shift and we run. We follow the bird and get her.”

That snapped them out of it.

Sirius nodded so fast his hair nearly whipped him in the eye.

Without another word, he dropped to the ground and transformed, a large black dog materializing where the boy had stood. James followed, antlers bursting outward as he landed as Prongs, hooves already kicking up earth.

Remus, still in human form, pointed with one shaking hand toward the direction the eagle was drifting, slowly curving into the trees.

“Go! Go that way—north ridge—she’s still moving!”

Prongs snorted and took off at a gallop, Padfoot close on his heels, weaving through the underbrush like a shadow given legs.

Remus grabbed his wand and sprinted behind them, heart pounding in his chest, a single thought looping in his head.

Meanwhile, not so very far away—though in that moment, it might as well have been a world apart—you were crouched in a patch of sunlight dappled through the forest canopy, fingers dusty with soil and glittering with flecks of quartz.

Pandora was kneeling beside you, delicately unearthing a piece of rose-colored crystal from the mossy earth and cradling it as though it held the secrets of the universe.

“This one’s called rhodonite,” she murmured with reverence, turning it so the pink surface caught the light.

“It’s for healing old wounds. Emotional ones. You’re supposed to keep it near your heart.”

You smiled, tucking a newly-plucked daisy into the growing crown in your lap.

The basket between you was overflowing with flowers—wild hyacinths, dahlias, foxglove—and a pouch of odd little gemstones Pandora had eagerly insisted you help her gather.

“I think you need this one,” she added, handing you a small smoky quartz. “For grounding. You’re always too far up in the clouds, even if you don’t know it.”

You took it with a soft chuckle. “I think you just like giving me rocks.”

She shrugged dreamily, pushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Well, the rocks like you back.”

And just as you were about to laugh again, it happened.

A low rustling through the trees. Then a sharp thud. And another.

You both froze.

Pandora tilted her head. “Do you hear—?”

The barking came next, loud and frantic, too close for comfort. Your body tensed instantly.

Your breath caught.

“Padfoot?” you whispered, rising to your feet, eyes scanning the edges of the grove.

Another bark. Then heavy hoofbeats—closer, louder, thundering through the underbrush like a storm rolling in too fast to run from.

“Something’s wrong,” you said, voice barely above a breath as the air shifted.

You could see them now, just through a break in the trees: three silhouettes tearing through the underbrush like men possessed, chasing something overhead with a kind of reckless desperation that only one group of idiots you loved would display so dramatically.

You blinked up at the sky.

And there it was — a massive eagle soaring across the canopy, wings slicing the air like knives, talons gripping what looked suspiciously like a very round, very red squirrel.

You slowed only slightly as the realization settled in, breath hitching as you caught sight of the chaos unfolding in the distance. With a sharp inhale, you turned to Pandora, who blinked at you in confusion, clutching a half-finished flower crown.

“I’ll explain later, I swear,” you said hurriedly, thrusting the basket of flowers and crystals into her arms. “Hold onto this for me”

Her brows furrowed. “What—”

“Sorry!” you called over your shoulder, already bolting into a sprint.

“These bloody idiots,” you muttered as the wind caught in your hair, trees flying past you while you ran headfirst into whatever ridiculous mess they’d gotten themselves into now.

By the time you reached the clearing where the boys had half-collided with one another, Remus was the first to see you.

He froze like he’d been struck by lightning, eyes wide, chest heaving. “Wait— Stop! Stop!”

James, mid-gallop, skidded to a halt, antlers jerking. Padfoot, barking wildly, nearly faceplanted in the ferns before spinning and looking over his shoulder.

They turned.

And there you were, flushed and panting and very much not airborne in the talons of a ravenous bird of prey.

“Y/n?” Remus breathed, already half-running toward you.

You blinked as he reached you in three long strides, hands cupping your face like he couldn’t believe you were real, like if he let go you’d vanish into mist.

His eyes scanned every inch of you — for feathers, for bruises, for any sign that you’d been halfway to becoming bird food.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, voice thick. “Oh, thank Merlin. You’re okay.”

You huffed a laugh, confused and breathless. “Remmy, I went to pick flowers, not to get abducted by wildlife.”

Before he could respond, Padfoot and Prongs came barreling toward you.

In a whirl of limbs and fur, they shifted — fur rippling into skin, hooves becoming boots, antlers shrinking back into James’s curls as Sirius practically tackled you.

“Do you have any idea,” Sirius gasped, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you gently, “how bloody traumatizing it is to think your tiny girlfriend just got airlifted by a murder pigeon?”

“It looked just like you!” James added, chest heaving.

“All poofy and red and — and we couldn’t see properly from down there and—”

“You thought a bird kidnapped me?” you asked, blinking.

“It wasn’t just a bird,” Sirius said gravely, eyes wide. “It was an eagle. Like a huge eagle. We thought you were doing your little Flicker thing and got snatched.”

You blinked, then laughter bubbled up from deep inside, breaking free in a breathless, genuine laugh, the kind that made your whole body shake and left your cheeks aching, the kind you only ever had with them.

“You thought I got bird-napped?”

James looked mildly betrayed. “Don’t mock us. You’re the size of a housecat, love. I saw the thing — it was flying off with something that looked exactly like you.”

“I was with Pandora!” you laughed, trying to catch your breath.

“We were making flower crowns. And collecting crystals. Like normal girls.”

“Nothing about you is normal,” Sirius muttered, still holding onto your arms like you might vanish again. “I thought I was gonna have to wrestle an eagle.”

“I would’ve wrestled an eagle,” James added helpfully, one hand pressed dramatically over his heart. “For you. I was ready to duel with talons.”

Remus was quieter, still looking you over, but the relief in his eyes was unmistakable. “You scared us.”

Your smile softened. “You lot scared me more. I thought something had happened. Then I see the three of you charging through the woods like a pack of wild dogs—”

“One wild dog,” Sirius cut in, smirking.

The forest around you settled again. The eagle was long gone, probably off to find a real squirrel, and the boys slowly stopped vibrating with adrenaline.

You shook your head, still grinning. “You three are ridiculous.”

“And yet,” Sirius said, flinging an arm around your shoulders, “you love us.”

You leaned into him anyway, cheeks warm. “Unfortunately.”

Remus exhaled, finally letting himself smile. James reached out and tucked a stray leaf out of your hair.

The air felt lighter now, sun filtering down in golden dappled patches through the leaves, your basket of half-finished flower crowns still somewhere in the moss behind you.

“Well,” James said, looking between the three of you, “anyone else feel like we need a nap after all that emotional trauma?”

By the time you all made it back to the tree, the sun had shifted lower in the sky, stretching long shadows across the mossy ground, golden light spilling like honey through the branches.

The walk was slow and easy, filled with soft laughter that bubbled up between you like warm sunshine. Remus still hadn’t let go of your hand, and neither of you minded the world fading away around you.

"You had me so worried," he said again as you reached the clearing, and this time he sounded more exasperated than panicked, like the weight of the fear was finally settling.

His fingers curled more firmly around yours. "Do you have any idea how fast I aged in those fifteen minutes? I might have a gray hair now. D’you want to check?"

You grinned at him, nudging his ribs. "You would look very distinguished with a few grays, actually. Very professor-chic."

"Don't encourage him," James chimed in, dropping to the ground dramatically and patting the grass beside him like he was summoning a beloved pet. "You give Moony ideas and next thing you know he’s doing lecture voices."

Remus rolled his eyes, looking entirely unbothered, and turned back to you. "Still. You scared me, dovey. Don’t run off into the woods without telling someone, or at least leave a note.”

"I was gone for thirty minutes ," you said through a giggle, but kissed his cheek anyway. "Sorry, Moony."

"That’s too long," Sirius muttered as he threw himself down beside James with a groan, already halfway into transforming.

With a flash of fur, Padfoot was trotting in circles around you, tail wagging, tongue lolling out like he hadn't just been sprinting through the forest like a man possessed.

You reached down and scratched behind his ears, and he gave a pleased little huff before flopping dramatically across your lap.

"God, you’re heavy," you said, and Padfoot thumped his tail lazily against your leg.

"Oh my God," you laughed, and then with a quiet whoosh of energy, you shifted into Flicker.

Your fur brushed over Padfoot’s chest and he let out an excited bark, rolling onto his side so your tails could swish together in lazy arcs.

James leaned back against the tree with a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Look at them,” he said to Remus, “absolute menaces, both of them.”

Remus, still standing, shook his head and pulled a book out of the bag he’d brought with him. “You say that like you aren’t the biggest menace in this group.”

“I am very charming, actually,” James said, inching closer as Remus settled beside him, “and incredibly reasonable.”

“You screamed because Sirius accidentally headbutted your—”

“Do not finish that sentence.”

“—your most prized possession.”

Flicker snorted audibly and Padfoot whined in agreement.

James pouted. “I’ll have you know it was a traumatic experience.”

Padfoot and Flicker had by now rolled closer to them, bumping up against James’s boots and Remus’s knee.

Padfoot flopped dramatically across James’s lap, tail smacking the book. Flicker curled around Remus’s foot, a little puff of auburn fur resting gently against his ankle.

Remus looked down and smiled softly, reaching down to brush a knuckle against Flicker’s ears. “You’re lucky we love you,” he murmured, low and warm.

#marauders era #marauders x reader #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders x reader fluff #poly!marauders fluff #remus lupin angst #poly!marauders fic #dead gay wizards from the 70s #marauders fluff #remus lupin x reader fluff #sirius black x reader #james potter x reader #remus lupin fluff #james potter fluff #sirius black fluff #marauders drabble #sirius black x reader fluff #james potter x reader fluff #colouredbyd

640 notes · View notes

clockwayswrites · 3 months ago

Text

The Haunting of Danny Fenton Chapter 3, Part 2

masterpost (pls no editing or concrit, my words have been a mess but I'm trying!)

Dick took the corners of the halls at reckless speeds, careening around the corners in a way that only his Robin training saved him from smashing into walls. Speed was more important than safety.

Wally might be here.

“Verdict?” Dick heard Gar ask.

“Your vegan macaroons get a ten from me, could eat way too many,” a voice that Dick didn’t know said. “Though I still don’t get why you’re feeding me.”

“Dude, your heart stopped a few days ago. Cookies are in order after something like that!”

Who’s heart stopped?

Why?

Dick made himself to slow down a little from his panicked sprint as he entered the room. He scanned the space instantly: Victor, Raven, Gar, and the mystery person all settled on the couch. The news played silently on the TV.

“N.” Cyborg set the device he had been fiddling with down and stood. “This is Danny.”

Danny stood and spun around. He almost looked like he could have been an early Wayne with the black hair and blue eyes and weight he carried on his shoulders. “Flash sent me here. He said to tell you that you’re a ‘real dick’, but he said it fondly or like it was a joke!”

“Yeah,” Dick choked out. Even though Victor had told Dick the message, it still took him out at the knees to hear it from this stranger. “He would have.”

“I don’t know why that phrase works on all of you, but, I, um,” Danny grabbed a spiral bound book off the coffee table. “I also have a drawing I did of him after the first time that I got to see him clearly, if that also adds to what I’m saying. It’s him without his mask.”

Dick was torn between rushing over or going slowly in case that the image shattered their hope. He was there before he had decided how to proceed, taking the sketchbook.

Wally stared back at him from the page.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” Danny asked, voice almost impossibly gentle. “He says he’s trapped in something called the Speed Force.”

“It’s him,” Dick said after clearing his throat. It didn’t help the mixed feeling of tears and relief clogged there. He brushed his fingers over the dotted freckles of the drawing. “And he would get trapped by his own powers. Idiot.”

“Why don’t all sit down!” Gar said with forced cheer and a clap of his hands. “Danny can explain things now that you’re here and then we can figure out how to rescue W—Flash!”

“I even have drinks, since someone abandoned me as soon as he had cookies,” Donna said with a pointed look towards Gar as she entered from the direction of the kitchen. She passed out the armful of sodas to everyone as they sat back down. When she got to Dick, she took the drawing from his hands (he resisted the urge to grab it back) and replaced it with a ginger ale.

It was the same drink Danny had gotten.

“Explain from the start. From before Flash,” Raven instructed, which sounded foreboding.

Danny turned the drink between his palms. “Like I said, I’m a psychopomp. Ghosts and I—death and I have a pretty close relationship with each other. Have since I was fourteen and I sorta died in an accident in my parent’s lab, which I really don’t want to get into. But they’re ectobiologists, they study ghosts.”

“And one lab accident later you can talk to them?” Victor said. “Sure you’re not a superhero?”

“You joke, but I was, at least as far as my home town is concerned. Seems to come with having a fucked up lab accident, you know?” Danny asked, his smile crooked.

“Yeah,” Victor rumbled. “I know.”

“Anyways, I was never anything big, and I’m okay with that. It doesn’t really matter now anyways, dying comes with a pretty limited lifespan for a superhero sort of body,” Danny said with a wave, as if that would be the end of that conversation. “But the talking to ghosts stuck around.

“Outside of my home town, most haunted place in America, they’re pretty quiet and pretty incorporeal. They don’t bother me often, but sometimes there’s one strong enough that needs help moving on—willing or not. It’s usually not a problem to do it around my work and college, but then your Flash shows up and he’s not like the other ghosts.”

“How quickly could you tell that?” Donna asked.

“Pretty much instantly. He feels like… you know when you’d put a hand up against an old TV or CRT monitor? And you could feel that static hum? He feels like that,” Danny explained. “I couldn’t see him or communicate with him either. There was no sort of… Ancients this is hard to explain. There was no resonating vibe with him. It didn’t—doesn’t mean that he’s not dead, though he’s sure he’s not, but I knew he wasn’t a normal ghost right away. And that was before the seizures.”

Nightwing rested his head against the cold can of ginger ale. “…the seizures?”

Danny hummed. “Whenever Flash gets too close—touches me, I think—I have a seizure.”

“Dude! And that doesn’t concern you?” Gar shouted, bits of macaroons flying.

And Danny just shrugged, like it didn’t! “Well, I mean, I’ve already died? Twice. Well, three times now if my heart stopping counts.”

“Yeah,”Dick mumbled, “I think that counts.”

“Anyways,” Danny continued guilelessly, “the seizures basically put me in a state where I could have contact with Flash. I could see him, at least. There were only a few anyway before I tried the tea. The tea worked enough for me to talk to him. He gave me the messages, and now I’m here.”

Victor leaned forward. “I want you to take us through what Flash told you as best as you can remember.”

“And I want to know what was in that tea,” Raven said.

“And I want to know if you have your medication!” Gar chirped. Everyone turned to him and he deflated a little. But he continued gamely on as he always did, “Dude still has a hospital bracelet on! He might have come right here. See! Look at that face! He came right here.”

Danny did look pretty guilty with how he was rubbing at the back of his neck and pointedly wasn’t looking at any of them.

Dick sighed. He might not have Wally right then, but it did seem like he had another overly thoughtful idiot to look after in the mean time. “Did you come right here?”

“I had to let you know about Flash!” Danny said. “I know how long he’s been hanging around me and who knows how long it took him to find me. You all have to be worried.”

“Your medication?” Dick asked.

“It’s being filled?”

“Right. We can have Kori grab it on her way. She was finishing a thing up with the Outlaws,” Victor said. “We’ll just need your full name, birthday, and pharmacy where it’s being filled.”

Danny took a long breath and then took a decisive nod. “Right. I can do that. And then I’ll call Miss Wilhelmina Aleshire, so brace yourself for that.”

#dp x dc #thodf #danny/dick/wally

665 notes · View notes

yumiblaze · 21 days ago

Text

Cursed - Saja Boys X Fem!Reader Part 21

IBS and Depression are a hell of a bitch so sorry for not posting yesterday >^< Also I want to say thank you for all the likes and comments! I read every comment even if I don't reply and it's all so lovely <3

PROLOGUE / PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 / PART 4 / PART 5 / PART 6 / PART 7 / PART 8 / PART 9 / PART 10 / PART 11 / PART 12 / PART 13 / PART 14 / PART 15 / PART 16 / PART 17 / PART 18 / PART 19 / PART 20

NEXT PART

WARNING: BLOOD AND VOMIT!

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Abby didn’t bother trying to hide who he was so as soon as you reached the hospital people’s heads turned to stare at the idol. His idea was that the Saja Boys would seem even better to the public if one of them was seen visiting Rumi in hospital, however the amount of attention he got made you feel so uncomfortable.

The boy seemed unfazed by the attention though and trotted over to the front desk, a relaxed smile adorning his face.

“Hi I was hoping I could visit Rumi.” He told the receptionist. The brunette at the desk literally did a double take as the boy spoke to her, her mouth hanging slightly ajar as she took him in.

“Yes sir, I’ll get one of the nurses to take you to her room.” She managed to stutter out after quickly clearing her throat.

“Thanks.” Abby replied gazing around the room while you both waited for a nurse to take you to your sister’s room.

You were fiddling with your fingers unable to hide how nervous you were to finally see your sister and how everything would go after last time Mira and Zoey saw you. Abby seemed to notice as he gently took one of your own hands in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. A nurse quickly rounded the corner her eyes locking onto you and Abby, a soft smile gracing her features.

“Sir, ma’am, this way.” The nurse told you both leading you down a maze of white corridors.

It wasn’t long until the nurse opened a door and stood aside letting you and Abby both through. Your eyes immediately locked onto your sister, sitting up in her bed her conversation with Zoey halting as she looked over at you.

“Rumi!” You cried rushing over to her and gently throwing your arms around her shoulders.

“(y/n)! Thank goodness you’re okay!” Rumi gasped her own arms wrapping around you tightly.

“Are you okay? What happened?!” You asked pulling back from the hug and holding the girl by her shoulders.

“I’m fine. What do you mean what happened to me? What happened to you??!!” You purple haired sister replied looking you over with worried eyes.

“Why the fuck is he here?” Mira asked glaring at Abby who was just standing by the door awkwardly.

“He is my bodyguard.” You replied simply.

“No he’s a demon and he needs to leave.” Mira snapped.

“No you know what? This demon has saved my ass on multiple occasions, if he wasn’t looking after me I would be dead by now Mira. I don’t care what he is, what any of the boys are, they have been looking after me with so much love and care! So can you just not try to kill him for a few minutes so I can explain all the shit that has been going on for the last few days?!” You ranted giving the girl a stern glare.

Mira looked at you in utter shock for a few moments, glancing between you and Abby a few times before her face went back to her usual resting expression.

“Does the explanation include why Jinu and the other boys attacked me?” Rumi asked slightly hesitant.

“Yes.”

“Alright go for it.”

“First of all The Saja Boys seem to be my soul mates and until they ‘mark me’ my scent will get stronger and continue to draw other demons in. Second of all you know when I got stabbed by that demon, well turns out he poisoned me and I’m slowly dying. The bright side is there’s an antidote but Gwi Ma has this antidote right now and he won’t give it to me or the boys unless they kill you and break the Honmoon. Jinu was attempting to do that when he attacked you, he also did that behind my back so when I found out about it we had a huge issue and I left the apartment on my own and got caught by the same demon who stabbed me. Which leads me to three, the demon guy who stabbed me is going to punish the boys by hurting me every time they fail. So all these injuries I have, are his fault, not the boy’s fault. Any questions?” You dumped all the lore on them.

“So you’re telling me that these 5 demons are in love with you and Gwi Ma is using that to blackmail them into killing us?” Mira asked slowly.

“Yes.” You replied simply.

“But demons can’t love people! They’re demons right?” Zoey asked confused.

“They can love it’s happened before.” You stated subtly glancing at Rumi.

“Surely we would’ve heard about it if it’s happened before.” Mira retorted.

“It has happened before.” Rumi told everyone with a heavy sigh. “My dad was a demon and my mother was a hunter.”

“What?!” Mira and Zoey cried in shock.

“Celine told me Gwi Ma blackmailed your dad with the exact same offer.” You added not skipping a beat.

“What?” Rumi said this time.

“I called her to ask if she knew about my injury. She said your mum was poisoned too, that Gwi Ma would only give your dad the cure if killed the other hunters and broke the Honmoon.”

“So mum died…”

“…Because your dad refused.”

The room was quiet for a few moments as if all four of you tried to absorb all of the information that had just been shared.

“I can’t do this.” Rumi admitted quietly.

“You can’t do what?” You asked confused.

The purple haired girl took your hands in her own, looking up at you with tears streaming down her face.

“I lost my mum and my dad. And I know we’re not blood related but you’re my sister. I can’t lose you!”

You didn’t know how to respond. You didn’t know what words you could even mutter to help the situation. You just stared at her hands holding yours, like she was gripping something she never wanted to let go of. You stared at how hard she sobbed, like her heart was crumbling in her chest. Yet there was nothing you could do to help her.

The crying started off a chain reaction. Zoey coming over and flinging herself onto you, tears also streaming down her face. You could feel her crying soaking through your top with how hard she was crying into your shoulder. With one glance over at Mira you could tell she was also crying but was covering her face with her hair.

“I-It’s fine Celine said she’ll try and find something, I’m sure she’ll come up with something.” You lied, your voice coming out meek and unconvincing.

You felt own tears sting your eyes, your mind coming to terms with what, or who you’d be leaving behind if you did end up dying. You didn’t want to think about it though, you didn’t want to die, but it wasn’t like there was any other choice.

Before you could say or do anything else you felt your wound once more, the injury sending a cruel wave of pain over your body. One of your hands slipped from your sister’s grasp, pressing it to your injury in an attempt to ease the sharp pain. You felt the urge to double over but tried to resist it not wanting to draw any attention to the poison that was once again eating away at you.

“Are you okay?” Mira asked first to notice something off.

“I’m fi-” Before you could finish your lie a sudden flurry of coughs hit you.

You covered your mouth with your hand, a strong iron taste filling your mouth. You didn’t dare move, you already knew the liquid that had leaked into your now shaking hand. Panic got worse when you realised your other hand on your wound could feel your shirt soaking up a warm liquid from underneath.

“Oh my god!” Zoey squealed, blood smeared across the bottom of her hoodie from your wound. “You’re bleeding!”

“Shit.” Abby hissed, pushing the dark haired girl away from you.

You didn’t realise how much Zoey was supporting your body until she was gone, your legs folding in on themselves like they were made of paper. Abby wrapped his arms around your torso gently lowering you to the floor before you could fall.

The moment your thighs hit the floor you weren’t at the hospital anymore, not that you had time to notice. Your body doubled over involuntarily, blood forcing its way out of your mouth alongside another wave of immense pain.

“Fuck!” You heard someone exclaim as you coughed and spluttered trying to get any remaining liquid out of your throat.

You wheezed slightly, tears flowing from your eyes as you wiped at your mouth with back of one of your wrists. It felt like every breath was irritating your abdomen, like it was angry at every sign of life your body clung to. Your body shook violently though you couldn’t figure out if it was from pain, tears or how much you were struggling to breathe.

The world around you was a blur all your senses consumed by your bodies panic and pain. You could see all the blood around you, all over your hands as big red blurs. Your ears filled with the sound of your own heart pumping faster than usual, voices a blur underneath the overpowering sound. You couldn’t even feel the wet liquid all over your hands over the pain than washed over and over you like unrelenting waves in a storm. The taste and smell of your own blood was overpowering, each breath you sucked in hitting you with another urge to puke that you desperately fought back against.

Then out of nowhere you felt something different. A warmth against your back, cradling you. Dry hands slipping into your own and holding you. There was a hand holding your hair out of your face, keeping blood from staining it. There were words making their way to you as your heart slowly lowered in volume. The pain seemed to slowly recede across your body, the ache keeping to your injury freeing the rest of your body over the course of a few minutes of calm.

After a few more deep breathes you finally summoned the strength to look up from the blood stained floor. Your eyes met by a familiar pair of brown framed by perfect black hair, looking at you with an unnatural amount of worry and sadness. You couldn’t keep contact and quickly flicked your vision back down to the ground.

“I-I’m sorry.” You whispered out your voice dry and strained.

“Why an earth are you sorry?” Jinu asked softly.

“I bled all over your floor.” You mumbled struggling to find a real reason for your apology.

“You think I – You think any of us care about the damn floor?” The man said his voice breaking.

“We don’t care about this apartment.” Romance told you running his hand through your hair.

“We don’t care about this city.” Abby continued one of his hands reassuringly rubbing your shoulder.

“We don’t care about this whole fucking world.” Baby said giving you thigh a gentle squeeze.

“We only care about you.” Mystery whispered against your back.

@ffcfffr @whimsiecat @gremlinartstudio @chugjugg @aerissblog @kitkatpattywack2808 @airwolf92 @fries11 @doggyteam2028 @downbadgirlypoo @kashasenpai @seung185 @faefanatic @izzieg3987 @lansy-4 @weponxwrites @bunniotomia @chaoticfivesworld @clmstorm @sra7riddle-malfoy @vi1326 @justanotherkpopstanlol @jaeyuuns @tikitsune @zzsloth @yumi-does-stuff @ghost-reine @yuurisfavblog @dragongirl642 @just-a-blue-nerd @snowy-violet @justanindiangirl12 @sexually-attracted-to-pans @minthoneynbasil @tatsuri-zomushiki @ellie-x0xo @olxh @satansdaughter123 @reallysparklychaos @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @lostsomewhereinthegarden @avadakadabra93 @szc56 @phoenixflying666 @l0wlifepr1ncess @reverie-sxno @fantasyhopperhea @bakusquadobsessed @adorablepandasuniverse @sad-sie

#abby x reader #jinu x reader #kpdh #kpdh fanfic #mystery x reader #romance x reader #saja boys x reader #baby saja x reader #saja boys #k pop demon hunters

380 notes · View notes

elliesfreckle · 2 months ago

Text

over & out | radio au |

▶• ılıılıılılıılıılı. 0

masterlist | next

📟 : record one 𖣠

⏯ synopsis : you’re a voice on the other side of the radio. she’s your wrong frequency — a mistake. a fortune, maybe, at the edge of a devastated world. you never told her your name. she never asked what you looked like. but when the nights get colder, in a world full of silence, you keep talking.

⏯ pairing : ellie williams & fem!reader

⏯ word count : 2k

⏯ a/n : well its nearly 5 in the morning and you know what. i dont know either. i've never written this kind of things before, i've never posted on tumblr, english is far from my mother language (pardon me ladies), im pretty unpopular on socials, nervous, chaotic, and i like bleeding on paper/my laptop keyboard! but still! im hopeless for ellie. this idea won't leave my head. first chapter is pretty short ig, im trying to escape my writer's block and i really enjoyed writing it!! and i hope you will enjoy seeing ellie the way i see her, and love her the way i do. any feedback is deeply appreciated ♡

Late august comes with heat. It clings to Ellie’s strained shoulders, sticky and heavy. It traces, tries to count her freckles—however they are countless—along toned arms smeared with dirt and dried, rust-brown blood.

August loves her wild auburn hair in a way winter never did; autumn will love it soon as well.

Ellie’s shrouded in sunset; she’s walking, worn-out converse stirring the red dust of the road. Somewhere nearby, crickets cry—this sound is louder now than the groaning of the horde that follows.

Well, yeah, she’s fucked. She’s cooked.

The sun is dying in copper ribbons that bleed across the hills. Tonight she probably won’t be sleeping on Joel’s beat-up backyard couch. She’ll make him worry, all over again. Shitty daughter; shitty fighter. Ellie exhales through clenched teeth, a curse slipping past her lips.

What started as a short detour outside patrol range turns into a very Jackson-style mistake—impulsive, selfish, and stupidly brave. She left that morning with a rifle, a half-full canteen, and a lie. “Just getting some air.” she said.

Truth is, she’d grown tired of the noise.

She loved them all, this whole damn town but she still needed air. Space. Silence. Her boots and the grass, the weight of the rifle over her shoulder, the tension she feels as she draws a bowstring. Cicadas’ little noises, ivy climbing the bones of old buildings, birds startled into flight. This was life.

That’s all this world still gives them. And Ellie takes it all. She’s not lonely, she’s at peace (Ellie tells herself that’s true).

She drew a doe in her journal before it bolted. Scribbled a few lyrics, hummed a half-finished melody on her way back.

Then the infected came as they always do. Too many. Too fast.

She fired. Ran. Got lucky. Then unlucky: her ankle still aches, new scratches will heal in a week; she stopped notice things like these long time ago. But then, as if by some cruel mercy, Ellie got lucky again.

Now here she is.

A building, mostly intact. No time to identify its past usage. Some old-world thing—windows shattered. The kind of place no one in Jackson would step into alone. Ellie kicks the door in anyway. What’s the alternative? Be torn apart outside—or inside. Her shoulder throbs. Her chest heaves. She looks like she always does, post-fight: like a ghost. Like an evil spirit clawed from Hell.

But in fact she’s just a girl looking for a little quiet.

The door slams shut behind her with a dull clang. For a moment, there’s only her breath—heavy, uneven—and the echo of silence. That kind of silence she feels in her teeth.

Ellie stays still. One hand still clenched around the rifle, metal warm against her palm. It’s been heating up with her—from the run, from the fight, from the fucking August sun. Now it hums quietly against her skin, like it’s alive too. Tired. Overworked. Just like her.

Ellie shifts the weight of it, closes her eyes and listens. There’s a knife in her pocket, just in case. But no footsteps echo inside. No snarls. Just her breath, the soft ringing in her ears, and the rifle’s warmth seeping into her bones.

The infected are out there though—pacing, maybe sniffing for her. She can almost feel their weeps hanging in the air. That’s why Ellie drags a metal shelf against the door, clicks on her flashlight, and scans the dark lobby.

“Don’t tell me I’m stuck in a fucking high school…” Ellie mumbles with a crooked grin as she sees the scenery.

Thick dust and old footprints mar the faded linoleum. A tattered banner hangs crookedly on the far wall, the mascot barely visible under layers of grime. “Welcome Back, Seniors 2013!” Someone drew a smiley face on it once. It’s half-erased now. Like everything. Beside Ellie, a faded broadcast schedule peels off the wall. “Friday at 7 PM — Indie Night with DJ Alex".

“Did you manage your Indie Night stream, Alex?”

Talking to herself helps. At least she’s still funny as shit. There is no one in the whole world more distant from that meaningless school crap than Ellie. She has empathy, sure—but not understanding. The outbreak took that from her.

She moves on instinct, flashlight jittering as she climbs creaking stairs. Second floor smells like paper rot and something sweet—candy left to die in someone’s locker. Powder floats in the thickness of air, caught in the shafts of light leaking through boarded windows. It’s golden hour outside, and in here, the hallway glows mild, like cider: amber and rich as honey. Ellie takes a breath, and this is what past tastes like—curdled forever time, sweet and gone. It lingers on the tip of her tongue.

At the end of the hall, she finds it: a narrow door with a peeling sign barely clinging to the wood.

Room B33. Broadcast Club.

The sight gives Ellie a strange chill—a flicker of instinct telling her to stay far from that door. Never open it. Run away right into the embrace of the infected instead of stepping inside.

Dina calls it intuition. That gut-wrenching anticipation. Or probably Ellie is just starving and hasn’t eaten since morning. More likely.

She doesn’t believe in intuition. If bad things happen, they happen with no warning. Life is too cruel to send omens.

Ellie opens the door B33 with the full force of that unique Ellie Williams blend of bravery and recklessness. Inside, it feels like time machine. It’s still and weirdly intact. Like someone used to live here—someone who cared a little too much about the room, and the equipment. There are two chairs. A desk scarred with pen marks and age. A dusty mic arcs from the soundboard like a neck craning for attention. Coiled cables. A plastic bin full of old cassette tapes. Handwritten labels:

“Indie Hour (April)”

“Sarah’s breakup advice”

“Prom mix”

“The Friday joke war” (“Oh, this one I could’ve won”, Ellie mutters, her fingers covered in dust sliding through the bin.)

One tape is buried with a warning sticker “KEEP OUT!!! — cringe singing.”

Ellie scoffs, low and dry. The world burns, but cringe survives.

All these messages from the past suddenly hit hard. These little pieces of lives long gone, turned into ashes. Maybe being trapped in a haunted house feels like this. Not scary but endlessly sorrowful. Ellie was never part of it, yet the ache of nostalgia still catches in her chest. Life is unfair. She’s eighteen. Maybe she wants her own prom mix. A girl to ask. Then her deserved breakup advice. And a damn joke war trophy.

The truth is, she never had a choice.

She circles the room. There is a shelf of manuals, a chipped coffee mug with “DJ Charlie” flaking off the side. Not a room—just a box of broken memories. Ellie kicks an empty candy wrapper and sighs. She could’ve been home by now. Eat dinner. Watch a silly movie with Joel. She groans angrily.

“Fuck this school. Fuck the clickers. Fuck the outbreak.”

A beat.

“Just fuck this world.”

In the middle of her mental breakdown, Ellie glances at blotches left by humidity on the paneled walls—and then notices a compact generator tucked beneath the desk, like the most precious treasure in this room, if not in the building itself. Had she gotten lucky again? Its wires still ran into the back of the control panel. Ellie starts it with a gentle turn of a key. For three seconds, she wonders whether it’s alive or dead.

“Please work,” she whispers almost kindly. And it leans into her kindness like a stray cat remembering how it once was tamed. It sputters. Chokes. Then hums. A warm, low vibration—oddly similar to purring—settles in the floorboards.

Then the broadcast room gets its pounding heart back. Lights flicker overhead. Bathed in yellow light, Ellie is wrapped in comfort. The soundboard buzzes awake, all knobs and dials glowing faint amber. Ellie steps forward—she’s barely seen anything like this in her lifetime. It might be useful for Jackson. One of the radio monitors springs to life, blinking with static lines and a shaky signal. Ellie has no idea how to use it.

She slides into the chair, exhales. How had nobody found it before? How is it still working after all this time? Is it dangerous to touch? She’d become so wild. Suspicious. Distant. “Man is a wolf to man,” she has read it in a book. She grew up being a wolf to everybody.

Ellie bites before being bitten.

She never liked wolves.

There is a sign painted in red above the front wall:

“On The Air”

On the table, she finds a long-forgotten dried-out marker, and a sticker on the cork board “Hi! My name is Charlie :) ps. Alison, stay away from my cookies, I save them in case of an apocalypse.”

“And where are your cookies now when I need them so bad, man? Probably rotten, yeah? Like, ‘bout ten years ago.”

Ellie rubs her face, forgetting she’s caked in dirt and blood. She doesn’t look at photographs and other belongings pinned on the board.

Ghosts shouldn’t talk to each other.

She tries to wipe her hands clean with a piece of red cloth, it seems like it was a flag once. “Go Eagles!” Does Ellie like eagles? She considers it as she gets her journal from the backpack. She sketches a quick image of what she thinks an eagle looks like. She concludes that she likes cranes more than eagles.

Radio keeps talking to her in its quiet, delicate manner. Smooth hiss of interference sings gently like a lullaby. Like a lover. Ellie’s fingers brush over the tuning dial. The second she slowly turns it, the desk lamp starts flicking. The diesel might run out any moment. That would be a pity, but Ellie could deal with it. She had nights way more terrible than this one is going to be. She clicks further without special thoughts, without intention and hope. She’s bored and tired. Dina would know how to treat this thing right. Ellie’s just pressing buttons to kill time. There is another note—Charlie, or whoever left that, is getting annoying—“if you can’t hear the signal—reload the broadcast at 95.2 FM.” Ellie narrows her eyes to read scribbles and grins. She rests her head in her palm.

“Fucking radio. Buddies really had hope.” Pure irony in her harsh voice, then a yawn. Last useless click before turning it off and getting some sleep.

Buzz. High-pitched whine.

Then:

A voice. And it's yours.

Ellie jumps up in her chair, half-sleepy. Her fingers release the dials and buttons, heart strangely pounding.

The voice is faint. Female. Crisp, but wrapped in static. Like it’s traveled too far through too many silent lines.

“…I repeat, AA40B, answer my call. Report the situation. Have you got any troubles? This is channel ninety-four point seven, if you’re suddenly unaware. Lisa, if you don’t respond your mother will fucking murder me. Slowly.”

Ellie freezes. Every hair on her arm stands up, sweat on her palms. She leans closer. Her heartbeat is thumping, but not from running, nor from the horde—now something else, something heavier—sinks into her chest.

A living voice.

Not Jackson.

Not recorded.

Alive.

She blinks, slowly, and mutters under her breath.

“…what the fuck?”

And this is the moment when one ghost meets the other.

#overnout #the last of us #tlou2 #ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie tlou 2 #ellie x fem reader #ellie fanfic #radio au ellie williams

352 notes · View notes

dollyswishingwell · 2 months ago

Note

Love your work 💖💖💖

Can I ask for a scenario with the lads boys, wherein reader goes on a vacation trip with them and her family. Like reader planned the whole trip, but midway through, she gets sick (nothing major, but she need to stay in the hotel to rest) and just ask the boys to take her family sightseeing without them? Like how would the boys react and what would they do?

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Mama’s Princess P.10

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluffff, just fluff as always, i’m really liking my new formatting, it’s fun

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ You’re sick during vacation

Masterlist

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You’d planned a dream coastal getaway to a pastel seaside town, coral buildings, lazy beaches, ice cream stands, shell markets. You coordinated the suite, the matching outfits, the daily itinerary. Rafayel only had to show up pretty and love you (and obviously fund the trip and the thousands of new outfits for you and your baby). Easy.

- It starts with a sore throat and light fever. You try to hide it. Rafayel immediately notices.

- “You didn’t laugh at my shell pun,” he says flatly, touching your forehead. “You’re dying.”

- You wave him off from under your floral bedsheets, cheeks flushed. “I just need sleep. Please take our babygirl sightseeing like I planned.”

- He was devastated.

- “But I don’t wanna go without you.” Big watery eyes, frowning at you like you’ve personally abandoned him on the battlefield.

- Clings to the edge of the bed like a sad puppy. Starts drawing a get-well card with crayons with your daughter.

- The card reads: “MAMA GET BETTER OR ELSE!!! 💜💖” (he helped her spell it).

- Offers to cancel everything. “We can just stay in and snuggle and I’ll get room service and braid your hair and spoon-feed you mango pudding.”

- But when you insist that he should take your baby girl out, so she doesn’t miss the fun (even though she doesn’t wanna leave mommy), he finally relents.

⸻

On the outing:

- Straps your babygirl into her cutest pink seashell romper and massive sunhat (“It’s bigger than her body, Raffy!” “And yet she still looks small and perfect like her mama.”)

- Wears the shirt you packed for him, because he’s dramatic like that. He FaceTimes you before leaving. “Are you sure? Blink twice if you need me to smuggle back a pharmacist.”

- Takes your daughter to all your planned spots: the turtle sanctuary, the jellyfish cafe, the handmade tiara stall. He follows your itinerary religiously.

- Sends constant updates:

- Photo of her feeding a turtle: “She said it looks like you when you’re sleepy.”

- Clip of her dancing with local performers: “Your child is a menace. She just stole a tambourine.”

- Pic of her holding two massive ice creams: “One for you. She said she’ll save it in her tummy.”

⸻

Back at the hotel:

- Your daughter runs in, yells “MAMAAA!!!” and climbs right into bed with you.

- She tells you everything she saw in frantic baby babble while Rafayel unpacks shell souvenirs and hands you the ugly-cute necklace she “bought” for you (Raf did).

- Rafayel gets under the covers, arms around both of you.

- “I hated every second of it without you.”

- But he’s smiling because your daughter was laughing all day. And now his two favorite girls are cuddled up next to him.

- Kisses your temple and whispers, “Next vacation, you’re not allowed to get sick. I’m bringing a doctor in our suitcase.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

You meticulously planned a serene countryside retreat, luxurious villa, lavender fields, little horse rides for your babygirl, a spa for you, and gourmet dinners. Zayne cleared his schedule for the first time in months just for you. All you had to do was relax… until you got sick.

- Zayne notices before you do.

- He hears the rasp in your voice, sees the flush on your cheeks, and presses the back of his hand to your forehead while you’re busy packing your daughter’s little woven picnic basket.

- “Lie down. Now.” Calm. Stern. Already reaching for the thermometer.

- You pout and beg him to take your babygirl out to the little garden tour you’d planned. “She was so excited, Zayne, just go without me this time.”

- He hesitates. He hates leaving you, especially when you’re unwell. But he sees the guilt in your eyes and nods. “You rest. I’ll take care of everything.”

- Immediately shifts into full physician-husband mode.

- Checks your vitals, leaves chilled lemon water on the nightstand, adjusts the AC, and gives you strict instructions to nap.

- “Text me if you feel even slightly worse. I’ll be back in ten seconds flat.”

- Dresses your babygirl in the little linen romper you picked. Her hair is tied back in tiny braids (Zayne’s skilled at this by now from all those years of doing your hair).

- “You’ll take care of Mama later, alright? For now, let’s go pick her some lavender.”

⸻

On the outing:

- Carries your daughter everywhere. She’s tiny, but Zayne acts like she’s 2.5kg of gold bricks, irreplaceable and precious (because she is to you)

- They go to all your planned stops, right on schedule. He quietly takes mental notes of every moment you would’ve loved.

- Sends you short video clips:

- Your daughter petting a white pony “She asked if this one can live in our backyard.”

- Her holding a fresh bouquet “She says it smells like Mama’s hair.”

- Her pointing at the spa “She said ‘Mama here? Where Mama?’”

- Zayne responds “Mama’s resting so she can be even prettier tomorrow.”

- Buys you a handcrafted necklace with a pressed flower inside. “For your memory box,” he tells you later. He knows you keep every memento.

⸻

Back at the villa:

- Babygirl climbs straight into bed, curls up against you with a sleepy whimper of “Mamaaaa.” She falls asleep instantly, exhausted but happy.

- Zayne sets everything down, peels off his coat, and slides in behind you both, his arm wrapping gently around your waist.

- “We missed you,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your neck.

- His voice lowers “Please don’t get sick on vacation again. You scared me.”

- You joke that it was just a fever, and he tuts. “Doesn’t matter. You’re mine, even a cough is a threat.”

- Spends the night checking your temperature, massaging your back, and spooning you and your daughter like you’re the most fragile thing in the universe.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

You planned a galaxy-themed retreat on a floating island resort, crystal lagoons, deep space observatory, themed dinners, and private stargazing decks. It’s lowkey and luxurious, perfect for your little family. You did all the organizing, and Xavier was just happy to follow your lead, quietly watching you from behind his sunglasses while carrying all your bags.

- It starts as a quiet headache and fatigue. You shrug it off, still slipping into your silky dress for the resort dinner. Xavier blinks at you once.

- “…You don’t look well.” His voice is low, distant, but his eyes are sharp on you.

- You try to wave him off, smiling gently. “Just tired. You should take her out, okay? She really wants to see the glow pool.”

- He freezes.

- “Without you?”

- His brows furrow slightly like you just asked him to walk into war unarmed.

- “No. We stay here.”

- You coax him gently, fingers brushing his cool cheek. “It’s just a fever. She’ll be sad if she misses it. Please?”

- After ten full seconds of internal struggle, he finally nods slowly.

- “You’ll rest. I’ll take her. But you must stay in bed. Promise me.”

- Carries your babygirl like she’s made of stardust. She keeps asking “Where Mama?” and Xavier keeps saying, “Resting. Mama’s tired. But we’ll tell her everything.”

- He doesn’t like being separated from you. He sends you grainy, shaky photos of your daughter by the lagoon. You can tell he took them awkwardly with one hand while holding her with the other.

- Photo: your babygirl pointing at stars. “She said ‘that one is Mama star.’”

- Photo: Her sticking her feet into glowing water. “She asked if you’d like it.”

⸻

On the outing:

- He’s quiet and gentle, answering her every question seriously like it’s a diplomatic meeting.

- “Can we take the stars home?”

- “…I will ask the staff.”

- Buys her a tiny star crown, and when she says “Mama will look sooooo pretty,” he quietly buys a full-sized one for you too.

- She throws glitter in the air and yells “WISH!” and he just sits beside her, head tilted, letting it fall on his silver hair without comment.

⸻

Back at the resort:

- Your babygirl crashes into your bed in her tiny silver cloak and yells “MAMA I LOVE UUUU” before conking out on your chest like a baby koala.

- Xavier enters after. Silent. Then kneels at the edge of the bed and rests his forehead against your thigh. Just stays there.

- “I don’t like being without you,” he murmurs against your skin. “It feels wrong.”

- Crawls into bed and wraps around both of you, long arms like a sleepy octopus, head resting on your belly.

- “We’ll do the stargazing again tomorrow. Together this time.”

- Kisses your warm wrist with worry still lingering in his eyes. “Don’t get sick again. Or I’ll cancel the universe.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

You booked an exclusive luxury island where each guest gets their own private villa suspended over crystal water, with a glass floor, gold-plated breakfast trays, and private yacht excursions. You chose the itinerary, ordered the outfits, even arranged custom sunhats for you and your baby. He let you have your princess fun. Of course he did.

- It starts as a sore throat and dizziness during breakfast. You try to hide it and keep moving.

- Sylus doesn’t even look up from his tablet.

- “You’re sick.”

- “No I’m not—”

- “You are. Your voice cracked and you buttered your pancakes twice.”

- Tosses the tablet aside and walks over to feel your forehead. His cool palm lingers for too long. His brows lower.

- “Unacceptable. I brought you here to be spoiled, not to expire like milk.”

- You try to convince him to still take your babygirl to the reef tour you had planned. “Don’t let her miss it just because I need a nap, please?”

- He sighs like you’re personally causing him emotional distress.

- “You’re lucky I’d kill for you. Fine. I’ll take her.”

- But before he goes, he completely baby-proofs your suite like he’s preparing for battle:

- “You don’t get out of bed. Everything you need is within reach. I will know if you stand.”

- Brings in a physician from the mainland just in case.

- Dresses your babygirl in her little black designer swimsuit and oversized sunglasses. She looks like a miniature version of him. Total menace.

- “Say goodbye to Mama. She’s in exile until further notice.”

⸻

On the outing:

- He charters a private yacht instead of the tour boat. (“I’m not letting her touch public railings.”)

- He holds her hand as she throws flower petals into the water and names fish after you: “That’s Mama-fish! She’s prettyyy~!”

- Sends you videos with dry commentary:

- Video: her trying to touch the water. “She said she wants to bring some back for you in her bottle.”

- Selfie of them in front of a reef. “She demanded to take a picture for Mama. I look like a hostage.”

- Buys you a matching swimsuit you didn’t even ask for. (“You’ll wear it tomorrow. No objections.”)

⸻

Back at the villa:

- Your babygirl bursts in with sparkly seashells and leaps into bed to cuddle you. She shows you every souvenir.

- Sylus follows quietly behind, places a velvet box beside your pillow.

- Inside: a necklace shaped like a seashell, studded with tiny diamonds. “I had them make this today. Told the designer you liked the spiral ones. If you hate it, I’ll burn the store.”

- Slips off his coat and climbs into bed beside you, letting your daughter snuggle between you.

- Kisses your temple.

- “Next time we vacation, I’m wrapping you in silk and putting you in a glass case until you’re medically cleared.”

- But his arm curls under your neck and he lets your daughter nap on his chest, eyes drifting closed with a rare, genuine smile.

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

You planned a paradise escape to Skyhaven Dome Resort’s, moonlit pools, and soft artificial weather calibrated to the exact temperature you like. You even packed coordinating outfits for the whole family. Caleb just followed your lists like an obedient military husband, pretending to be grumpy while clearly loving every second of it.

- It’s just a little fever and fatigue from the flight, but you know the moment Caleb notices.

- “Pipsqueak.” His voice drops low and serious. “You’re warm. Sit. Now.”

- He’s already grabbing the hotel medkit and hovering like you’re a fallen soldier.

- You protest weakly: “Take our baby out, please? I planned everything… she really wants to see the butterflies…”

- His entire body stiffens at the idea of going out without you.

- “You want me to take her…alone?”

- “Yes. You’re her father, Caleb.”

- “I know. But you’re the sun. I’m just a satellite, Pipsqueak.”

- Finally agrees, but the moment you give him the green light, he switches into extreme colonel-protection-overkill-mode.

- Dresses your babygirl in three layers of sun-protective fabric, a hat the size of Saturn’s rings, and SPF 1000000 even though they’re indoors. (“I don’t care. The photons might glitch.”)

- Sends you hourly check-ins like he’s on a critical mission:

- Photo of her in her stroller, shaded by three umbrellas. “Sunlight level: minimal. No damage incurred.”

- Voice memo: “She touched a flower. It was pre-cleared. No allergic reaction observed. Returning with souvenir.”

⸻

On the outing:

- He has his arm around her or carries her the whole time. She has full authority over him and he’s scared to disappoint her.

- At the hover-butterfly dome, she shrieks “LOOK MAMA’S FAVORITE COLOR!!” and he nearly cries.

- “She said she’s gonna show you every butterfly later. I recorded 200 videos. I can make a PowerPoint.”

- Buys you every item your daughter even glances at, trinkets, treats, plushies.

- “She pointed at this scarf for 0.4 seconds. It’s yours now.”

⸻

Back at the hotel:

- Bursts through the door like he’s returning from war.

- “Pipsqueak. Mission successful. I have her. She was perfect. Nothing harmed her. She only tripped twice and I caught her both times before she even noticed.”

- Your babygirl launches herself into bed next to you. “Mamaaaaaaa!!! We saw butterflies and Daddy said I was glowing like a nebula!!!”

- Caleb kneels beside the bed like you’re a queen and he’s the knight returning your princess.

- “Never again. Don’t ever get sick again. My heart can’t take being alone with her for more than four hours.”

- But his arms wrap tightly around both of you. He kisses your cheek. Then your forehead. Then gently brushes your hair behind your ear.

- He whispers “You planned the perfect trip. You always do. But next time, I’m carrying you the whole way. Just to be sure.”

204 notes · View notes

blue-jisungs · 2 years ago

Text

she was an angel, he did video games

author's note. while i struggle with my reqs here u have a small thingy that was inspired by me going into a rabbit hole of watching old vids of my fav childhood youtubers (rezi to taki crush still like OH MAAAA GAAAD ++ jego stare filmiki = top tier)

also val @kyrjnie tis is for u,, bc it may or may not have also been inspired by the gyu edit u sent me 😁😁😁😁😁😁

warnings. c u r s i n g. so much cursing. also mention of shooting n dying (they’re playing gta lol)

summary. you can’t sleep because of your yelling gamer bf,, that’s literally it (gamer bf!gyu)

word count. 618

“fucking hell! shit, shit, shit–!”

beomgyu let out an inhuman screech, leaning on his chair. the sound of his friend’s laughter echoed in his headphones as he held his stomach that started to hurt from laughter too.

“please, please taehyun!” beomgyu whined, leaning forward and running after his friend’s character in game.

“gyu?”

he yelled when he got shot again, this time by yeonjun.

“you fucker! no, no, no don’t run away!” he didn’t seem to hear your quiet voice.

you never complained about beomgyu’s passion being playing video games. everyone needed their de-brainer that would make them relax and enjoy life. you were glad he got to spend time with his friends and have fun but–

“haaa, eat shit!”

“gyu!”

he squealed upon feeling your hand on his arm.

“oh my f–” he turned around instantly, heart rate picking up. but when his eyes met yours, his brows knitted “y/n?”

ignoring the way he went afk and his friends used that fact to kill him (again), he patted his thigh. taking in the sight of you in his oversized t-shirt, messy hair and two different socks on your feet he couldn’t help but grin that you’re his and–

“could you be a little more quiet?” you asked gently, voice barely above a whisper. his ebony eyes softened, flickering quietly between the screen and you.

“oh”

a small chuckle left your lips and it was quickly followed by a yawn.

“yeah, i couldn’t fall asleep” you mumbled and leaned closer to place a kiss on his forehead.

“no, wait. actually, i’m done playing. they’re assholes either way” he breathed out. a sudden wave of guilt washed over him.

“what? it’s you who sucks!” soobin whined offended “also say hi to y/n”

“no” he grunted and with a devilish smirk used the sniping to point at the friend. then, he turned around at looked at you with a joyful yet mischievous spark in his eye. beomgyu just mouthed: “one sec!”

“y/n’s such an angel, bahi always screams at me” kai mumbled.

“same, my mom just smacks me in the head out of a sudden. i almost shat myself when she did that when i was playing the forest” yeonjun sighed “y/n is the best–”

“what the hell was that?!” soobin yelled out when his screen flickered black and then he saw the text: wasted. beomgyu gunned you down “you fu–!”

beomgyu left the voice chat and game giggling, proud of himself. then, he turned around and smiled upon seeing you wait for him. your eyes were closing slowly, fighting the sleepiness.

“i know, sorry. if i cuddle you, will you forgive me?” your boyfriend pouted, sneaking his arms around your waist. you nodded lazily and felt his lips brush against the corner of your mouth. letting out a small sigh, you tugged his hoodie.

“let’s just go, my stinky little gamer of a boyfriend…” you mumbled, fighting a smirk.

“yah!”

“also i wasn’t mad at you to begin with. just… the bed was cold, or whatever” you said, dragging him to the bedroom. beomgyu’s heart skipped a beat – something that he’d think he’d get used to while dating you. but such cute gestures still made him flustered.

“you’re really an angel, huh?” beomgyu mumbled into your hair once you were in bed. you snuggled closer to him, embracing the warmth.

“huh?” you asked drowsily, sleep creeping up on you way faster than when you were in bed alone, without him.

“sleep well, angel” he just hummed, hands pulling you even closer. fingers drawing shapes on your (his) t-shirt absentmindedly, beomgyu realized that he liked spending time with you way more than on his silly games.

masterlist <3

taglist. @primoppang ,, @mirxzii ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @slytherinshua ,, @kazmura ,, @nicholasluvbot ,, @ameliesaysshoo ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @dazzlingligth ,, @ocean-minho

2K notes · View notes

otakudragones · 4 months ago

Text

Bakugo Katsuki

As a boyfriend

• He’s the kind of boyfriend who won’t say “I love you,” but will fight the waiter if your order’s wrong. His love language is: acts of service + passive-aggressive violence.

• If he finds out someone made you cry, he’s already taking his gloves off. “WHO WAS IT? WHERE ARE THEY? DO THEY EVEN KNOW WHO YOU ARE TO ME?”

• Takes care of you without admitting it. If you’re sick: “I don’t need you dying in my house, so take this medicine and sleep in my bed. And don’t move, dumbass.”

• Gets mad if you don’t ask for help. “What the hell am I here for then, huh? You stubborn idiot.”

• He hates PDA, but looks at you like you’re the sun — and then flat-out denies it.

• Jealous? Oh, definitely. “Who was that, huh? Why’d he smile at you?” You: “The Walmart cashier, Katsuki.”

IMAGINE:

You’re at a party with your friends, and Bakugou hasn’t stopped frowning at you from across the room because you’re dancing without him. When you finally walk over, he says, “What, done trying to get attention or what?” But he takes your hand and doesn’t let go the rest of the night.

As a husband

• The wedding is simple, but he bakes the cake himself (with strawberry filling, because it’s your favorite).

• Says he won’t cry. Cries. Gets embarrassed. Gets mad about crying.

• Makes breakfast for you every morning, even if the toast’s a little burnt.

• He never goes to sleep without making sure you’re okay. Sometimes he gets up just to check if you’re still breathing — just in case.

• Talks to you about money, decisions, the future. He doesn’t run from adulthood. He’s the kind of husband who wants to do things right because you give him your all.

• Gets offended if you don’t lean on him. “What’s the point of having me if you’re gonna carry everything yourself, huh?”

IMAGINE:

You’ve got a headache and are lying on the couch. Bakugou covers you with a blanket, dims the lights, sets water on the table. He doesn’t say much — just strokes your hair and murmurs, “Rest, woman…” like he isn’t completely in love.

As a father

• Overprotective dad to the max. He’s freaking out during labor, but the moment he hears that first cry, something in him shifts. “Oh… This is real now.”

• Teaches his kid to defend themselves from kindergarten. Enrolls them in combat classes before soccer.

• But also: sings lullabies in a whisper, like his voice might break the baby if he gets too loud.

• He’s scared of hurting the baby at first, but soon becomes a pro at changing diapers and carrying without fear.

• Does homework, plays, reads bedtime stories (with full-on villain voices), and gets offended if his kid doesn’t draw him with enough muscles.

• His kid’s first “I love you” leaves him speechless for three minutes. Then he just says, “I love you too,” wiping his eyes.

In general, a relationship with Katsuki is…

• Like dating an emotional grenade who learned how to love gently.

• He doesn’t know how to be tender, but he tries. He tries so hard it hurts from how beautiful it is.

• You argue, but never go to bed angry. He always comes back to say: “I don’t care about being right with the world if I’m not right with you.”

• He has anxiety about not being enough, and you are his safe place. He won’t say it, but you see it in the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching.

MINI ONE-SHOT: “Only You”

“Why are you with me?” you ask one night, staring at the ceiling while he strokes your back with one hand.

Katsuki doesn’t answer right away. He breathes. Hesitates. Then says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world:

—“Because you make me want to be a better person… without even asking me to.”

Then, softer, almost afraid:

—“Because you calm me down, damn it. You make me feel like I’m not broken.”

You look at him. And with glossy eyes and a clenched jaw, he just whispers:

—“And if you ever doubt it again, just remember there’s no one else I’d do all of this for… only you.”

Traducción

Como novio

• Es el tipo de novio que no te dice "te amo", pero pelea con el mesero si no trae bien tu orden. Su lenguaje del amor es: servicio + violencia pasiva-agresiva.

• Si se entera de que alguien te hizo llorar, ya está quitándose los guantes. “¿QUIÉN FUE? ¿DÓNDE ESTÁ? ¿TIENE IDEA DE QUIÉN ERES TÚ PARA MÍ?”

• Te cuida sin admitirlo. Si estás enfermo: “no necesito que te mueras en mi casa, así que tómate esta medicina y duerme en mi cama. Y no te muevas, pendeja.”

• Se enoja si no le pides ayuda con algo porque “para eso estoy aquí, ¿no? pinche necia”.

• No le gusta el PDA (afecto en público), pero te mira como si fueras el sol y lo niega rotundamente.

• Es celoso. Tipo: “¿y ese quién era, eh? ¿por qué te sonrió?” Tú: “el de Walmart, Katsuki.”

IMAGINA:

"Estás en una fiesta con tus amigos, y Bakugou no ha dejado de hacerte ceño desde la esquina del cuarto porque estás bailando sin él. Cuando te acercas, te dice: ‘qué, ¿ya te cansaste de llamar la atención o qué?’. Pero se deja tomar de la mano y no te suelta por el resto de la noche."

Como esposo

• Su boda es simple, pero el pastel lo horneó él (con relleno de fresa porque sabe que es tu favorito).

• Te dice que no va a llorar. Llora. Le da pena. Se enoja por haber llorado.

• Cada mañana te prepara desayuno aunque se le queme un poco el pan tostado.

• Nunca se va a dormir sin asegurarse de que tú estés bien. A veces se levanta a revisar si respiras, justo en caso.

• Habla contigo de gastos, decisiones y futuro. No huye de la vida adulta. Es el tipo de esposo que quiere hacer las cosas bien porque lo das todo por él.

• Se ofende si no te apoyas en él. “¿Para qué me tienes si vas a cargar sola todo, ah?”

IMAGINA:

Te duele la cabeza y estás acostada en el sillón. Bakugou te tapa, apaga las luces, te pone agua en la mesa. No dice nada, solo te acaricia el cabello y murmura: "descansa, mujer..."como si no estuviera enamoradísimo.

Como padre

• Es papá gallina nivel Dios. Te ayuda en el parto con un susto épico, pero cuando escucha el primer llanto, su cara cambia por completo. “Ah no....Esto va en serio.”

• Enseña a su hijo a defenderse desde el kínder. Lo inscribe a clases de combate antes que a fútbol.

• Pero también: le canta canciones de cuna a lo bajito, como si su voz pudiera romper al bebé si sube de tono.

• Le da miedo lastimar, pero poco a poco se vuelve experto en cambiar pañales y cargar sin miedo.

• Hace tareas, juega, lee cuentos (con voz de villano incluida), y se ofende si su hijo no lo dibuja con suficiente musculatura.

• El primer "te amo" de su hijo lo deja en silencio 3 minutos. Luego solo dice: “yo también te amo”, mientras se limpia los ojos.

En general, una relación con Katsuki es…

• Como salir con una granada emocional que aprendió a amar con cuidado.

• Él no sabe cómo ser tierno, pero lo intenta. Lo intenta tanto que duele de lo hermoso.

• Discuten, pero nunca se acuestan peleados. Siempre regresa a decirte: “no quiero estar bien con el mundo si no estoy bien contigo.”

• Tiene ansiedad por no ser suficiente, y tú eres su refugio. No lo dice, pero se le nota en cómo te mira cuando cree que no estás viendo.

MINI ONE-SHOT: “Solo tú”

—¿Por qué estás conmigo? —preguntas una noche, mientras ves el techo y él acaricia tu espalda con una sola mano.

Katsuki no responde al instante. Respira. Duda. Luego dice, como si fuera obvio:

—Porque me haces querer ser una mejor persona… sin que me lo pidas.

Y después de un segundo añade, más bajo, casi temeroso:

—Porque me calmas, cabrón. Me haces sentir que no estoy roto.

Lo miras. Y él, con los ojos brillosos y la mandíbula apretada, solo te susurra:

—Y si algún día dudas otra vez, solo recuérdate que no hay nadie más con quien haría todo esto… solo tú.

#bnha x reader #bnha #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #anime and manga

340 notes · View notes

celestialgallaghers · 5 months ago

Text

Modern Day Apollo [18+]

hello hello I hope this makes up for my absence. I can't stick to a schedule i guess lol. Anyways, i literally screamed when i saw this request in my inbox and i've been dying to get it out since. i 🤍noel nose.

based on this request

Summary: In which Noel can’t understand why anyone would want to ride his nose. It’s just a nose really (It’s really not.)

Word count: 6.7k

You’d just come home from a day out with some girlfriends. It was late afternoon, and the flat was quiet save for the gentle strumming of a guitar. You followed the sound until you found yourself leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, silently watching Noel as he played and hummed a tune he was working on.

You loved watching him like this. When he was lost in the music, it was like he drifted into some dreamlike trance. Half here, half somewhere else entirely. It was your favorite version of him. The way he could pluck melodies out of thin air and shape them into something tangible never failed to fascinate you. You could watch him all day if he weren’t so adamant about needing solitude to write. The one time you’d lingered too long, he’d grumbled that he wrote nothing but shit songs that day because his mind had been elsewhere. So now you stuck to sneaking quiet glances whenever you could. Until he inevitably caught you.

He also looked so beautiful when he was creating. His brows pulled together in deep concentration. An expression that always seemed tinged with sadness even though you knew he wasn’t upset. This was his happy place. It was just how he looked when everything was pouring out of him and into the chords.

It took him a few minutes before he noticed you standing there.

“Hullo,” he mumbled, eyes still half distracted. “Didn’t think you’d be back till later.”

You shrugged and walked into the room, flopping down beside him on the couch.

“Wanted a little time to breathe before we head back out tonight,” you said.

His face was still scrunched up, his thoughts clearly still lingering elsewhere, but you reached up and gently smoothed the furrow between his brows with your thumb. His eyes fluttered closed, sighing deeply as the tension melted from his features. He often needed help coming back from the headspace he got into when he was writing, and you were more than happy to be the one to pull him out.

You let your hand fall away and reached for his. His writing hand. The one worn down by years of playing. Your head came to rest on his shoulder as you gingerly smoothed out the mottled tips. You were taken with the most mundane parts of him. His fingers. His adams apple. The faint streak of grey in his hair. All of it.

He set his guitar aside, slipping his hand from yours only to wrap his arm around your waist and tug you closer. You curled up against him, tucking your body into the space beside his and looped one arm around his middle in a lazy hug.

For a while, neither of you spoke. You let him decompress. His hand stroked your arm absentmindedly, thumb drawing soft circles on your skin.

“Working on something new?” you asked eventually, lifting your head just enough to look at him.

“Mm,” he hummed, noncommittally. His eyes met yours. “Nothin’ really. Bit of a block, I think.”

“Well,” you said, a sly smile tugging at your lips, “I could help give you some inspiration.”

You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw.

He huffed a quiet laugh, his hand still resting on your side as you cupped his face, your fingers light on his cheek.

“Yeah?” he said, a hint of playfulness returning to his voice. “I’m very open to suggestions.”

Your thumb drifted from his cheek to his nose, slowly tracing the slope of it up and down. He stilled under your touch, eyes quietly watching you.

“You’ve got a weird fascination with my nose, y’know,” he said after a beat.

You paused, your thumb drifting away with a soft laugh. “No I don’t.”

“Yes, you do,” he said, grinning now. “You should’ve seen yourself just now. Staring at me like you’re about two seconds away from pushin’ me down to mount it.”

Your cheeks flared with heat. That was exactly something you’d fantasized about. More than once. How he’d figured it out, you had no clue. Maybe you weren’t as subtle as you thought.

The longer you stayed quiet, the wider his grin grew.

“That’s it, innit?” he said, voice low and smug. “It turns you on.”

Bastard. Your heart pounded like you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to and he was taunting you.

“Maybe,” you mumbled, gaze flicking up to meet his. “Maybe I’ve got a thing for big noses.”

He blinked, something flickering behind his eyes, and then burst into a soft laugh.

“Nah, you’re just takin’ the piss now.”

“M’not,” you said, sitting up a little straighter. “It’s sexy.”

“C’mon, no bird I’ve ever met has found my nose attractive,” he said, the grin softening into something more self deprecating. “They just… tolerate it. One of my flaws.”

“It is not a flaw,” you said, your tone shifting into something more serious. “I think it’s one of the most beautiful things about you.”

His expression faltered, and you watched as a faint pink spread across his cheeks. That subtle flush always caught you off guard. There were still moments, rare ones, when he seemed surprised by your affection. Like he still couldn’t quite believe you meant it.

You reached out, your fingers brushing his cheek, watching him quietly struggle with the compliment. He didn’t look away, but something in his gaze had shifted.

Your hand drifted again, thumb brushing just beneath his eye before trailing back to the bridge of his nose again. He let you. There was something reverent in the way you touched him now. A deep admiration.

“You’re kind of ridiculous,” you whispered, smiling gently. “You’ve got no idea of just how fit you actually are.”

He gave a low chuckle, his eyes flicking away for just a second. “I just don’t get it,” he muttered, trying to shake off the weight of the moment.

You shrugged, still smiling. “You’re a man. Haven’t you ever looked at something and thought, God, I want to fuck that even when it makes no sense?”

He blinked, caught off guard, then let out a surprised bark of laughter. “S’pose I have.”

“Yeah, well, it’s like that,” you said, leaning in a little closer, your voice dipping low. “Except I’m the one looking. And it’s your nose.”

His smile faded slowly as the words settled between you. Something flickered in his eyes. First amusement, then dawning realization. His mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but no words came.

“Oh,” he said finally.

“Yeah,” you said, your smirk growing as your tone dipped into teasing. “So I’m not some weirdo. You’ve just got a nose I wanna sit on.”

You reached out again, your thumb drifting toward it with exaggeration. But before you could touch him, his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist.

Your breath caught.

His grip wasn’t rough, but it was firm. Decisive. The kind of grip that said stay there. That something inside him had tipped.

Your pulse stuttered at the shift. His eyes were locked on yours now, darker. He stared at you like he was seeing something new. Like he was deciding something in real time.

“Noel—” you started, the word barely out before he was on you. Surging forward to kiss you like he couldn’t hold it back another second.

You gasped softly into the kiss, momentarily caught off guard, but your body responded instantly. Your free hand slid behind his neck, fingers threading through his hair as you kissed him back. His grip on your wrist tightened just slightly, as if squeezing it would convey his sudden need.

His tongue brushed yours and the kiss turned messier, more urgent. He guided you back until you were sinking into the couch cushions. His body hovered over yours, weight pressing you down just enough to make your head spin. Your wrist remained pinned, now stretched above you.

He pulled back slightly, forehead resting against yours, both of you panting.

“Fuck,” he rasped. “You can’t just say things like that and expect no reaction.”

“Why not?” you whispered, smiling against his lips. “You clearly love it.”

A low, broken sound escaped him, and then his mouth was on yours again. His teeth caught your bottom lip and when you whimpered, he soothed the sting with his tongue.

You tried to shift your pinned hand, needing to touch him, but he only pressed it further into the cushion, his grip unrelenting. That restraint, the quiet dominance of it, only stoked the fire in your gut.

You hooked your leg around his waist and pulled him flush against you, desperate for friction, for pressure, for him. He groaned into your mouth, grinding down against you in return. The rough drag of his jeans against yours made your whole body spark.

His mouth dropped to your neck, stubble scraping your skin in the most delicious way. He found the spot just beneath your ear and bit down, then soothed the sting with his tongue, sending a violent shiver racing down your spine.

The sounds falling from both of you were raw now. Unfiltered, desperate, and real.

His lips found yours again and his hips rolled into yours with slow, devastating pressure. You were already pulsing with need, aching for him.

And then he pulled back suddenly, like he’d remembered something too late.

“Christ,” he gasped. “We’re gettin’ carried away.”

“What’s wrong with that?” you asked, voice rough. Your legs were still around him and you didn’t want to let go anytime soon.

He let out a strained laugh, dropping his head to the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

“Nothin’ wrong with it,” he said hoarsely. “Just… if we really start, I won’t be able to stop. And we’ve gotta be somewhere in an hour.”

“I can be quick,” you offered.

“I can’t,” he said, and it came out low. Honest.

You groaned, head falling back against the couch, frustration simmering just beneath your skin.

“Fine,” you said, exhaling hard and dropping your legs. “But you owe me.”

His grip on your wrist finally eased, and your hand shot straight to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft mess at the nape of his neck.

“Oh, trust me,” he said, that glint of mischief returning despite the tightness in his voice. “If I had it my way, I’d throw you over my shoulder and toss you onto the bed. But I’m trying to be a responsible adult here and it’s a bit hard.”

“Yeah it is,” you said suggestively, your hips shifting slightly against him.

He froze and groaned low in his throat, his whole body tensing. “Don’t,” he warned, voice strained. “M’ serious.”

A shiver ran up your spine at the rough edge in his voice. You could feel him trying to reel himself back in, every inch of him buzzing with restraint. And something about the way he was holding himself back for you, for this night, for the promise of later, made your breath catch.

“Just… gimme a minute,” he murmured, and let his full weight sink onto you.

His forehead dropped to your shoulder, eyes shut, breath hot against your collarbone. His chest heaved against yours, his heart still racing under the thin fabric of his shirt.

You bit the inside of your cheek, doing your best to stay still and not squirm beneath him. God, the weight of him, solid and warm, was a comfort. You tried to focus on that instead of how the heat was making your already aching body throb harder.

He was right, you supposed. Showing up to a high profile event radiating we just fucked on the couch wasn’t exactly the smartest idea.

Your hand drifted from his hair to his back, fingertips trailing mindless patterns across the fabric of his shirt. You listened to the steadying rhythm of his heart, matching your breath to his.

Neither of you spoke for a long time.

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were clearer, but still tinged with lust. He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, lingering longer than necessary, like it was hard to pull away.

“You’re such a tease,” he whispered against your mouth, voice thick with amusement and longing.

“I didn’t do anything,” you said, raising your brows.

He looked at you, skeptical and still breathless. “You knew exactly what saying that would do to me.”

You smiled innocently. “Just answering your question.”

He groaned, rolling off you with a heavy exhale and a muttered curse. You heard the shower turn on and stayed there for a little longer, basking in the warmth of the moment.

Eventually, you peeled yourself off the couch and wandered into the bedroom, still feeling the phantom weight of him pressed against you. You stood in front of the closet for a moment before settling on a backless dress with a slit up the side. It wasn’t like you were deliberately trying to make him regret his decision, but you sure as hell weren’t going to make it easy either.

When you stepped out, Noel looked up and froze.

His gaze dragged over you slowly, jaw visibly tightening. His eyes dropped to the open curve of your back, lingered, then flicked up to your face. There was something wild and barely contained swimming in his eyes. He looked like he was two seconds away from tearing the dress off and saying fuck it to the rest of the night.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “You tryin’ to kill me?”

You tilted your head, giving him your most innocent look. “This? I just wanted to look nice.”

His nostrils flared. He was trying to stay composed, but you could see the effort it took. After a long pause, he dragged a hand down his face, muttering to himself as he grabbed his jacket.

“You’re pushin’ it,” he said, voice rough.

Flashes of cameras greeted you the moment you arrived. You posed together, his hand resting low on your back, fingers brushing bare skin. Every lazy pass of his thumb felt like a tease, igniting sparks just beneath the surface.

And to make matters worse, he looked good. The black suit hugged him just right, his spicy, woody cologne clinging to the heat of his neck. Top button undone, chest just visible.

It wasn’t fair.

“Stop it,” you muttered under your breath, trying to keep your expression pleasant as your body reacted to his touch.

“You started this the moment you put on that dress,” he replied easily, voice low and infuriatingly smug.

You flashed a smile for another photo, even as warmth pooled between your thighs. Great. Fantastic.

Eventually you made it to your table, surrounded by the usual buzz of conversation and clinking glasses. Noel sat beside you, arm draped casually around the back of your chair, acting like the brushes of his fingers against the nape of your neck were natural. Like he didn’t know what he was doing.

But he knew.

You tried to focus. Really, you did. But the fancy wine didn’t help. Sweet, rich, and far too smooth, it warmed your throat and slid straight to your core. You crossed your legs tightly beneath the table, pressing your thighs together in a weak attempt to soothe the ache growing there.

Noel noticed instantly. Because of course he did.

He gave your shoulder a brief, knowing squeeze, then slid his arm away. You exhaled slowly, grateful for a moment of reprieve.

Or so you thought.

Later in the evening, you turned toward him, pretending to be engaged in the conversation. He was mid story, gesturing animatedly, his voice magnetic as always. Everyone was drawn in. So were you, but not by his words.

He’d shaved before you left. And while you usually liked the stubble, the clean lines tonight only emphasized the sharp cut of his jaw, the strong column of his neck. You watched the way the veins and tendons moved when he spoke, the bob of his Adam’s apple when he laughed. Your brain, unhelpfully, supplied an image of you biting down beneath his collarbone. Marking him somewhere only you’d see.

And then there was his nose. The damn thing that had landed you in this state. That sharp arch, the beautiful angle of it. You were staring again, thinking about how it’d feel to grind against it, wondering if he’d even let you, when he turned.

“Right?” he said, eyes locking onto yours.

You blinked. The conversation had clearly looped back to you. There were several pairs of eyes on you, waiting for a reply.

“Uh—yeah. Definitely,” you said quickly, nodding and smiling a bit too brightly.

Your cheeks, already flushed, burned hotter as you realized you'd been caught. Noel’s eyes lingered on you, his gaze heavy, before he looked away and continued like nothing had happened.

You sat up straighter, trying to pull yourself together. Be normal. Be composed.

But then you felt it. His hand, sliding onto your knee beneath the table.

You froze.

His palm was hot against your bare skin, fingers splayed wide. His thumb started moving in slow, lazy circles, like he had all the time in the world. Your breath hitched slightly as you tried to shift your leg out of reach.

But he didn’t let you.

He simply adjusted with you. Kept his hand firm. Then, with unbearable slowness, he started uncrossing your legs inch by inch.

There was no urgency in it. No breaking of the rhythm in his voice. Never so much as blinking. He remained infuriatingly calm, still laughing, acting like he wasn’t setting your entire body on fire.

By the time your knees were parted completely, his hand had crept higher. Just barely. Hot and heavy at the top of your thigh, fingertips featherlight. He knew how sensitive you were there. He just wanted to remind you of it without ever fully touching you.

You inhaled sharply and tried, weakly, to cross your legs again. But he simply pulled it right back with a gentle squeeze.

It was a warning. Like he was trying to make you regret your decision of wearing this dress with such easy access.

Your whole body tensed, breath gone shallow. You stared down at your plate, trying to hold it together, to not flinch at every brush of his thumb. He hadn’t even looked at you. He just kept talking, kept smiling like he wasn’t unraveling you in front of an audience.

Then, like he could sense you’d just barely caught your breath, his thumb started to move again.

Higher.

Slow, deliberate strokes against the inside of your thigh, each one drifting a little closer to where you were aching the most. Barely there, maddening in their softness. You clenched your jaw, trying to focus on a conversation you weren’t a part of anymore. Not really. Not with the way your body had gone tight and hot, your breath stuck somewhere between your lungs and throat.

And still his thumb kept moving. Up. Then down again. Then back up, just a little farther.

You shifted slightly in your seat, thighs twitching beneath the table. It was instinct. But he took it as an invitation.

His thumb brushed higher again, this time grazing just above where the slit of your dress stopped. Skin that hadn’t been touched yet now felt like it was sparking. He stayed there. Not moving. Just resting there.

You finally glanced over at him. He wasn’t even looking at you, but the smirk curling on the edge of his mouth told you everything you needed to know.

By the time you were finally leaving, the dull throb between your legs had become a steady, insistent ache—slick, swollen, and unbearable. You could barely walk straight in your heels, your thighs brushing just right, or perhaps wrong, with every step. It was almost humiliating how desperate you felt.

The second you stepped through the front door, you kicked your heels off. You made your way to the bedroom in a daze, hands reaching up to remove your earrings on instinct. You paused in front of the mirror, catching your own reflection. Cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, lips parted. You looked like you’d already been fucked

You didn’t hear him come in, but you felt him. His presence was palpable. And then there he was behind you in the mirror, silent and already smirking. His arms wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you firmly against him. He dipped his head to your shoulder, sweeping your hair aside before pressing a slow kiss to the exposed skin of your neck.

“You looked absolutely stunning tonight, love,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. His lips lingered, barely grazing your pulse, sending goosebumps down your arms.

You leaned back against his chest, letting out a long sigh. “You looked even better,” you whispered. “Even if you were being a menace. Couldn’t focus on anything.”

A soft laugh ghosted against your neck. “Just payback for this dress,” he muttered, his fingers tugging at the fabric. “Wanted to throw you down on that table and fuck you right there.”

A bolt of heat hit you low, and your thighs clenched automatically. You felt almost dizzy.

You swallowed hard. “Well… that’d be quite the headline, wouldn’t it?”

He chuckled, dark and low, the sound vibrating through your back and settling deep in your spine. He pressed his hips into you then, just enough to feel him, already straining through his trousers. Your body responded immediately, pressing back to meet him, and the sound he made was wrecked.

Then his voice dropped, spilling directly into your ear.

“Did you really mean what you said earlier?”

You knew exactly what he meant, but you played dumb anyway. “About?”

“Fucking yourself,” he said, hips rolling against you, “with my nose.”

Your whole body tensed, breath catching. He sounded like he’d been torturing himself with the image all night, every word dragging against his throat like it hurt to say out loud.

You felt him throb against you, solid and needy. “Yeah,” you said finally, your voice just a whisper. “Was thinking about it all night.”

His response was immediate, a sharp, low groan that punched from his chest. He spun you around, hands gripping your waist as he lifted you onto the vanity in one swift, urgent motion. His mouth was on yours in the next breath, desperate and unrestrained.

His hands pushed your dress up your hips roughly, spreading your thighs and slotting himself against you. His tongue sliding against yours hotly as he ground against you.

You locked your legs around him, heels digging into the small of his back. The friction hit perfectly, and a moan slipped from your mouth before you could stop it, finally getting some relief after hours of teasing. Your body was so ready, so soaked it almost hurt. You pulled him closer, biting at his bottom lip, and the way he jerked his hips in response made the mirror behind you rattle in its frame.

He pulled back just enough to breathe, forehead resting against yours, panting.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Need you so bad.”

His grip on your hips tightened, and he lifted you, tossing you down onto the bed. You landed with a gasp, chest heaving as you looked up at him.

He just stood there for a moment, devouring you with his eyes. His shirt was rumpled, his hair a mess from your hands. He looked wild.

“Take it off,” he said, nodding to your dress.

You pushed yourself up slowly, eyes locked on his. “Why don’t you take it off for me?”

You stood, turning around. He stepped forward, hands gliding up your back, fingers dancing along your spine. He reached the nape of your neck, gently moved your hair aside again, and slipped the dress off your shoulders. The fabric fell to the floor, pooling at your feet, leaving you topless in just your underwear.

You turned your head slightly over your shoulder. “Your turn.”

You backed up and sat on the edge of the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows. Slowly, you parted your legs, letting him see just how soaked you were through the last bit of fabric on your body.

Noel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, eyes locked between your legs. You smirked, the power shift making your pulse pound. Slowly, you brought one hand up and rolled your nipple between your fingers, your gaze fixed on him.

The broken sound that escaped him was pure filth. He stripped in seconds, fast and clumsy, like he couldn’t get his clothes off fast enough.

And then he was on you.

He crawled over you, mouth capturing yours instantly. You pulled him closer with greedy fingers tangled in his hair, moaning into his mouth and arching into his body. One of his hands slid down between you, into your underwear, and you gasped when his fingers found you.

“Christ,” he groaned into your mouth. “You’re fucking soaked.”

He teased you for a few maddening seconds, just enough to make your hips buck up into his hand, before dragging your underwear down in one rough motion. Then he pressed himself against you, grinding his cock against your core through the thin barrier of his boxers. The heat, the pressure. It was almost too much.

You let your head fall back, overwhelmed. “So good,” you babbled, leg wrapping around his waist to keep him close. “Feels so fucking good.”

He moaned into your neck, his voice barely a whisper. “I know what’s better.” His teeth scraped your skin. Then he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes heavy with need.

“Ride my face.”

You froze.

Every nerve in your body lit up. Your breath caught in your throat, skin suddenly prickling all over.

“I want it so bad,” he whispered, kissing a path down your chest. “Wanna feel your thighs around my face. Want you to use me to get yourself off.”

Your heart thudded against your ribs. You could feel how hard he was, straining against you, but he didn’t care. This wasn’t about him. This was for you.

“Please,” he whispered again, almost begging. “Can’t stop thinking about it. Please, darling…”

You sat up slowly, pushing at his shoulders until you were both upright. Now face to face, you could see it all. The wreckage in his expression, the raw hunger. He looked devastated with want.

You nodded breathlessly.

He didn’t waste a second. He peeled away from you and moved to the head of the bed, yanking pillows into place. He laid back, flushed and panting, eyes wild with anticipation.

You sat back on your heels, just watching him. He was a vision. Beautifully undone. Then your eyes dropped lower. He adjusted himself in his boxers, tugging the waistband down just enough to let his cock spring free, hard and glistening, leaking against his stomach.

Fuck.

You crawled toward him slowly, the air heavy between you. It felt like you were entering new territory, Uncharted and dangerous.

When you hovered above him, your knees on either side of his head, you paused. Just for a moment. Because he looked like a dream laid out, mouth parted and waiting.

“Come on,” he said, voice thick. “I’m dyin’ to taste you.”

Your whole body clenched.

You braced your hands on the wall above the bed, thighs trembling as you slowly lowered yourself toward his face. Noel’s hands shot up immediately, grabbing at the backs of your thighs, fingers digging in.

Then his mouth met you and you cried out.

His tongue slid through your folds, slow and filthy, and he groaned the second he tasted you, the sound vibrating right through your core. His grip tightened, holding you steady as his tongue worked deeper, wetter, more desperate.

He pulled back for just a second, lips slick and red. “Taste so fuckin’ good,” he muttered, almost reverent.

Your thighs shook around his head. “Noel—”

He groaned at the sounds of his name leaving your lips and dove back in. His tongue flattened against your clit then wrapped his lips around it, sucking gently. Your breath hitched. A whimper escaped. You rocked forward instinctively, trying to chase the pressure, the friction.

“I—fuck—Noel, can I—” you gasped, hips twitching.

He nodded frantically, pulling back just enough to rasp out, “Yeah. Do it, love. Use my face. I want it. Want you—fuckin’ need you.”

His pupils were huge, his face flushed and glistening, his mouth open and hungry. He looked ruined.

You hesitated, heart pounding. Then you shifted your hips forward and slowly sank down, pressing yourself onto the bridge of his nose.

The pressure. The way his mouth and nose slotted perfectly against you, your clit grinding against the slope of his face. It sent shockwaves through your body.

You worried for half a second that you might actually suffocate him. But then he groaned and pushed up into you, burying his face deeper.

“S’posed to ride me, love,” he mumbled, voice muffled beneath you. “Come on.”

You lost the last of your breath.

You braced against the wall and gave in completely, hips rolling forward. Slowly at first, testing the rhythm, grinding down over his mouth and nose. And when you hit just the right spot, a moan tore from your throat, deep and raw.

Noel hummed beneath you in satisfaction. Licking and sucking as you rode him, your thighs trembling against his cheeks. The sensation was intense. His nose pressing perfectly against your clit, sending sparks up your spine every time your hips rocked forward.

You braced against the wall and rode him in earnest now, moaning openly. Your thighs trembled around his head, pleasure blooming white hot in your gut.

“Fuck—you feel so good,” you gasped out, eyes squeezed shut. “Knew it—knew you’d feel like this fucking knew it.”

He moaned into you again, that beautiful, broken sound, and you looked down at him, just to see.

It nearly finished you.

His eyes were shut, brows drawn tight in concentration, face soaked with you. Lips swollen, chin dripping, jaw flexing with the effort of holding still while you used him. He looked fucked out. Completely lost in it, in you.

You cried out as the heat built fast, bright and sharp and impossible. Your whole body buzzed with it, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter.

“Fuck—so close—” you whimpered, hips stuttering.

But he knew exactly what you needed.

He tilted his head just right, lips sealing around your clit, sucking hard. Tongue flicking fast, precise, perfect.

That was it.

Your scream punched the air out of your lungs as your orgasm ripped through you, brutal and white hot. Your entire body spasmed, jerking against his mouth, the stars behind your eyelids exploding. You moaned his name over and over, thighs quaking around his head, hips grinding down instinctively, desperate for every last wave.

As you finally stilled, you barely managed to lift yourself off him. You collapsed beside him in a boneless heap, chest heaving, legs shaking uncontrollably.

Your muscles sagged with relief, your limbs tingling in the aftermath, your body still trembling with the echoes of your orgasm. Every nerve ending felt singed, vibrating. Your back ached faintly from how long you'd held yourself up, but even that felt good.

Your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths as you finally opened your eyes.

Noel was watching you.

His face was wrecked. Lips swollen and red, cheeks flushed, eyes half lidded and dazed. And he was absolutely glistening, slick with you, his mouth and chin shining with the evidence of how thoroughly he’d devoured you. The sight of it made a shiver race through your spine.

He blinked slowly, like he was still catching up to what had just happened, his brain fogged by lust and awe.

You gave him a lazy, satisfied smile, the best you could manage in your fucked out haze. Just that tiny expression made his jaw clench.

Then he shifted.

Your gaze followed the motion and there it was. His cock, still rock hard and angry with neglect, the tip still peaking out his boxers. His hand had moved down, fingers grasping around the base but not stroking.

Your stomach twisted with hunger all over again. You were exhausted, legs still trembling, but if you had one more ounce of energy, you’d have already climbed into his lap and fucked the soul out of him.

“Take those off,” you said slowly.

He exhaled shakily before moving. His hands scrambled, fumbling in his urgency. He shoved his boxers down and kicked them off in one frantic motion.

And then fuck.

You nearly moaned just looking at him.

His cock stood thick and flushed, the head dark and glistening, twitching with every beat of his heart. Pre-cum smeared across his length, and the way his fingers curled around the base again, tight and needy, made your breath hitch. He looked like he was about to fall apart.

“Please,” he whispered, voice wrecked, hips twitching forward ever so slightly. “Please, love… I need you—need to be inside you, need you so fucking bad, please—”

You licked your lips, already spiraling again. But then an idea hit you.

“Nuh uh,” you murmured. “Wanna watch you. Wanna see you get yourself off. Want you to come on my face like I just did on yours.”

A strangled moan left him. Like your words physically hit him.

He nodded fast and moved without hesitation, rising to his knees over you. His thighs bracketed your stomach, the heat of him radiating down on you. His cock loomed above you, swollen and heavy, so close you could taste it in the air.

You were getting the front row seat to something sacred.

Noel’s hand wrapped around his length again, a shudder running down his spine as he started to move. He wiped the wetness from his face, your wetness, and used it to slick himself up, groaning at the contact. He started slow. Languid strokes that made his stomach tighten and his jaw slack with pleasure. His head tipped back, eyes squeezing shut, mouth open in a soundless moan.

Your breath caught in your throat, heart already pounding again. He was gorgeous like this. Completely uninhibited, letting himself unravel for you, because of you.

His hand sped up, desperate now. His hips began to thrust subtly into his fist, chasing friction. The only sounds in the room were his ragged breathing, the slick sound of his fist moving over his cock, and the occasional, broken curse.

You knew he was close. He was shaking.

Your mouth parted, gaze locked on his flushed face. “That’s it,” you breathed. “Come on my face, Noel. I need it need to taste you. Want it so bad.”

His eyes snapped open.

That look, undone and wild with lust, was the last thing you saw before he shattered.

He cried out, a high pitched sound pulled from somewhere deep. His cock twitched in his grip and then he came, hot and heavy, thick ropes painting your face, your mouth, your chin.

You moaned, tongue out, catching as much of it as you could.

When he finally slowed, he looked down at the mess he’d made. His breath caught in his throat. Awe flickered across his face.

You stuck your tongue out, showing him what had landed inside your mouth, and then swallowed.

His cock twitched again.

Noel reached out with a shaking hand, dragging two fingers through the come on your cheek, watching you closely as you licked it clean. You sucked his fingers into your mouth without breaking eye contact, moaning softly around them.

He flinched, breath catching in his throat. You just smiled, releasing his fingers with a wet pop.

Then you reached up, grabbed his arm, and dragged him down beside you, needing to feel his skin. He came willingly, boneless and trembling, collapsing into your arms. You curled around him instantly, greedy for the contact, peppering hot, open mouthed kisses across his chest.

You could still taste him on your tongue. Feel the heat of his cum drying on your skin. Your bodies tangled, sticky and pulsing with aftershocks.

“That was so fucking hot,” you whispered into his skin, voice still a little breathless.

He let out a shaky laugh, a soft shiver rippling through him. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer, your skin flush with his. He hummed against your skin, face hiding in your hair.

“Yeah?” he murmured, voice still frayed with the remnants of arousal. “You like watching me hm?”

“Mmm,” you hummed, kissing the center of his chest, right over his racing heart. “I think you like me watching you. It’s the whole performer thing. You’ve gotta be a bit of an exhibitionist, don’t you?”

“Don’t try and pathologize me,” he said, but his tone was amused, fond.

You tipped your head up, brushing your nose lightly against his jaw. “I’m just sayin’. You love the spotlight. You’ve no idea how sexy you are to watch.”

He chuckled, his expression full of warmth. “You just like to stroke my ego, don’t you, love?”

You grinned against his skin. “Don’t pretend you don’t love it too.”

“Yeah, yeah. ’Course I do,” he muttered, brushing his lips against your temple. “Just… feels different when it’s you saying it.”

Your chest fluttered, something warm blooming, shifting the energy. You curled closer, one leg sliding over his, arm draped across his stomach. Your fingers found the soft hair on his chest and started tracing slow, lazy circles, grounding yourself in the rhythm of his heartbeat.

There was a peaceful quiet between you, broken only by the soft sounds of your breaths mingling.

After a beat, he spoke again, voice low and puzzled, like he was still mulling over what had just happened.

“I’m not complainin’,” he started, “but I still don’t really get it. It’s just… a nose.”

You laughed softly against his skin. “You don’t have to get it. Just accept it.”

Then you tilted your head up until your eyes found his. His gaze was heavy lidded and soft, that teasing spark still tucked just behind the warmth.

“In Roman times,” you said, brushing a fingertip down the bridge of his nose, “you weren’t considered beautiful unless you had a big nose. It’s all over their art. That’s what you remind me of. One of those statues.”

“Sappy little git, you are,” he murmured, but his voice was thick with affection. “You should kneel for me. Worship me like the Romans did.”

You wiggled your eyebrows. “Already do.” Then you took his hand in yours and pressed a slow kiss to his knuckles.

He smiled and ran his fingers gently down your spine, then back up again in a soothing motion. Your body still pulsed faintly with residual pleasure, but it had softened now, melted into warmth. The kind of heat you could fall asleep in.

You let out a quiet sigh and closed your eyes. “Gonna fall asleep like this.”

“Yeah?” he murmured. “Lyin’ here with my come still drying on your face?”

You snorted and nudged him weakly in the ribs. “Shut up.”

He laughed, the sound rumbling warm and full from his chest. “I’m just sayin’. It’s romantic, innit?”

Then he rolled away, taking the warmth with him. You made a small sound of protest, watching the curve of his back as he crossed the room. Even like this, hair a mess from your fingers, skin slick with sweat and flushed from you, he looked like something carved from marble. A statue with attitude. And a massive cock.

You bit your lip, admiring the view like it was art.

He grabbed a towel and gave his face a quick wipe, then padded back over, climbing into bed without a word. You half expected another filthy joke, but instead, he reached out, carefully dabbing at your cheek. When he finished, he tossed it aside and pulled you back into him.

You curled back into his chest, pressing your face to the curve of his throat, your leg tangling with his again. He was still a little damp, still radiating heat. He smelled like sex and sweat and him. You breathed it in deep, your whole body sighing in contentment.

“Right,” he murmured, his lips brushing your hair, “so which body part are you obsessing over next?”

#noel gallagher x you #noel gallagher x reader #noel gallagher #request #noel gallagher smut #noel gallagher fic

213 notes · View notes

viridian-dagger · 4 months ago

Text

That You Are - 1

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x OC

Rating: Explicit/Mature - 18+ only! Minors DNI

Warnings: sex worker!oc, age gap!, non-explicit discussions of sexual assault and a physical assault, vague descriptions of sex work and injuries, Langdon is straight up mean to her, other people judge her for her line of work, some insults, Abbot is highkey a simp for her, mention of Abbot being a widower. This fic is in part inspired by Pretty Woman which will become more relevant later. Smut in later chapters to come 💕

✨ this is a companion to Residuals by @eureka-its-zico but can be read on its own. Jenn's character Dr. Fullerton is featured in this ✨

word count: 5.3k

Author's Note: listen. i didn't intend to write this but Jenn got in my head and now here we are. i don't think this will be too many chapters, but it also was never supposed to be more than a one-shot so we see how that turned out. lmk your thoughts and if you want to be on the taglist 🖤

-----

She hates the way she can’t force herself to leave the waiting room. The only doctor she’s ever seen there who didn’t treat her like garbage was part of the night shift, and she’s pretty sure that he's long since gone. All she can do now is hope it’s not him who gets saddled with her. He has a way of making her feel worse than a client ever could.

But her face hurts, and she can’t bring herself to stumble back out onto the street without the pill. She knows too many girls who lost everything relying on birth control alone — she won’t let that be her.

Hopefully the nurses won’t ask too many questions, or the doctor believes her when she says the bruises are a few days old; she knows they look bad. She isn’t immune to the stares she’s been getting for the last few hours; mothers with disdain in their eyes as they shield their children’s gaze, the leering stares from men, the pitying looks from girls who think they know the fear she’s been living through. In a way, she's grateful for them. They think she’s just another party girl who trusted the wrong guy on a night out, and in a way they’re right. But while this would be the worst night of their lives, for her it’s just another day late she’ll be on rent.

So she ignores the looks, ignores the pain radiating from underneath her skin, ignores the way her pleasers dig into her toes and have long since gone numb, ignores the black dots that dance in the edges of her vision, and focuses on her rapidly dying phone battery and the crooning in her headphone that she wishes could tune out the man complaining to anyone who would listen about his treatment thus far, or lack thereof.

“Kat Thomas?” The intake nurse calls out, eyes scanning over the waiting room teeming with people, all suffering in different ways. She tries not to flinch at the pity in the intake nurse’s gaze when they make eye contact; she knows she’s seen this nurse before, and her stomach drops. She knows he is an inevitability now — she knows she’s a fool for hoping to see someone else, anyone else.

She holds her head high as she walks toward the doors and the ER nurse who's waiting for her and away from prying eyes, but the click of her heels on the linoleum draws eyes like flame draws a moth, and she regrets ever sitting in the far corner. By the time she reaches the door, a hush has settled on the waiting room and she can feel the discontent stirring.

“So you’ll take some junkie whore but you won’t see me?” A man calls out, and the rage in his voice makes her toe catch on the waxed linoleum. She can see in perfect detail in her mind the way she’s going to be sent sprawling on the floor when her ankle wavers the same moment the nausea hits. But hands under her elbows stop her descent before it can begin.

The ER nurse who caught her has curly brown hair and a softness in his eyes she doesn’t see on many people; he knows what she is, but he doesn’t care. In fact, there’s something she can almost recognize as rage in his eyes when he looks away from her, eyes locking on someone behind her — undoubtedly the man who just called her a whore for all of Pittsburgh to hear — before they slide back to meet her gaze.

“Do you need a wheelchair?” He asks, voice soft. The words die in her throat as she shakes her head before straightening out and pulling her limbs from his grasp. He withdraws without a fight, the small smile on his mouth unwavering as she steps away, toward another nurse standing at the door who wears another tight smile trying to hide pity, and she retreats into the all too familiar bustle of the emergency department.

She can hear his voice again, hard and stern, when the door closes, but the words are muffled by both the plexiglass and the chaos of it all that’s been kept out of view by the waiting room. She wonders if people would complain so much if they could see just how busy it is back here as she follows the nurse back to a room, and she can’t help but scan the faces of every doctor she can find who’s wearing black scrubs. There are four faces she doesn’t know, five really when she sees a woman in black scrubs disappear into a bathroom. But none of them are the one she's dreading, and for a moment she lets herself hope.

The nurse gives her a pitying smile again when they enter the room and gestures to the gurney and the folded hospital gown that’s waiting for her. It almost makes her embarrassed when she realizes the gown will cover more of her than the dress she’s wearing, but she swallows it and gives the nurse a half-smile-half-grimace.

The nurse turns to leave, and the words come out of her without her permission. “I know it’s a long shot,” she rasps, ignoring the way her throat burns and the way it coincides with the downturn of the nurse's mouth, “but is Dr. Abbot here?”

“I'm sorry, but no. He usually works the night shift, and left a few hours ago,” the nurse says softly. “Someone will be by in a minute to check on you,” she trails off, ducking her head to look at the tablet in her hands as she turns, clearly eager to leave if the speed the privacy curtain closes is any indication.

The moment the nurse is gone, she lets herself deflate. Stripping the dress off her body hurts; emotionally and physically. Her joints pull, her skin is raw, and it feels like every nerve ending is on fire. But the state of her dress just makes her sad; the glittery mesh is torn in multiple places, and the white satin is flecked in blood. The whole thing is going to have to go.

Just looking at it makes her feel sick, but she refuses to think about the man who did this to her. She puts the concept of him out of her head and slips the hospital gown on. It chafes the bruises on her throat but she ignores it in favor of tossing her ruined clothing and the holographic platforms on the chair in the corner and making herself comfortable on the gurney. She wouldn't be surprised if it was hours before someone saw her.

-----

If Jack is honest with himself (which he tries to be most of the time) it wasn't the vet patient dying that fucked him up this morning; it started way before that. It had been calling the time of death at 2:39 am on a Jane Doe who had been attacked and all but bled to death in the ambulance on the way in. Because when the call had come through 14 minutes before he had to call it and Bridget told him about the inbound sex worker found on the street, his throat felt like it was closing. Because he knew it could have been her. Because when they rolled her in on the gurney, black hair spread out like ink on the white sheets, blood spilling from her slashed throat, face bruised and swollen so bad she was nearly unrecognizable, he couldn't breathe.

But then he saw it — more the lack of it — Jane Doe didn’t have a tattoo. She had a tattoo of a mermaid in the dead center of her left forearm, a beautiful thing he always wanted to ask her about but never got the chance. The realization it wasn't her had the vice of fear loosening its grip from his chest.

He worked hard to save the girl (even though she wasn't her) and he probably let the effort go on longer than he should have, but the inevitability of her death couldn't be changed. He tried to let go after; let go of the panic that had invaded his senses, let go of the questions lingering in his mind.

But the unease had stuck to him like a fly trap through the rest of the shift. It might not have been her, but damn well could have been.

Losing the vet had just taken him out at the already shaky knees. And he held it together until he knew Robby was about to show up for his shift. Only then did he retreat to the roof. Only then did he let himself feel it all the way.

He knew he wasn't going to jump, not when he had so many unresolved parts. Because more than anything, Jack craves the completion, to get the full image, the satisfaction of all the pieces coming together; it doesn't matter if the outcome is bad, it just needs to be done. And she is unresolved.

So the first thing he does when he walks out of the hospital is call his therapist. Jack talks as he walks through the park, his therapist listens, and when they're done talking, Jack gets in his truck and drives home; the police scanner stays on low.

He started listening to the scanner years ago, wanting to be prepared for anything. Prepared to come in on his day off. Prepared to go in early if he's needed. But it's only recently that he really listens for something. Any mention of a Jane Doe that fits her description, Jack has to see. Has to know if it's her. And thankfully it hasn't been yet.

But he’s afraid it will be soon. His therapist, Walter, keeps telling him to talk to her the next time she comes into the ER. But he also knows he shouldn't, for any number of reasons.

In fact, he has a list of reasons, detailing exactly why he should not speak to her or seek her out for any reason:

1. She's way too young for him, probably with baggage he hasn't the first idea how to deal with

She's younger than he has any right to even look at, younger than he thinks he could ever be comfortable with. And he knows her line of work isn't something people go into easily or with a lot of other options. The thought of her forced into that life unravels something in him that he thought he left in the desert overseas.

2. He's a grown man, with a lot of baggage he still isn't quite sure he knows how to deal with

Jack knows the life he’s lived hasn't been easy; tours and medic training and losing a foot and losing his bride days after she walked down the aisle to marry him. All probably before she was even old enough to drive. Maybe even before she hit puberty.

3. She's a patient (sometimes) and he's her doctor (sometimes)

These go hand in hand, because there are lines he told himself he wouldn't cross, lines he knows he shouldn't cross. And the biggest one was taking advantage of someone who he was duty bound to. Worst of all, it's a position he's seen lesser men take advantage of many times, and Jack has always enjoyed making those men regret it.

4. She could ruin him

Despite all the things that he knows about himself to be true — he's standoffish, borderline suicidal, a workaholic, not quite cold but definitely not warm — the one thing he can't deny is that he’s never been able to do something in half measures. Jack can't do casual, not anymore; he tried after his wife died. He told himself that he couldn't commit to someone again, but the emptiness the one-night stands left haunted him. And he swore off flings after the last one left him bitter and hollow.

5. He would happily let her ruin him if she wanted to

He feels like Odysseus tied to the mast of his ship when it comes to her. And he convinces himself that he’s resisted her pull until the next time she ends up waiting in a patient bay for him. He desperately wants to know her, wants to be pulled into her orbit, wants any part of her she'll give him. And he knows himself; he is already too attached to her. Because he doesn't even know her name (she always comes in with a different one) but it doesn't matter to him.

And he knows he should tell someone, Ellis maybe, or Robby. But he also knows he won't, because he needs to see her. He needs to know she's alright. Because he knows it's a dangerous world out there, especially for a girl in her line of work. Because he’s already lost himself to her. Because the day he goes to ID a Jane Doe and it's her, he's going to shatter.

So he drives home listening to the police scanner and recites his list while he packs away the anxiety and the emotions from the shift and starts ticking off the items on his day off list: he sleeps, he goes grocery shopping, he picks up his package from the post office, he picks up a new book from the library. And he hopes he doesn’t hear about her through the police scanner.

-----

The sound of the curtain being pulling back is what startles her out of her half aware doze; it isn't like anyone can get much sleep in the ER. But the loss of time still confuses her; he must have hit her harder than she remembered. Actually, now that she thinks about it, she can't really remember what happened other than the pain and the fear. But the memories around it — how he got her alone and how she got away from him — are what's missing. The more she thinks about it, the less she can remember even getting to this side of town. PTMC should have been an hour walk at least, and she can't remember making that walk at all.

But she puts that aside as she braces herself for him; the condescending remarks, the accusations, and the threats of getting her arrested for prostitution. She’s taken every insult, every intimidation, every reproach and doesn't say a word. He'll never know what it means to live the life she does and how vastly different it will always be from his world; if not for the fact that he is a man, but also for the choices and opportunities that have been handed to him at every turn.

She tries not to let his words stick too much, but sometimes she can't help but hear his voice in her head, sneering and snide as he walks out the door, gloves snapping, “I can't wait for the day you show up in the morgue instead of my ER.”

It was what she heard rattling in her head when she was losing consciousness under violent hands a few hours ago.

But the relief swamps her all at once when two female doctors walk in, neither of whom she'd ever seen before. One looked younger than her, by five years at least; her eyes widened and she fought to stifle the gasp that tore through her throat when she walked in. The other was the one who disappeared into the bathroom when the nurse walked her through the ER; she was confident, but not cocky, and despite the kind smile on her face, her eyes betrayed her pity.

She didn't want their pity, she was sick of it. For a second, her rage burns bright and hot, but it gets smothered instantly by shame. What right did she have to be angry at them? They could pity her all they liked, maybe she deserves it. She’s broken enough for it today.

“Good morning, Kat. I'm Dr. Fullerton,” the doctor with the kind smile says. “I have a student doctor here with me. Is it okay if she comes in with us?”

She gets tired of watching the shock compound on the student doctor’s face and she turns away from their stares before agreeing half heartedly.

Moving her head was evidently the wrong move as the ringing in her ears comes back just then, and she can barely hear Dr. Fullerton’s question, but she’s been through this enough times to know what the question was.

“I need Plan B,” she mumbles back. She doesn't really care anymore if that's not the answer to the question she asked, only that the sharp ringing starts to subside. Only now the bright, fluorescent lights are making her feel like her head is being bounced off the pavement again.

She hears the muffled sound of satisfaction and agreement, before the wave of pain passes, and Dr. Fullerton’s voice now comes back, “—did you get your injuries?”

That's the question that always makes her cringe; they're never interested in how it actually happened. And even when they are, all it means is that cops are soon to follow. They don't need to know that some guy who was supposed to pay her decided he wanted to get his pleasure for free, and didn't like it when she said no.

She flicks her gaze up to meet Dr. Fullerton’s eyes, pity now stowed away. She doesn't bother looking at the student doctor — she knows exactly what she'll find there. The shrug she gives gets no response, and she finds she can't look this doctor in the eyes and lie. So she looks away, down to her beaten up hands and says, “Took a nasty fall down some stairs.”

“That's one hell of a staircase,” the student doctor fires back, and if it were any other time she would have laughed out loud.

But her ribs scream even as she huffs out the mirthless chuckle, “You're not wrong.”

Dr. Fullerton looks distraught for a second before schooling her expression into something neutral. "Do you mind if I examine some of them? I'm worried about your right eye, especially. It's swelling up pretty good."

The thought of missing a shift sends her reeling. She needs the money, badly. Ivan took her rent money saying she never paid him out for last weekend. If she doesn't have the money by the end of the week, she'll lose her apartment, and being on the street is the one thing she really doesn't need right now.

"Is that going to take a long time? I-I kind of need to get back to work…” she hopes they understand, hopes they see the urgency in her eyes.

Dr. Fullerton looks nauseous as she stares into the middle distance just above her head. It makes her nervous more than it makes her comforted by someone's care; if Dr. Fullerton wants to keep her there, to try and save her from this, she's dooming her to a life worse than what she has now.

It takes a moment for the doctor to find her words before speaking. "It depends if the exam findings indicate anything that appears worrisome. Your wellbeing is important and I'm going to treat it as such."

The simple way Dr. Fullerton says it shocks her all the way to her bones. It's maybe the nicest thing she's heard from a doctor in a while — definitely the nicest from anyone on day shift regardless of the hospital.

But as she watches the doctor’s slow, methodical movements and feels all at once like the feral cat she feeds sometimes outside her apartment. Skittish, wary, ready to strike out and escape. She supposes the image does fit as the doctor's hands move toward her face and she cringes away, expecting the pain.

"I'm going to apply a little pressure," Dr. Fullerton says, pushing her thumbs against her cheekbone first before moving them up towards her nose.

The gasp that escapes her is involuntary but cuts through the silence of the room like a knife, followed by a hiss of pain that makes Dr. Fullerton pull away.

Dr. Fullerton looks actually aggrieved as she sits back in her chair, small frown set on her lips. "I'm going to order a CT to rule out any facial fractures. Have you felt dizzy at all? Any bouts of nausea or vomiting since you...fell?"

She almost laughs; of course she has. The room hasn't stopped spinning since the first slap. Every blow that followed only made it worse. It reminded her of learning ballet as a little girl and getting dizzy when she lost her spot in a turn. But she also knows that telling them means more time in the ER, and she doesn't know if she can afford that. Especially not when she doesn't really know what time it is anymore.

"No,” she says dismissively, but as soon as the lie passes her lips her head throbs and her conviction wavers for a second, “I mean… I get a little dizzy but it's okay. Is the CT going to take a long time?"

Dr. Fullerton looks actually distraught by the idea of her not getting a CT scan and she decides she can try to wait it out as long as possible. But over her shoulder, she sees the one person she's been desperate to avoid since walking into PTMC.

"I'm super curious what your name is today? Val? Eva?" Dr. Langdon’s words land like a slap and she recoils as if he had as well. He leans against the doorframe, arms over his chest with a smug smile and she can feel the threat in his stance. He wants her to know he's caught her and he’s going to make her suffer for it.

"What are you doing?" Dr. Fullerton snaps, voice full of what she can only identify as rage and indignation.

But he isn't phased, he just juts his chin towards her and smiles passively at Dr. Fullerton like he’s about to open her eyes to some unseen truth. And she hates how nervous it makes her. "She's a frequent flyer and has been flagged at multiple other hospitals for drug seeking."

But Dr. Fullerton’s mouth purses in disgust as she glares at Dr. Langdon over her shoulder. "Can I speak with you for a minute?" The doctor’s voice is clipped and angry, and it sends a sick satisfaction curling in her gut. Especially when she sees how it makes him sweat and watches the confidence die in his eyes.

“I'll be right back, Kat, alright?" Dr. Fullerton says, and everyone in the room jumps when she snaps the gloves off her hands; the sound still makes her flinch as Dr. Langdon’s words echo in her head.

"Okay,” she chokes out, ignoring the metallic shing of the curtain and the hiss of the door closing.

The student doctor shifts back and forth from her toes to her heels, looking at anything but her. The girl is pretty in an innocent sort of way, and she knows with near certainty that this doctor has never met someone like her before.

“So, is this your first day?” She asks, trying to break the tension.

“Oh! Uh, yes. It is. I don't think Dr. Fullerton said it but I'm Dr. Javadi,” she says back with a smile, holding her hand out for a shake. She can't help the wry smile that sneaks on her face as Dr. Javadi starts to second guess her attempted pleasantries.

She reaches out to shake the hand offered politely; her grandparents would have rolled in their graves if she snubbed the poor girl's handshake. “If it's not too rude, how old are you?”

Dr. Javadi’s eyes widen in alarm before she cringes and admits, “I’m actually 20.” The look on her face must have betrayed her surprise because Dr. Javadi is quick to follow with, “I swear I finished med school, I am a real doctor. I just-I had a lot of—”

“That’s awesome,” she manages to breathe out, which stops Dr. Javadi in her tracks.

“Wait, really? You think it's cool that I'm a huge nerd who finished med school like 4 years before everyone else?” The doctor chokes out and she smiles.

“Yeah, it's really fucking cool,” she laughs, “I’m older than you and I don't even have my—”

The door hissing open draws her attention away from Dr. Javadi and onto Dr. Fullerton, who's bustling in the room so quickly she almost stumbles into another doctor's back. For a second, she's happy it's not Dr. Langdon.

But that's immediately overshadowed by fear. She's seen this doctor before, not as a patient but around. Dr. Langdon pointed him out to her once, the warning in his tone was clear but the words were lost in the haze of pain from her fractured collarbone.

His eyes go wide as he scans her, and just for a second she sees shock and horror. But he shutters it quickly and steps aside to let Dr. Fullerton back into the room.

She can't deny how scared she is; he’stall and broad, hair salt and peppering at the temples. But his presence looms and steals the words from her mouth in response to Dr. Javadi.

She's instantly back to feeling like a cornered animal, and she knows she probably looks like it to the doctors in the room as well when all three of the doctors softened their postures.

Dr. Fullerton gives her a soft smile, "Kat, this our senior physician, Dr. Robby. I asked for his help during our assessment."

Her eyes cut back to Dr. Robby warily, "Hi," she deadpanned cautiously. She couldn't tell if they were preparing to kick her out or follow through with Dr. Langdon's threat to send her to jail.

Dr. Robby gives her a small smile, tight but lacking pity. "It's just like Dr. Fullerton said; I'm just here to check on you. I also want to apologize on behalf of my resident earlier if anything he said upset you. That's not how we operate here."

It would have been funny if she wasn't so afraid he was lying; Dr. Langdon had been threatening her for months, ever since the first time she'd come in. She waits for the catch, for the caveat, for the hint of a lie. But he simply stares at her, waiting for permission. She nods, but hesitation lingers in her mind.

He approaches her like the scared animal she feels like, hands outstretched toward her. "Can you tell me how this happened?" He asks, gently taking her face in his hands presses on her cheekbones, just as Dr. Fullerton had.

The pressure makes her vision swim and her eyes water and she forces out the words, "I took a nasty fall down some stairs." It barely tastes like a lie when her face feels like it's on fire, pressure moving closer to her nose and forcing a tear to track down her face.

She winces, and surprisingly he stops, but his hands stay hovering slightly over her skin. "Does it hurt when I apply pressure?"

"Yes," she spits out, willing him to stop with her mind.

"On a scale of 1 through 10," he asks, and she fights the urge to snarl at him.

"It hurts but I'll live,” she grits through her teeth, staring him in the eyes.

She barely notices his hands fully leaving her face, fighting against the tears gathering in her lashes, when he takes her arm in his hand, lifting and prodding.

The medical jargon starts flowing between the doctors in the room and she feels like a doll on a shelf; it's a familiar feeling for her. She lays back on the gurney when he directs her to, and lets him press on her stomach.

She finally zones back into the conversation when Dr. Robby starts "—a CT also for chest and abdomen along with an x-ray."

"Why?" Dr. Fullerton and Dr. Javadi ask at the same time.

Dr. Robby gives her a sympathetic smile and moves his hands and presses on a spot that makes her groan in pain.

"That hurts, ya know," she gasps.

Dr. Robby gives her a wry smile, "I know. You're sure you fell down a flight of stairs?"

Defiance rises in her chest and tastes like ash in her mouth as she snaps, "You calling me a liar?"

She stares him down, all the judgement and vitriol and pity filling her like acid. He wants to paint her as a victim, but she's a fucking person and she doesn't have time for this.

"Not calling you a liar," Dr. Fullerton cuts in, voice soft and pleading. "Your injuries unfortunately don't seem to be from falling and landing on concrete."

She almost feels bad for snapping at Dr. Fullerton but Dr. Robby's tone and condescending doubt override her sense, "I fell."

His humourless chuckle makes her want to scream and the disapproving smile that plays on his face fills her with rage. "It's okay if that's how you want to play this," Robby says gently, but the disbelief in his tone bristles. When she doesn't back down, he crosses his arms in front of his chest defensively, shoulders curling inward as he shrugs. "We won't force you to share more than you're ready to, but we just want to make sure you're safe."

Safe, a hilarious concept for her. Especially after she's received more threats from PTMC doctors than any other hospital in the city. "I'm good. Great even" She deadpans, not backing down from his stare.

He sighs and nods, "Okay. Well, you're in good hands with Dr. Fullerton. She's one of our best."

Dr. Fullerton nearly runs out of the room after him when he leaves without a look back in her direction but she stops and looks back, eyes focused on Dr. Javadi who's been doing her best impression of a decorative plant for the last 5 minutes.

"Can you put in the orders for the CT, x-ray Robby suggested, and a urine analysis? Give her tylenol with codeine for pain. If her UA comes back negative for pregnancy, go ahead and put in for Plan B," Dr. Fullerton instructs and barely sees Dr. Javadi's nod before tossing a hasty, “I’ll be right back,” over her shoulder as she passes through the door, following after Dr. Robby.

She and Dr. Javadi sit in silence, letting the moment pass, but she can't help but mumble, "I bet they used to date."

The startled laugh claws out of Dr. Javadi’s throat, but the panicked, half coherent protest just solidifies her opinion. While the young doctor has clearly never considered the idea before, she can always tell. Maybe it's just the line of work she's in that gives her the hint, but the signs that those two were lovers are hard to miss.

“Well, anyway, I'm gonna get you a cup for the UA—I mean the urine analysis—and then get you lined up for CT and x-ray. I'll be back in a minute,” Dr. Javadi smiles nervously.

“Wait,” she calls out, and Dr. Javadi stops in her tracks, eyes wide. "What time is it?”

“Oh, god, yeah, uh it's…” she trails off, pulling up her sleeve to look at her watch, her expensive watch, “Almost 11am.”

She gives the doctor a smile and turns away, giving the out she knows is needed. She decides to wait for the scans, hopefully they don't make her wait too long to take the pill. But as long as she can get out by 4, she can make it.

-----

taglist is open!

#jack abbot x oc #jack abbot fanfic #dr jack abbot #dr abbot x oc #dr abbott #jack abbott #the pitt hbo #the pitt fanfiction

177 notes · View notes

fyrewalkwithmee · 1 year ago

Text

Temptations Pt.2

Early Seasons Spencer x Roommate Reader// NSFW MDNI

I just wanted to thank everyone for all the love on part 1 of this story which was also my first ever Spencer post. It truly means a lot and your comments, reblogs and likes are so encouraging and make me want to write more 🥺❤️

Warnings: SMUT!MDNI!!, Sub!Spencer, Inexperienced!Spencer, Dom!reader, dry humping, palming. Whiny Spence makes me go BARK BARK. Mommy!kink, Light choking, Male and female orgasm.

3.4k WORDS (sorry i got a bit carried away)

Please like, comment, reblog if you enjoy! Im also keen to write more for Spencer so if you have any requests my asks are open :)

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

It had been a couple of weeks since the incident with Spencer. You knew that you should have been riddled with guilt and shame after spying on him while he was vulnerable… and joining in, but you didn't. After all, he clearly wanted you and you definitely wanted him so what was there to feel bad about?

That night had exposed Spencer to you in a whole new light and it was getting increasingly hard to be around him. You found your eyes lingering longer on him, your mind concocting sinful visions of his long fingers, pullable hair, creamy skin that was just begging to be marked. In the dead of night, your hands would travel down between your thighs, a puddle of arousal waiting for you as you replayed the sounds of his needy whines and tried your best to imagine the parts of him that have yet to be seen by you. You had spent the last two weeks trying to come up with a plan to get inside his head… and his pants. But you were struggling. Spencer was sensitive and inexperienced and you didn't want to scare him away or embarrass him by being too forward or revealing that you had discovered his dirty little secret.

Luckily for you, there seemed to be some mystic force watching and putting into place the ideal situation for the both of you to finally get what you want.

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

“Alright spill, what is up with you tonight?” you asked with a hint of annoyance in your voice as you continued to clean up after dinner. Spencer had been off ever since he came home from the office, being especially quiet and sulky. You could tell something wasn't right when he got like this, you could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he sat through dinner eyebrows furrowed, his mind trying to put puzzle pieces together to resolve whatever was bothering him. Normally it was the case he was working on or some complex scientific concept he had been researching, but tonight felt different. There was an air of hesitancy and frustration that loomed over him like a storm cloud about to burst.

Spencer quickly met your gaze, his brown eyes widening as if he was shocked you had noticed his behaviour, like he hadn't just sat through dinner barely speaking two words.

“N-Nothings wrong. It's just uhh the case we're working on right now.”

Spencer stuttered as he spoke, peering into his lap to fidget with his fingers. God those fingers, what you would do to feel them on your body or slipping in and out of your… Fuck no focus focus focus.

You finished drying the last plate and placed it back into the draw before you leaned both hands against the counter. Your position had you towering over Spencer who was seated on the other side,

“You are so cute when you lie.”

You spoke playfully but couldn't conceal the underlying flirtation in your tone that was dying to come out and play. What you were able to hide was the bitter pang that shot straight through your heart. Not because he was lying to you, but because whatever he was going through he didn't think that he could talk to you about it.

Despite his enormous intelligence, Spencer was sensitive and he let things get to him. You knew how his team could be, picking on him because he was the youngest and less experienced in most areas of life. Despite your raging sexual attraction to the boy you also cared deeply for him and knew that if he didn't talk to you about it he would keep it bottled up.

Spencer looked to you again, he swallowed at the way you loomed over him his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat. His cheeks had taken on a slight rosiness at your comment and you relished in the effect you had on his body, knowing exactly where his mind was probably heading.

He instinctively leaned in closer as he rushed to defend himself,

“W-what! I'm n-not lying.”

You met his challenge by coming even nearer, now face to face with the boy wonder. You couldn't help but admire his beauty being this close, the way his glasses framed his big brown eyes, the sharpness of his reddening cheekbones and the way his pink lips were slightly parted almost welcoming you in.

“You think I can't tell when you're lying Spence? We've lived together for almost a year.”

The nickname made Spencer’s breath catch in his throat, he shifted nervously in his seat suddenly very aware of your close proximity. He tore his eyes from yours fidgeting anxiously, trying to ignore the familiar feeling of arousal bubbling in his stomach.

Spencer prayed that you were oblivious to the fact that being around you often excited him in more ways than one. He also prayed that you would drop the subject as he was sure discussing it with you could only result in his own humiliation. Spencer stood from his position and walked over to the couch partly to hide away from your questions but also to hide the way his pants had begun to tighten in a not-so-subtle way.

“Fine, I lied! I just don't think you can help me out with this one. It's personal and kind of… embarrassing.” He let out a defeated sigh and buried his face in his hands. His attempts to detur you only heightened your curiosity and if his problem had to do with what you thought it did there was no way you were backing down now.

You sat down next to him on the couch and gently pulled away his hands so you could see his face.

“Spencer, you've literally seen me at my worst. How many times have you held my hair while I emptied my guts into the toilet after a night out? Or have to comfort me when I'm a mess after coming home from a bad date?” Or have me weak in the knees while I fuck myself to the sounds of you getting yourself off, “Nothing you say could be any more embarrassing than anything I've done.”

You place a reassuring hand on his thigh, feeling him tense up under your touch, you meet his eyes and spoke smoothly, “Let me help you”.

If Spencer wasn't hard before he certainly was now, having you so close with your hands on his body made his brain go fuzzy and a burning heat had begun to engulf the air around him. As much as he didn't want to tell you what happened, he wanted your attention more, he wanted you to continue dotting over him and talking to him in that gentle affectionate tone. Maybe it was his nerves or the uncomfortable pressure of his cock straining against his briefs but before he knew it he was a blubbering mess trying to explain to you what had occurred earlier that day.

“I-its not really a big deal. It was just at work we got to talking about relationships and sex and everyone had stories to share but when it got to me I didn't know what to say and M-morgan made a joke about how I wouldn't even know how to get a date with a woman let alone please one and I know it was only a joke but I just-”

You gripped the frantic boy’s arms tightly and stroked them soothingly trying to get him to slow down, “Woah woah slow down sweetheart. None of that is true, you shouldn't lis-”

Spencer interrupted you, big puppy dog eyes staring into yours, “The thing is it is true. Not the getting a date aspect, I think I could manage that but when it comes to sex I… I’m not really the most experienced with that type of thing and I’m worried that when I am put in that position I won’t know what to do.”

Spencer's cheeks burned with embarrassment at his admission and he struggled now to meet your eyes. You felt terrible for him and the way his work colleagues teased him but you also couldn't help but think how fucking perfect this all was. This was your chance to finally get a taste of the man who had been destroying your body and mind for far too long.

You sat up straight making yourself tall and turned yourself to face him, “I see” You replied and pretended to be deep in thought before lowering one hand to draw faint patterns on his knee. Spencer's jaw clenched at the gesture, his eyes glued to the spot where your feathered touch roamed.

“Maybe you just need some practice.” You spoke in a sultry tone as your fingers pushed deeper, nails scraping lightly at the skin beneath his pants.

Spencer let out an almost non-existent groan at the pressure, he was absolutely dumbfounded by the situation and shift in your behaviour. There was no way this was happening, no way you were offering what he thought you were. It had to be some kind of sick joke. The boy's voice had risen at least two octaves as he breathlessly replied,

“P-practice? I umm I’m not sure I understand.”

You moved your hand from his knee and gripped his thigh firmly, moving it back and forth, sensually stroking. With your eyes on his lower half, you could clearly see the large tent that had formed under his pants. Your pussy clenched around nothing at the sight, your arousal intensifying rapidly and leaking into your panties. You were so in you thought to yourself a satisfied smirk forming on your lips.

You leaned in and whispered into his ear, “I think you do genius.” your hand slowly crept higher and higher towards his cock, ghosting delicately over his hardness, “I think your body definitely does.”

Spencer let out a delicious whimper, sheepishly bucking his hips up to meet your hand. You chuckled at his eagerness and continued your torture, adding some pressure so you were lightly palming him, “I’m more than happy to help you out Spence, if thats what you want. You need to tell me if you want me to stop.”

Spencer was a mess, replying to your command with a blissful whine. He continued his attempts to push up into your hand needing more friction to relieve the unbearable ache between his thighs. To his dismay, you removed your hand completely from his crotch, instead wrapping it gently around the slender column of his neck.

The way he looked at you in that moment was enough to make you cum on the spot. His innocent big eyes were slightly watery from your teasing, his cheeks a new level of flushed and strands of his dishevelled hair hung loosely over his eyes. He looked at you with so much want, you knew he was putty in your hands. You shifted yourself so you sat in his lap, staring down at the heavenly sight below you,

“I'm gonna need to hear your words, baby. Do you want me to stop or keep going?”

The pressure of your body on his made Spencer squirm beneath you and you could practically feel the way his thickness throbbed against your core. Spencer looked at you with despair in his eyes as he involuntarily bucked up into you and begged,

“P-please don't stop!”

That was all you needed to hear to let the fun begin. You began to grind down with a slow but sturdy rhythm, earning an array of breathy groans from the boy under you. You leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth and whispered an encouraging “Good boy” into his ear.

Spencer gasped at the nickname, his movements becoming faster and more frantic. Your warm body on his, the dominance of your tone, the realisation that you wanted him. It was all to much. He was grinding into you like a horny teenager, a mixture of moans and broken words falling from his open mouth,

“Fuckk. Ahhh, please, please” his whines were like honey as they melted into the air around you and you couldn't help but let out your own at the way he writhed underneath you. You planted two hands on his chest giving you more leverage to rub back and forth over his clothed hardness as you slowed your pace, the new sensation sent you both into orbit, Spencer shutting his eyes tight with his mouth agape letting out shallow laboured breaths. His big hands went straight to your hips, fingers digging into the supple flesh there as he pushed you into him even harder. You threw your head back taking in the way his large bulge repeatedly bumped perfectly against your sensitive clit.

“Feels so good baby, tell me what you want pretty boy.” you managed to ask through moans.

Spencer's eyes remained shut, completely wrapped up in the pleasure of the moment as he begged, “N-need to feel you. F-feel more of you. Need to kiss you please let me kiss you”

The pathetic tone of his voice as he asked for your permission to kiss was borderline ridiculous, but he had been so good and you'd be lying if you said you weren't dying to feel his wet mouth on yours. You halted your movements climbing off his lap, earning a disappointed whine from the boy. Spencer opened his eyes and peered at you, waiting for your next move. You couldn't believe what a mess he was for you, the FBI’s golden boy absolutely pussy drunk and waiting for your instructions. It was laughable. And the hottest thing you had ever seen.

Spencer's anxious mind started reeling at the loss of contact and he began to fumble an apology thinking he had done something wrong, “I'm sorry, we d-dont have to. I just wanted to-”

You cut him off speaking in an authoritative voice, “clothes off and lie down.”

Spencer looked at you hesitantly for about half a second then hurried to undo his belt and buttons, almost falling over himself in the process. While he worked you did the same, removing everything but your bra and panties which had become practically see-through from the wetness that had soaked through. By the time you were finished, Spencer was already lying nervously on the couch, his hands covering his exposed cock from your view. He spoke awkwardly,

“Umm, I don't have any uhh… protection.”

You let out a condescending laugh as you stalked over to him, kneeling beside his head. You ran a hand through his soft hair,

“Don't worry sweetness, I’m not gonna fuck you tonight. We have plenty of time for that.”

As much as you wanted to fuck his brains out, you were going to take things slow with Spencer and show him all the different ways two people could pleasure each other. He looked at you confused and began to ask what you meant but you cut him off by slamming your lips onto his, earning a surprised yelp from Spencer as your tongue slid into his mouth.

Spencer's kiss was sloppy and filled with need as he gripped your head between his hands and explored your mouth with his tongue. He tasted like peppermint and cinnamon and you found yourself lost in his kisses, falling deeper and deeper into an intoxicated bliss. You could stay with him like this forever, but you knew that there was a more pressing matter that needed to be taken care of. You moved from his lips to his neck sucking and biting every tender spot you could find that made him groan beneath you. You trailed your way down his chest to his abdomen, which was surprisingly toned despite his thinness. You stopped when you reached the place he needed you most, taking in the sight before you.

Spencer's cock was better than you could ever have imagined. He was bigger than you expected and extremely hard, his length pressing straight up against his abdomen. Your mouth watered at the way precum dripped from the top of his aggravated tip and slid down over the veiny thickness of his length. The view put you in a trance and you couldn't help but reach out and wrap your hand around him, stroking him softly and moving your thumb around his swollen tip. Spencer's hips lifted up off the couch as he moaned into your touch, you thought he might cum there and then so you halted your movements squeezing him at the base. Spencer whined desperately, his red tip had begun to turn purple from all the stimulation. Fuck he was so sensitive, so desperate to come that he began moving his hips, fucking himself into your hand as you watched on in awe.

But you didn't want him to cum like this so you removed your hand which didn't stop him from continuing to fuck up into nothing, getting closer and closer to finishing while you straddled him. He stopped moving when he felt your weight on him, he looked wrecked as he looked at you, his eyes glazed over in a dreamy, eager haze. You kept his gaze as you lowered your clothed core down onto the flatness of his length, his slickness only adding to the already-soaked fabric of your panties. You were throbbing at the contact and the friction of his cock sliding through your folds with only the rough cotton of your panties keeping you apart.

“Were you about to cum baby?” You began to move back and forth on top of him, matching his quick movements.

“Yes.. I’m S-so close” he panted suddenly jutting his hips against your slickness.

“Well that's too bad, you only get to c-cum when I say so okay? You spoke through moans as Spencer’s pace increased, a familiar tingly warmth beginning to radiate through your core.

Spencer didn't answer back, too caught up in the feeling of your wetness between his cock which had become drenched in your juices. You leaned down and gripped his throat, a lot rougher than you had the first time, “I asked you a question.” you ordered and Spencer was quick to reply, hips still moving at a frantic pace,

“Yes! Yes Mom-” he whined but stopped himself stuttering to finish, “Only when you say”

He had no time to feel embarrassed at the name he almost called you as he felt his cock twitch signalling that he was close to release. Little did he know that you were already aware of what he wanted and you were more than happy to give it to him.

Spencer's pace began to falter and his nails dug deep into your hips his own bucked wildly underneath you. He sat up a little allowing gravity to pull you down even harder onto him, each time he moved his cock pounded right against your clit creating a rhythm that sent you spiralling closer and closer towards release. All the air was sucked out of the room replaced by a sinful heat as the both of you used each other to get yourselves off.

Spencer whimpered incoherently, mouth hanging open, eyes screwed shut as he begged you to let him finish,

“Plea- fuck - please let me cum, please let me cumahh”

Tears were forming in his eyes as you looked down at his desperate state, wrapping your arms around his neck you pushed your chest into his so you were as close as possible and whispered to him,

“You wanna cum?”

“Yes!” he cried “pleasee”

“Okay cum for me then. Cum for Mommy”

Spencer let out a choked cry as he jutted into you with an animalistic force, holding you tight against him as he cried out,

“Fuck Mommy, gonn- gonna cum. Thank you mommy, Thank you, Thankyo-” His own release interrupted him as he whined loudly into your shoulder hips rocking as thick ropes of cum spurted from his cock onto his abdomen. The sight of his pleasure sent you over the edge too, your orgasm crashing down on you as you rode it out overstimulating Spencer's already leaking cock.

The two of you panted heavily trying to catch your breath, you leaned down and planted a sweet kiss on Spencer’s lips which he gladly accepted. He chuckled underneath you and looked at you with bewilderment,

“I can't believe we just did that.”

You giggled lightly back, running a hair through his messy hair and replied,

“I can't wait to do it again.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid

654 notes · View notes