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th3-3d3n-g4rd3n · 5 months ago

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Could you plz write a sub!glenn rhee x fem reader fic?

Were glenn is like dry humping the readers leg and cums and he feels like really embarrassed but he can’t stop because it feels so good, and the reader is teasing him and low-key making fun of him but not like actually if that makes sense

i’ve had a flow of inspiration babe and i hope you enjoy because i did

☆彡༄

s1! glenn rhee x grimes daughter! reader

(i think this is technically gn reader i don’t think readers genitals are described)

(i know i said i don’t write age gaps… just pretend lori had her when she was like 16 guys idk 😔 - both characters are 18+)

also it’s not specified but the events of this take place in an RV, not just out in the open… thought i’d clarify

cw: (kinda) enemies to lovers, hinted that the reader is taller than him or same height (he’s 5’9 and so am i… i did that purely for me however, it can be ignored so my short queens can still read), dry humping (obvi), cumming in pants, there’s no definite consent but it’s obviously consensual (if that makes sense), shane slander (deserved), reader is like low-key mean… reference to masturbation, he cums twice (so like overstimulation?), they don’t get caught as such but people know what they did after

1826 words

☆彡༄

It was a chilly Friday evening, most people were gathered around the campfire but, you weren’t. You were told by Shane to make dinner for yourself, him, Lori and Carl and this pissed you off relentlessly. Who the fuck did he think he was? Him banging your mum didn’t make him your dad so, why on earth did he think it did? So of course, an argument ensued which ended up with Lori siding with Shane and just telling you to stop making a scene and to just make the dinner. Obviously, it wasn’t a big deal… you just don’t like Shane.

You were so enveloped in anger that you didn’t notice the footsteps approaching you. “Hey…” a voice spoke from behind you, practically making you jump out of your skin. “Jesus, fuck!” you shout, “don’t fucking sneak up on me! What the hell?” You don’t mean to come off so aggressive, you’re just so angry already that this was like pulling a block from an already falling jenga tower.

“Shit… my bad I thought you heard me come in…” he mumbles, eyes widened from the unexpected reaction. You only roll your eyes and turn back around to keep making the nasty pasta salad that Shane wanted. “Um… Can we talk?” he says cautiously, noticing that this probably isn’t the time but, continuing with his point anyway. All you do is grunt, he assumes in agreement as you looked a bit less aggressive than before.

“Why… do you hate me? Did I do something to you that I don’t know? It just seems like you get on with mostly everyone else but not me. Like, what did I do?” he questions you, seemingly genuine. You roll your eyes, “my God, not everything is deep. I don’t hate you, just don’t exactly like you” you mumble, “you just kinda annoy me sometimes.”

“And, you’re annoying me because you won’t give me a proper explanation! Can you just give me a real answer?” he exasperates, raising his tone slightly. “Fine, you want an answer? You’re literally perfect and it’s really fucking annoying. Also, not everybody had to like you all the time. Grow a backbone, man.” you explain.

His eyebrows are furrowed and he wears a confused expression, “wait… what? You think I’m… perfect?”

“I’m glad that’s the only thing you listened to.” You state sarcastically, rolling your eyes at him. “Of course it is! You just said I’m perfect! I thought you hated me!” he reciprocates the same sarcastic tone that you used.

Suddenly, you turn around to him and shove him against the wall and walk over to him menacingly, taking a silent note of his adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Did you come here just to annoy me?” you raise you eyebrow at him as you tilt your head.

He puts in a fake angry face, trying to badly mask the flustered feeling that’s creeping up inside of him. “Maybe I did” he smirks, basking in the attention you’re giving him right now.

See, the thing is, he’s had a crush on you since he’d first seen you at the beginning of the apocalypse. It’d been a few months now and his feelings had just been getting stronger and stronger. It was so obvious. I mean, you pretended to be oblivious because the more people you loved, the more people you had to lose. It was the best for both of you. You tried so desperately to try and make him dislike you because the truth is, you’d begun to get feelings for the man too but, his feelings were relentless and nothing seemed to work.

“Yeah, I knew you fucking did. What else do you do but annoy me? Huh?” you start to raise your voice, adjacent to the heat raising within you. “You don’t know me as much as you think you do.” he grumbles, looking at the floor to avoid your piercing gaze. “Don’t underestimate me.” you bark bluntly, “I know a lot about you, more than I need to.”

He glances up at you in confusion and fear. Did you… know? “Like what?” he questions suspiciously. You slam your foot against the wall in between his legs, placing your thigh awfully close to his groin, he sure hopes you don’t notice his-

“I can read you like a book, Glenn. You’re a people pleaser, even though you pretend you’re not. You like to pretend that you know more than you do because it makes you feel better about your wasted potential. Oh, and you’re hard as a rock right now” his eyes widen at the last sentence. It had left your mouth so casually, making him question every experience he’d had with you over the last few months. Had you known this whole time? What had you seen? Had you seen him touching himself? Heard him moan your name under his breath? He shakes the thoughts out of his head, of course you hadn’t, you’d of brought it up by now, made fun of him, teased him mercilessly. After all, you hated him… right?

“I’m not a people pleaser!” his grumbles out, “a-and… I’m not hard!” he continues, sounding less and less convinced as he carries on the sentence. “Come on, you do whatever people tell you to do! Oh and-“ you cut yourself off before taking your leg that was placed between his and pulling yourself so that you’re closer to him, your thigh now pressed against his attentive crotch. “Not hard, huh?” You push your thigh against him, creating a grinding motion.

“S-shit…” he groans out, his head falling into the wall behind him. He scrunches his face, as if bracing himself, before lifting his head back up, “I… I don’t do everything I’m told! Shut… ugh- up” he grunts out in between weak mewls. You grab his face by the cheeks, your nails digging into him and you were sure there’d be little crescents etched into his skin once you let go. You pull his face towards you, going nose to nose with the man that you were looming over, “do me a favour, Glenn. Stop talking and do what you’re told, okay?” you sneer at him as he looks up at you, his expression conveying anger but his eyes twinkled with lust.

His heart pounding in his chest, he could feel your warm breath on his lips, the lips that he so desperately wanted to lock onto yours. He feels dizzy from the dull stimulation your thigh was giving him. It simultaneously felt like too much and not enough and it made the poor boy feel his knees weaken. He nods his head, acknowledging that your question was rhetorical but deciding to answer anyway, “okay… I’ll do what you tell me to” he whispers out, silently cussing at himself for how easily he gave in but also, how easily his pride was bruised.

You chuckle at how quickly you seemed to have wrecked the man, scoffing under your breath “don’t do what you’re told, my ass.” All he could do is look down to the ground, ashamed at the links of moans that he was producing from the increased pressure that you were putting on him.

Finally kissing the man, you hear his muffled whimpers; his desperate hands clawing at your shoulders, trying to stabilise himself as he feels his orgasm approaching. You stop moving your thigh, hoping he’ll take the initiative to keep going and, he does. His head falls back as he ruts against you needily.

You take advantage of his exposed neck, kissing and nipping down it until you find the spot that makes him moan especially loud, giving that spot special attention - licking, kissing, biting. You can tell he’s enjoying himself from the erotic noises he was making. As much as you loved to hear it, the walls of the RV were thin and your little brother was outside. You placed your hand over his mouth and your other hand on his hip, supporting his movements.

“You’re so hot” you mumble in his ear, “keep going for me, cum in your pants, pretty boy.” The mixture of your commanding tone and the adrenaline he was feeling at the risk of being heard/ caught tips him over the edge. He cusses under his breath, body shaking and spasming under your touch.

He looks up at you, eyes half closed as if he was tired. Still breathing heavily, he leans his forehead on your shoulder to stabilise himself.

You chuckle at his fucked out state before realising something. He was still humping you, you look up at him with your eyebrow raised, feeling a wave of surprise course through you. His eyes are glossed over, starting to feel the effects of overstimulation. “Jesus, pretty boy, still horny?” you tease. “C-can’t stop, feels too good” he whines out, sending a pool of heat to your lower regions.

“Shit shit shit shit- ah.. ah” he starts to whine loudly from his extreme sensitivity. You place your hand over his mouth as you hear him release high pitched moans that people could DEFINITELY hear outside. He starts shaking and you can tell that he’s quickly approaching his 2nd orgasm, coming to the finish line much quicker than he did last time.

He shivers as he feels the pleasure rush through him, as if it was coursing through his veins, his legs become weak and his knees give in. He falls to his knees on the floor and rests his forehead by your knee. You take his face in your hands as you bend down to him, “shit, are you okay?” you worry that you’ve pushed him too far. “How did you do that? It’s like I was under a spell… I didn’t know I could feel that good…” he looks up at you with half lidded eyes and you see that light tears decorate the inner corners of his eyes. You swipe them away with your thumbs and whisper to him, “told you I can read you like a book, darlin’. You believe me now?” you smirk at him as he nods weakly.

You stand up once more, helping him stand up too as he regains his strength. “Would you like to stay for dinner? It’s almost done and you’re here anyway…” you offer and he smiles at you, “that’d be nice.”

He stands up to help you serve up the food before looking down, noticing that he has a large wet patch on his pants, “I may need to change these though…” he murmured, mildly embarrassed of his actions.

You couldn’t help but chuckle when you looked down before nodding over to your mum’s bedroom, “take some of Shane’s jeans, he has enough anyway, he won’t notice” you roll your eyes, thinking back to the annoying man that was trying to take your father’s place. He nods and giggles slightly, “anything to piss off Shane!”

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espinosaurusrexex · 2 years ago

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pls do the “who did this to you” i just imagine and college!bucky x reader and they cant stand each other but share an apartment. reader comes back hurt, bucky sees it and becomes protective.

I think I wrote this before any other request, I loved it so much! Hopefully you do too 💕

"Who did this to you?" (Bingo Game)

!BINGO ASKS CLOSED!

College!Roommate!BuckyBarnes x Reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: mentions of abuse, grumpy Bucky, angsty, sassy reader, fluff

You tried to blink the tears away as you roamed through your purse. There was really no need to cry at this moment, but you couldn’t help it. You were fucking shaken from what had just happened.

A curse rolled over your lips when your shaky hands missed the lock on your apartment door a second time. Stupid hands. And the dumb tears in your eyes didn't help you see what you were doing either. You just wanted to get inside, hide away in your room and avoid all of humanity for a solid week. And you wanted it to happen fast. Because you knew the conversation pending about two doors from this one and you dreaded it.

It was shameful enough you came home crying from a date at this hour, you didn’t need a lecture on top of it. But Bucky had told you. He had told you that all men were dicks and that nothing good could come out of a drunken number jot down at a sports bar at 2 am. But you didn’t listen. You never listened to Bucky. Hell, you tolerated him on a good day, so you most certainly wouldn’t take advice from him.

And that’s why you went out with that idiot poser boy John, really just to prove Bucky wrong. But, shit, it bruised your ego to admit he had been right this time. Not that you planned on telling him that.

Fuck, no.

Because all your roommate would do is give you an ‘I told you so’ when you really needed a good hug and a tequila girls' night. But that wouldn’t happen. He would never let you live down the worst date in history.

First, that dickhead had tried to order you a salad and then he pretended to have forgotten his wallet and then, after you had brought him home, he had really thought the date had gone good enough to expect more than a fucking smack in the face. And after you had politely tried to tell him to fuck off, that asshole really tried to force himself on you. Luckily, his roommate had put an end to it before anything more could have happened, but it was enough to shake you to your core.

An annoyed groan echoed through the door before it unlocked and revealed a shirtless Bucky beyond the threshold. He was staring at you broodily as you scrambled to get your key back into your purse and push past him but his disheveled hair and gray sweats made you halt for a second.

“What happened?” If you weren’t so scattered, you would have never thought to see his eyes slightly soften at the sight of you. Bucky would never, though. It was just your shocked mind playing tricks on you.

“Sorry for waking you,” you grumbled as you pushed past him, but Bucky blocked your way immediately.

“What’s your problem?” You snapped as you stared up at him. But he didn’t say a thing. “That’s what I thought,” you whispered to yourself when you pushed at his chest to clear the way.

But Bucky was fast to snatch your wrist. A painful scream escaped your lips as you yanked your arm back, holding it securely to your chest while trying to fight the tears brimming again.

Fucking tears. You didn’t want to cry.

His eyes quintet smaller before he closed the front door with a thud, while simultaneously reaching out to pull your hand back towards him - gentler this time. He pushed up your sleeve to reveal a swollen wrist beneath the cotton. Fuck, that looked worse than it felt. You hissed when his gaze caught yours again.

“What happened?” His voice was less angry suddenly - insistent and calm, somehow.

You pulled your hand back a second time. “Just forget it, okay?” Not the lecture. Not now.

But Bucky was fucking persistent. God, he was annoying. “Y/N. Who did this to you?”

You wanted to just leave but the tone of his voice let a shiver run down your spine. He was staring at you with those damn eyes again and now you really couldn’t stop the tears from falling anymore. It was too much. Too frustrating, too embarrassing.

“You were right okay?!” It broke out of you, your arm flailing in the air. “Are you happy? John Walker is a fucking asshole just like you said. Now leave me alone.”

You turned to the hallway, your sleeve wiping at your eyes while you heard Bucky follow you through the darkened room. “Not happening.”

“What?” You turned back angrily. You were so ready to just punch him right about now. Why couldn’t he just leave you be? It was bad enough as it was.

“I’ll get you some ice.”

“Bucky-”

“No. Just shut up for once and let me at least try to apologize for my species.” He grumbled and you snorted in disbelief. What was wrong with him?

Bucky just stared at you again, and you couldn’t shake the feeling he was waiting for your permission. As if he had ever wanted permission for doing anything. But when he didn’t move for another second you got serious again. “Sorry.”

With a silent nod, he disappears into the kitchen and you went about your bedtime routine. When you entered your room, freshly showered and in your pajamas, Bucky looked up at you. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a towel, and he was wearing a shirt now too.

Shame, you thought, and immediately scolded yourself for it.

The shower had helped calm you down a little, but now that he was gently pushing the ice back to your wrist, your heart began to race again. The night had been fucking traumatic so far. And having your annoying wouldn’t-touch-you-with-a-six-foot-pole roommate be nice to you for once was terrifying. But at the same time, you felt as though you got to see a side of Bucky today he rarely showed to anyone. And, as much as you hated to admit it, it was nice to not fight with or ignore him for once.

Another then minutes passed of you just sitting in silence, your mind racing with memories of the night and Bucky staring against the wall for the majority of it. You didn’t want to think about what would have happened had Lemar not intervened his dickhead roommate’s plan. But you couldn’t stop. It was all that occupied your mind and it made a whole new wave of anxiety wash over you.

You were so deep in your nightmares, you hadn’t even noticed Bucky get up.

“Are you going to be okay?” He asked with his hand on the doorframe.

You just spared him a quick glance and mumbled a hasty ‘I’ll be fine’ before you moved to lay down and roll on your side, facing your back to the door and Bucky.

“Are you sure?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t want to tell him the truth. That you were terrified of being alone right now. That you would sleep way better if John Walker had gotten a knee in his balls and a restraining order. But you somehow couldn’t bring yourself to lie to him either. So you just stayed silent, your arms hugging your body as a slow tear ran down to your pillow.

For a while, it was quiet, and you really needed to control your breathing, your muscles tense as you lay there. Hoping - wishing - for this to be over soon. But then you heard Bucky shuffle a few feet away from you and soon, your mattress dipped.

A small but relieved smile snuck on your lips when you felt him carefully inch closer to you. You just lifted your blanket in response until Bucky was snugly pressed against you. His arm wrapped around you and you could feel him relax when your hand covered his.

It was unusual but it felt so nice to be held.

Your breathing evened out with every second and after some time, a steady rhythm had settled within you. You actually relaxed against Bucky’s chest, his face resting in the crook of your neck - you were drifting off to sleep slowly, calmly.

But before you entirely tapped out, Bucky whispered into the darkness, a gruff annoyance in his tone. “If he ever tries something again, you tell me. I’ll make sure he’ll stay the fuck away from you.”

But it warmed you all the more. You wouldn’t take his kindness for granted, though. It meant a lot to you. “Thank you,” you sleepily mumbled as your head buried deeper in your pillow.

You saw Bucky’s frown before your eyes when his face pressed back into your skin. Funny how relationships shifted sometimes.

as always, reblogs and comments are so so so appreciated 🥰 check here for a morning after drabble

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poopwons · 11 months ago

Text

**Break My Heart**-Ft. Jean Kirstein 18+ MDNI!!

Synopsis: You and Jean break up, he doesn't know what to do with himself. Maybe you'll call him? (surprise, you will)

Content: (NSFW), F!Reader, Jean’s POV, post break up feelings, angst, cursing, depressed Jean, pet names, handjobs, fingering, praise kink, Jean has a teensy bit of a size kink, collaring (if you squint), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, people), cream pie, hair pulling, light alcohol consumption

a/n: I have never written anything this long before, but I got the idea in my head and it would not get out so, here it is. I was literally driving home from work listening to Olivia Rodrigo and Happier came on, so that's what inspired this 🥰 Huge shoutouts to @jeanboyjean and @cowgirlikets for encouraging me through this entire process!💜💜💜 ***also I know absolutely nothing about plumbing, so sorry if all of that is completely inaccurate LOL***

words: 6.9k

Two months, four days.

That’s how long it’s been. That’s the last time Jean saw you in person, talked to you at all. Sure, he’s wanted to reach out, he’s gotten drunk a few times and Connie had to wrench his phone out of his hands when he saw your name on the screen. Jean had yelled at him, tried to push him off, but Connie ended up with the phone, locking it away before helping Jean to bed. All in all Connie was looking out for him more than anyone else. That’s what good roommates are for, right?

Though, Jean is sure that Connie never expected to ever see his friend like this. Hell, Jean never thought he’d be this way; he never even thought of the possibility of the two of you splitting at all. The first week after you told him you didn’t want to keep seeing him, he stayed in bed, blaring awful sad songs, just wallowing in his own self pity. He supposes he still is, even months later.

The days without you have slowed to a crawl. He still thinks about you all the time, it takes all his will power not to scroll through your instagram, wondering if you’re thriving without him, or if you’re just as fucked up as he is. He doesn’t want to know, he’s not that desperate yet. Still, thoughts of you plagued him every moment it seemed like. Who does he make breakfast for now? Making a single serving for himself just seems.. pathetic, pointless, in comparison to making something for you.

The two of you had a great routine, his favorite, he thinks. You’d wake up, curled in his arms, peppering little kisses to his face, trying to wake him up. He’d groan at you before running his hands to your sides to tickle you, calling you a menace for disturbing a man’s sleep. The little giggles he’d pull from you were his favorite sound, he’d never heard anything better. Then he’d get up, make coffee and breakfast for the two of you while you showered. Sometimes he’d say fuck the breakfast and shower with you instead. Hot water cascading down the two of you, the smell of your shampoo in his nose as he kissed the back of your neck while washing your hair. Fuck. He needs to stop. Think about anything else, he curses himself, his brain can’t keep doing this to him, can it?

But, turns out, it can. Who makes your tea the way you like it, muddled with honey and a splash of cream? Who else knows that you only want earl grey when it’s raining because that’s what your mom would give you when you came inside from splashing around in puddles when you were little? That you want chamomile when you’re sick, and coffee most mornings, unless you’re anxious, then you want English breakfast. Who knows the way you order your meals from your favorite restaurants? That you don’t like water chestnuts because “they’re too crunchy without enough flavor”, or that you hate fast food lettuce but will completely devour the caesar salad from the diner downtown because you say the lettuce is always “the perfect amount of crisp and never soggy”? What does he do with all this little information that he’s learned about you, that’s now completely useless to him since you’re not here?

Connie managed to drag Jean out to go have lunch with him and Sasha the next day. It’s the first time he’s been out in weeks for something other than work. He’s dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, the most he can manage with how exhausted he’s been. The little chain that you picked out for him draped across his collarbones. He likes that memory. You dragged him into a jewelry store, showing him the necklace, saying something about how you thought it’d look good on him. He was never much of a jewelry person, but for you? He agreed, but only if you’d get a matching bracelet, and you did. You said it was your favorite, you loved it so much, and it went on like that, the two of you, in your matching pieces, wearing them everyday…

“Jean,” Connie breaks him out of his thoughts, he wonders if he could tell that he was thinking about you again.

“What,” his tone is flat, nothing like his usual light hearted one.

“Dude, don’t you think you should take that off?”

Jean looks down at his chain, then back at Connie, a frown plastered on his face.

“No, I don’t want to take it off.”

“Look, man, I know you’re still upset, but.. doesn’t that make it worse?”

Jean can’t stand the look of pity he’s getting, he shrugs and doesn’t reply. Take it off? And then what, get rid of it? No. No, he can’t get rid of it, you got it for him. It would be like throwing you away.. and he’s just not ready to do that, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be.

Sasha kicks Connie under the table, the two of them had clearly talked about how to handle today and it seems like Connie is going off script. Jean can’t take it anymore, he can’t stand the way his friends are looking at him, he wants to look anywhere else. So, he does what he’s been trying to avoid. He pulls out his phone, opening up your instagram. You haven’t posted in a while, but there is one new picture. Jean’s heart lurches into his throat when he sees it. Who is that? Why is he with you? He’s never seen this guy before and he doesn’t like it, right down to his stupid green eyes, that idiotic man bun, and that shit-eating smile plastered on his face, like he’s mocking Jean without even trying. The picture is innocent enough, a selfie with his arm around you. But why is he touching you? Why are you letting him? Did you really move on this fast? Did you forget about Jean already? Is this the real reason you ended things with him, for this other guy?

He hears a faint grunt from across the table, then Sasha is talking to him, he hardly hears it, the blood is rushing in his ears. Connie snatches his phone from his hand, Jean can’t even find the energy to snap at him. Connie groans when he sees the screen.

“Shit, man… I was hoping you wouldn’t see that.” Connie practically winces when he meets Jean’s eyes, tears welling up in them. His voice breaks when he finally speaks up.

“Who is that with her?” He sounds like the world has been ripped from him.

Sasha speaks up from her side of the table, having seen the post as well. “I don’t know.. maybe they’re just friends. Don’t overthink it, it’ll be okay.”

He sends a pitiful look her way, it most definitely would not be okay. He takes his phone back from Connie, rising from the table, hell bent on getting back home. His brain is going a mile a minute thinking about you and.. whoever that was.

Two months, fifteen days.

He stays in his room all week. Barely leaving, laid up in bed scrolling through your entire instagram. All the pictures of you and him are gone. He can’t believe you got rid of them, did you delete them off your phone entirely? Were all those pictures slowly being replaced by new ones with this guy? He hates the thought of this stranger taking up camera space that should be his. He knows he shouldn’t.. looking through this idiot’s instagram isn’t going to make him feel any better, but he has to know why you chose him instead.

He swipes through this guy’s pictures, he’s even got a stupid name. Who spells their kids' name Eren? There aren’t a ton of posts, but the few that Jean does see has him rolling his eyes, gym selfies and photos of him playing a guitar, his long hair flowing down his shoulders. Great, so he’s ripped and talented. Jean’s not out of shape by any means, but he isn’t as cut as that, especially since he’s been skipping the gym the past couple of months, unable to find the energy to go, and he definitely can’t play any instruments. Maybe he should learn, would that impress you enough to finally reach out to him? No, that would take way too long, he wants to hear from you so much sooner than that. Maybe he can start growing his hair out.. would you like that? You never complained about his hair before but, this whole thing has thrown him for a loop. He’s questioning everything about himself wondering what Eren has that he doesn’t. Maybe Eren’s better in bed? No, that can’t be it. You never once complained about Jean’s performance, all those pretty sounds you made when he touched and kissed and sucked at all the right spots. No, he definitely knew what he was doing in that department. So, that can’t be it, which almost makes it worse. That must mean Jean failed you in some other way as a partner. Was he not attentive enough, not supportive enough? Did he not make enough time for you? Maybe he should have tried to plan more dates. The thoughts go on and on like this until he finally falls into a fitful sleep, what little dreams he has are plagued with you laughing at Eren’s stupid jokes, of you being happier with Eren than you ever were with him.

Jean is sitting up on the sofa in the living room, Connie had begged him to at least come out of his room so he knows the poor guy’s still alive. Jean is scrolling through yours and Eren’s pages, checking yet again for any more posts.

“Dude, seriously? Are you looking at that guy’s page again?” Connie asks, as he sits down on the couch with a bowl of cereal.

Jean gives him a noncommittal grunt, before shoving his phone in Connie’s face. “I mean, what does she even see in him? He’s not that good looking and he has stupid hair. He probably can’t even play that guitar.”

Connie gives him a sympathetic look, he knows it can’t be easy for Jean to see you with someone else, but it’s been almost three months since you two split. All the same, he’s Jean’s friend, he can’t always tell him what he wants to hear, right? He sets his bowl down with a sigh, bracing himself for what he’s about to say.

“Come on, man. He looks like a decent enough guy. I know this is hard for you, but don’t you want her to be happy?”

“She’s supposed to be happy with me! Me, not this fucker with a guitar, who’s side are you on, anyway?”

“I’m on your side, you know that, but this is nuts, she’s just a chick. You’ve been hung up for almost three months. You need to get back to the shit you used to do. When was the last time you even went to the gym? That used to be so important to you. You should go back, get some endorphins going, that would make you feel better.”

Jean huffs, Connie just doesn’t get it. He gets up off the couch and walks over to the entryway, pushing his shoes on. “She’s not just some chick, dude.” He spits the words out before walking out the door. Maybe a walk would clear his head. He knew in some regards, Connie was right, he hasn’t been taking the best care of himself lately, but his “just a chick” comment has Jean seeing red and he can’t focus on any of the other rational things Connie’s said.

He walks and walks until it gets dark outside, when he finally gets home he scarfs down a protein bar and flops down in bed. Closing his eyes and drifting off relatively quickly, worn out from the walk, maybe he should go back to the gym, he thinks, if a walk has worn him out so much. He doesn’t know how long he sleeps for, but the buzzing from his night table lulls him out of sleep. Bleary eyed and groggy, he picks up the phone staring at the screen. He must be seeing things. Or he’s still asleep and this is a dream. He sits up abruptly, rubbing his eyes, looking at the screen again. Sure enough, it’s your name that’s up on the screen, the phone is still buzzing in his hand as he stares at the caller id. It finally hits him that if he doesn’t answer it’ll go to voicemail and you might not call back. He fumbles to swipe his finger over the answer key, almost dropping his phone in the process.

“Hello?” Jean tries to make his voice sound calm and not rushed, despite the fact that his heart is practically beating out of his chest over something as simple as a phone call, at the prospect of actually hearing your voice for the first time in months.

“Hey, uh, it’s me. Well, duh, you probably know that.” Your voice sounds just as angelic as he remembers and part of him thinks he might cry right on the spot. “um, listen, I didn’t know who else to call, I-I know it’s late.”

“No, no, I’m uh, I’m awake. Wha-what’s up?” He hates how nervous he sounds, but he can’t help it, even his hands are shaking.

“Can you come over? There’s like, a leak in my apartment, and the office is closed, I just don’t want to lose my deposit. I’m sure they’ll find some way to blame it on me and not their shitty plumbing. I mean.. Obviously, if you’re busy, it’s okay, I can figure something else out.”

So, you’re calling him to come help you, not Eren, interesting. Jean feels over the moon, maybe Eren isn’t all he’s cracked up to be after all.

“No, I’m not busy, it’s fine. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Just try to soak up all the water you can.” Jean says as he scrambles off his bed, going to the bathroom to check his hair in the mirror, smoothing some parts that got ruffled in his sleep. He looks at his shirt, cursing silently that he’s still wearing this sweaty t-shirt. He puts you on speaker and quickly pulls the fabric off, throwing it in the hamper.

“Thank you so much, you’re really doing me a huge favor.”

He pulls a fresh shirt over his head, the shirt getting caught in his frantic movements causing him to have to talk louder than normal, so you can hear him over the muffle of the fabric, “yeah, it’s no problem, I’ll be there soon.” He’d do you a million favors if it meant he got to see you. You hang up and he slips on his shoes, rushing out the door to get to your place with his tools.

Jean’s heart is hammering out of his chest the whole drive to your place, it feels like his body is vibrating with anxiety. He’s practically white knuckling his steering wheel, his brain just going and going. He finally gets to see you, he’ll get to see you. He hopes you’re wearing his favorite pair of sweats. He always thought you looked so cute in them, so comfy and cozy. Excitement is starting to bubble in, until he thinks, oh, god. What if he’s there? What if Jean has to see you and Eren together in person, in a situation where he can’t just walk away. Oh, fuck, why didn’t he think about this before? He was just so excited to hear your voice, to see you, that he wasn’t thinking. If he has to see this idiot touch you right in front of him he thinks he might punch him. That would not look good on him, you’d probably even get mad at him, that’s the last thing he needs. He pulls up to your apartment before he knows it, punching in the gate code that he still has memorized, begging and praying to whatever good karma he’s drummed up in the universe, that Eren fucking Jaegar is not in your apartment with you.

He knocks on your door, fussing with his hair a little as he bounces on the balls of his feet, unsure what to do with all this nervous energy. When he hears the lock disengage he pulls his hand away from his hair as fast as he can, trying to look as casual as possible, like he hasn’t thought about you every second of every day for the past three months.

“H-hi,” you answer the door, obviously feeling a little uncomfortable with this whole situation yourself, but he doesn’t know if it’s the same kind of nerves he’s having or something else. But fuck, you look so pretty, so so pretty, with your hair draped over your shoulders in loose waves, the way you always wore it before, wearing a crew neck and some shorts.

“He-” Jean’s voice cracks, it fucking cracks. Seriously? What, is he sixteen again? He clears his throat and starts again, “Hey,”

You let him in, and he gets enveloped in your smell, he practically sighs as he breathes in the familiar comfortable scent of you and your things. He didn’t know you could miss a person’s smell this much. He looks around expecting to see the place how he remembers, but he’s thrown off when everything looks different. You’ve rearranged all your furniture. Thankfully, though, you’re the only one here, there’s no sign of another guy having been here at all. He lets out a little sigh of relief, following you into the kitchen where sopping towels are littering the floor.

“I just came home from work and found it like this. I don't know what happened.” you say, waving your arm to the floor.

“Well, let’s just see. I’m sure it’s just a loose rivet or something,” Jean walks past you, trying his best not to let your proximity as he does get to him, fighting the urge to just take you in his arms and not let go. That’s not why he’s here, you didn’t call him for that. He’s thankful that you called him for an actual task, something for him to focus on so he’s not just staring at you, he’s afraid if he stares too long he’ll snap.

You stand in the kitchen with him while he patches everything up, it’s an easy fix, just like he thought. A baby with a wrench could fix this, so again, his mind drifts back to why you called him and not Eren, not that he’s complaining. He thinks it all feels very domestic, you watching him fix up things around the house. He’d fix everything you asked him too if he could hold onto this feeling. He’s surprised when you crouch down next to him, trying to see what he’s doing.

“It was loose, right here, I’m just tightening it up.” He smiles as he looks at you briefly, he can’t help it, you just look so pretty and you’re right next to him, right where you belong.

You smile back at him and he feels his heart lurch again, turning the wrench a little more, satisfied with his work, he catches your eye, “and that should do it, you should be all set now.”

He stands up, wiping his hands on his pants before offering you a hand up. When you take his hand he bites back a smile at the feel of your hand in his again after so much time, even if it is a harmless interaction. Standing up with him, you don’t pull your hand away right away, lingering there for just a second too long. Did he imagine that? No, no you definitely lingered.

You brush a strand of hair behind your ear and smile at him sheepishly. “Thanks again, I really appreciate it.” God, your smile is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“It’s not a problem, I don’t mind helping you.” Jean runs a hand through his hair, rubbing at the back of his neck, looking away from you, still nervous. He knows the whole reason he came is taken care of now, and he doesn’t want to leave, but he thinks that’s what you might want.

“So, I should–”

“Do you want–”

You both speak at once, sharing a nervous chuckle. Jean lets you go first, giving you a look that says so.

“Do you, um.. Want a drink?” You look nervous, awkward. Surely he’s imagining it, he doesn't want to get his hopes up too high. “It’s the least I could do, calling you over here on a Friday night. I’m sure you had better things to do.” You give him another shy smile and he swears he could melt into a puddle right there.

“Uh, sure. Y-yeah, a drink sounds good.”

“All I have are those hard seltzers I usually get, that okay?” you ask like you expect him to remember, and he does. He wants you to know how much he remembers about you; everything, he remembers everything.

So, just drinks for yourself? No beer, no liquor, nothing he thinks a guy like Eren might drink. Interesting. So far, everything he’s observed has led him to the conclusion that maybe you and Eren aren’t together. Maybe Sasha was right, and the two of you are just friends?

“That’s fine,” He bends down, putting his wrench away, placing his tool bag on your counter. Turning back to look at you, the slim can in your hand as you hold it out to him. He takes it, following you over to the couch where you both take a seat next to each other.

His body feels like it’s vibrating, sitting this close to you. You didn’t have to sit this close, but you did. He pops the tab, taking a drink to calm his nerves, and you do the same.

“So, how have you been? It’s been a while.” You speak so softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear again, a nervous habit. Are you feeling the same tension he is? Is he making it all up because he missed you so much?

“Uh, good, good.” He lies, what is he supposed to say? That he’s been completely miserable without you? No, if he’s wrong and you have moved on, he has to at least pretend he’s been doing alright. “Work is, well, work, you know. Haven’t been doing much else. What about you?”

“Y-yeah, no, things are, um, they’re okay. I finally got promoted at work.” you smile at him again, before taking another sip. “I’m officially management.”

Pride swells in his chest, he knows how badly you wanted to move up in your job, how much you craved more responsibility. He’s glad your place of work is finally acknowledging your potential.

“Hey, that’s great. I’m really happy for you,” and he is, genuinely. “Is it everything you wanted it to be?”

You give a little snort, “I mean, I guess. Workplace drama is a lot more stressful when you’re actually the one in charge of trying to defuse it, instead of just listening to all the gossip.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re handling it fine, you were always good at that kind of stuff.”

You huff a little laugh again, thanking him before pulling the sleeves of your crew neck up while adjusting your position on the couch. That’s when he sees it, that little glimmer of silver on your wrist. His heart pounds harder as he sees it. You’re still wearing your bracelet. You still have it.

“You’re still wearing that,” Jean points out, his voice coming out little more than a whisper, like he just can’t believe it, his eyes locked on the bracelet.

A blush blooms across your cheeks and Jean is positive it’s not just the alcohol. Fuck not getting his hopes up, you wouldn’t still be wearing something he got you if you didn’t miss him a little bit.

“Oh, yeah..” you fiddle with the bracelet with your free hand, “I um.. I feel a little naked without it, you know?” you cheeks are still flushed as you look up at him.

Jean just smiles at you, “yeah, I know what you mean.” he says as he pulls the chain out from under his shirt. “I got so used to wearing it everyday, it just doesn’t feel right with it off.” It’s not even a lie, just, not a full truth. His nerves are slowly fading away, getting replaced with renewed hope.

“Well, it does still look good on you,” you reach your hand up to run your fingers along the chain, Jean feels a jolt of electricity in your touch that practically lights his skin on fire, and that’s when he really knows. There’s no way you’d be touching him like this if you didn’t miss him, if you were seeing someone else. He’s never felt so much relief in his life. “Suits you, for sure.”

He takes his hand placing it over yours, goosebumps prickling his skin where your fingers dance along the chain. “You..um, you have good taste,” he says, his breath turning a little shallow, he knows he’s not imagining all the tension that’s been slowly building up since he got here. “I never would have picked anything like this for myself.”

Your hand is so small in his, he’s always been bigger than you, taller, more muscular. He didn't realize how much he missed it until now, he was so caught up with missing all the other parts of you that this bit seemed to have slipped his mind. You’re looking at him with your pretty doe eyes, letting him hold your hand, he can practically see the hearts in your eyes, looking at him like you used to. Fuck it, he’s going for it. Drinks completely forgotten on the coffee table as he scoots a little closer to you, just enough so that your knees are touching.

“I’ve really missed you.” He whispers, leaning in just a little closer, he hears your breath hitch in your throat, your eyes flitting to his lips.

He smiles as you lean in too. You want it just as much as he does. “Me too..”

When he finally presses his lips to yours he almost explodes with happiness, he’s feeling giddy, all these pent up feelings pouring out into your lips. He cups the back of your neck as he deepens the kiss, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip, a silent request for permission. He sighs as you grant it, opening your mouth for him so he can glide his tongue along yours, and you moan into his mouth. You fucking moan. He loses any semblance of control he had. His hands move, roaming over your back and the two of you lose yourselves in the moment. Without really thinking about it he pulls you onto his lap, moving his mouth to press hot kisses to your neck, nipping the sensitive skin. It always was one of your favorite spots. His hands run under your sweatshirt, caressing your back, savoring the feel of your soft skin under his palms.

“Missed you so fucking much.” Jean breathes out between kisses, groaning as you grind your hips onto his lap when he kisses your neck again.

“Missed you too. Thought…Thought about you all the time…” Your words are broken up by little gasps. Jean thinks he could die happy, just like this, but then your hands go to the hem of his shirt, pulling it off, running your hands over the contours of his chest and he feels like he’s going to burn out of his skin.

His hands follow suit with yours, pulling your sweatshirt off, discarding it on the floor next to his, drinking in the sight of you, sighing when he sees your bare chest. Running his hands over your tits, kissing his way down your neck and your collarbone before taking one of your nipples into his mouth and starts kissing and sucking, pinching at the other one with his free hand. You arch your back into his touch and he moves his hands back around your waist, pulling you closer to him. He just needs you closer, so much closer.

You just grind against him, he can feel the heat coming off of you, listening to your breath get more and more ragged as you wrap your arms around his neck in order to get closer, pulling his head up.

“I’m sorry. Jean, I’m so sorry.. I never should have–” your voice sounds broken, despite the desire and need coursing through the both of you. It breaks his heart to hear you sounding so sad. You don’t even have to explain what you’re apologizing for, he already knows.

Jean cuts you off with a kiss, running his fingers through your hair, shushing you softly. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” He soothes, pressing soft kisses between his words. “Later. We’ll talk about it later, yeah?” He pulls back, pressing his forehead to yours, looking in your eyes with all the love he has for you.

You give him a feeble little nod, kissing him passionately. Your tongues glide together as you taste each other, making up for lost time, and god, does he want to make up for it. With that in mind, his hands move to the plush of your ass, squeezing as you keep your lips on him. As much as he doesn’t want to push you away from him, he needs to touch you. He runs his hands over your bare thighs before hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, pushing you back just enough so he can get the leverage he needs. Tugging them off, you lift your hips to help him. He looks down and sees you clad in lace, one of his favorite pairs. A brief look of surprise as his brain sorts through it. You… you planned for this, at least to some degree. All doubts completely leave his head as a satisfied grin curls on his lips.

“You wear these just for me, baby?” He murmurs into your ear as he nips at your earlobe, fingers already dancing along the sides of your panties.

You give him another nod and a breathy little sound that he assumes, if you were able to form the words, would be a confirmation. He pushes the material aside, running a finger through your folds. Shit, you're so fucking wet for him. He’s going to lose his mind. His finger swirls around your clit, eliciting moans and gasps from you. You’re already starting to squirm for him and he doesn’t let up, still swirling little circles with the pad of his finger.

“J-Jean,” you moan out his name and cling to him, holding his head tightly to your chest.

“‘M right here, baby, I got you. You gonna be a good girl and cum for me?”

“Y-yes, yes, yes, fuck!” He feels your legs shaking on him, still moving his hand. God, he missed seeing you like this.

“That’s it, that’s my girl. That’s my good fuckin’ girl, did so well for me. ” He purrs into your skin, pressing kisses to your neck, giving you a second to catch your breath.

Turns out you don’t even want a breather, your hands moving desperately to his lap, frantically trying to undo his buttons, slipping your hand in and wrapping around his cock.

“Fuck,” Jean groans under his breath, lifting his hips with you still on his lap, so he can shove his pants down enough for you pull him all the way out.

Your hand pumps him, smearing the precum over his flushed tip, causing him to suck in a sharp breath. You keep working him, your hands are always so soft, twisting your wrist a bit on the way up, squeezing the tip just a little. He loves the way he looks in your hands, your smaller ones making him look even bigger. His eyes catch a little glimmer, and he groans again when he sees you jerking him with your bracelet bouncing on your wrist with your movements. All he can think about is that you’re his, you're his, you're his. That one little accessory tells the whole world. Maybe he’ll replace it with a ring. He leans forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck, taking a shaky breath.

“Shit, you’re makin’ me feel so good, but I don’t… fuck, I don’t want to cum like this.” He pulls back to look in your eyes, seeing nothing but how good you want to make him feel and he doesn’t know what he did to deserve you.

He pulls your panties to the side again, lifting you up, lining himself up with your entrance and pulls you down onto him. Jean thinks he’s died and gone to heaven. He has never felt anything better than you wrapped around him like this. You both let out audible moans, as you adjust to him. Without any warning, you start bouncing on him. His eyes roll back as he drops his head to the back of the couch. Your bounces are slow, deliberate, he’s sure he’s in heaven.

“You feel so good. Love how full you make me feel.” You murmur, breathy, into his ear, bracing yourself on his shoulders.

As much as he’d love to just sit here and bask in you riding him, he’s going to cum way too soon if he lets you keep going like this, especially if you keep using that mouth of yours to whisper everything he’s been wanting to hear for the past three months in his ear. He moves his hands back to your ass, grabbing handfuls of you, doing the work for you for another second or two before he wraps his arm around your waist he starts fucking up into you.

“Missed my pussy so much, baby. She’s mine, yeah? That’s what this means doesn’t it?” He growls, taking your wrist, adorned with your bracelet, showing it to you. “That’s why you never took it off? Been mine this whole time haven’t you?”

Your walls squeeze him, as you hear his words, and he groans again. “All yours, Jean.. al-always yours.”

In all his desperation to get close to you, to get inside of you, he didn’t think your panties would cause a problem, but at this point they’re in his way, they won’t stay to one side. He moves his hand, gripping the flimsy garment, and pulls hard, tearing them.

“Jean!” You protest, looking down at where the two of you are connected.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” He mutters before he picks up his pace, finally able to fuck you the way he wants, slamming his hips up into you.

You don’t seem to care so much anymore, as your eyes roll back, and you let out a cry. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, moving to bury your face in his neck. And for Jean, right now, that just won’t do, he wants to see you, wants to see your face contorted in pleasure. He brings his hand to the back of your neck, tugging your hair so you’re looking at him.

“Look at me, baby, wanna see you.” Shit, he already feels close. Not having you for all these months, and finally getting you, getting to see in your face how good he’s making you feel and how much you missed him too. He didn’t think he was going to last long anyway. He brings his lips to yours, kissing you hungrily, all tongues and teeth.

“Ba-baby, ‘m close,” you whine, eyes glazed over, face scrunched up just the way he likes.

“Me too, cum with me, yeah?” His hand snakes between you, finding your clit, rubbing circles on it with his thumb.

He feels you clenching around him, cunt pulsing and god he missed this feeling, missed feeling you come apart just for him. You say his name again and again like a prayer and he just can’t hold back anymore.

“Fuck, baby, I’m shit–” He tries to warn you so you can get off of him, but you just stay put, slamming down on him again and again. He cums hard, painting your insides white.

Still holding onto you tightly, one hand on your neck and the other around your waist, you both just stay locked in an embrace, panting. Each of your heads are resting on the others shoulders, Jean presses little kisses there while he catches his breath.

“God, I really did miss you so much.” He whispers into your skin. “And not just this, all of it. I missed all of you.”

“I know, I missed you too. I wanted to call you or text you, or anything. I just…didn’t think you wanted to talk to me.” Your fingers toy with the hair at the nape of his neck and he just savors the moment.

Neither one of you moves, you just sit there holding each other. You haven’t even gotten off of him yet, his cock going soft inside you, feeling his cum leak out onto his lap, but he couldn’t care less. He just runs his fingertips up and down your back tenderly.

“You really scared me, you know that?” Jean says when he finally feels like breaking the silence.

You lift your head, giving him a puzzled look. “What do you mean? How did I scare you?”

Jean sighs, it sounds stupid now, in hindsight, thinking that you had moved on. “I thought you were dating that Eren guy. You posted a picture with him and I kind of freaked out.”

It seems like it takes a second for his words to register, because you’re quiet for a moment before you burst into a full fit of laughter. Jean just gives you a pointed look. He doesn’t see what’s so funny about that. You’re laughing so hard you practically roll off of him, landing on your side on the couch, your legs still draped over him. He follows suit, cuddling you when he gets onto his side.

“What’s so funny?”

You finally stop laughing long enough to answer him. “Eren? EW.” you manage to get out before you start giggling again. “He’s like a brother to me, we grew up together. I haven’t seen him before that post since he left for school. You really thought I was dating Eren??”

Jean’s cheeks flush, a little pout forming on his face. “What was I supposed to think? He was way too close to you in that picture.”

Your laughter subsides, and you brush some hair out of his face, giving him a soft smile. “He just took me out for the day because I was so sad about you. I felt like I’d made a big mistake, and he just wanted to get my mind off of it for a little while. Besides, even if he wasn’t like a brother, he’s been in love with the same girl from middle school since he was like, twelve years old.”

You look like you have more to say but you’re hesitating. Clearly feeling a little nervous, he just nudges you gently, wanting you to continue.

You take a deep breath before going on, “I am sorry.. I shouldn’t have broken up with you, and for such a stupid reason.”

“What was the reason, exactly?” He asks, he never actually got the full story.

“I just… I liked you too much, things were going too well. I guess I kind of panicked, wondering when the other shoe was going to drop.”

Jean just stares at you, of all the reasons he thought it was, he didn’t think it was this.

“So… you broke up with me, because things were going too well?”

“It sounds stupid when you say it like that!” You bury your face into his chest, hiding your blush. “I said I was sorry.”

“What if there’s no other shoe? What if we’re just good together? Did you think about that?” He asks, no malice or hurt in his voice, just genuine curiosity. He presses a little kiss to the top of your head, trying to soothe you.

“There’s always another shoe.” You mutter, not bothering to lift your head up.

Jean sighs, taking your chin in his hand, pulling you up so that you’re eye to eye with him. “Baby, I promise, I will do everything in my power to ensure that there is no other shoe, okay? You have a problem, just talk to me. Let me be there for you, let me try and make things better. I’m not saying everything will be perfect all the time, but just know I’ll try my damndest for you.” He presses a kiss to your lips, sealing his promise.

“Yeah.. okay,” you finally give him another smile, and he kisses you again, unable to resist. “So, can I be your girlfriend again?”

“As long as you promise not to break up with me for such a stupid reason ever again.” He smiles at you again, pressing another kiss to your forehead before pulling you back into his chest.

“Promise,” you mumble as you nuzzle into him.

Jean’s happier than he’s been in months, with you in his arms, right back where you belong.

Thank you so much for reading! Likes and Reblogs are always appreciated!💖

#jean kirstein #snk jean #jean x reader #aot smut #jean kirschstein x reader #jean kirstein smut #snk smut #snk x reader #attack on titan #attack on titan smut #jean x you #jean x y/n #aot fanfiction #no use of y/n

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pandavalkyrie · 4 months ago

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Things I didn't know before I was pregnant

Morning sickness is a misnomer. It is every day all the time sickness. I am beginning to lose hope in this promised 2nd trimester glow I've heard so much about.

Baby stuff is gendered. Like, yeah I knew it was but oh my god. WTF. It's so fucking gendered. If you don't want your baby assigned princess or football player at birth you can choose from the incredibly tiny ungendered beige collection.

I can smell everything. All the time. I have a smell. It's disgusting. I can be fresh out of the shower, caked in deodorant, lotion, and perfume but if I raise my arms I will smell myself and it will make me sick.

Almost every recommendation given to pregnant people is couched in fear mongering over the outdated idea of IQ. Why shouldn't I eat certain fish, have caffeine, or experience any sort of stress? Because you'll lower your baby's ability to take a test that measures their class affiliation.

The major exception to this is anything that risks carrying listeria. Oh boy, I never thought before that my biggest fear would be a turkey sandwich. Thanks Boars Head! Now please, clean your fucking factory

There's a special type of diabetes that can show up seemingly randomly when you're pregnant and just goes away right after birth. Because hormones are stupid.

In fact everything your body does during pregnancy is fucking stupid. Oh I need to eat lots and mostly nutritiously to have a healthy baby? LMAO you can eat Doritos and plain quesadillas and that's it. Go ahead and try to eat a salad. You can't, and it probably has listeria too.

I've never been under so much pressure in my life to do everything perfectly *or else* yet I'm in no way equipped to do anything thanks to the constant nausea, pain, and fatigue. I went into this with a disability but pregnancy is itself also an acute disability. I'm functioning at 20% on a good day.

Everything makes me cry. The other day I thought about The Little Mermaid song when she says "what's a fire and why does it, what's the word, burn?" And started sobbing uncontrollably

I am more pro choice then ever before. I'm going through hell and I wanted this. Someone having to experience a fraction of this misery when they don't want the outcome AND there's a simple outpatient procedure to end it is inexcusable.

So yeah I'm pregnant LMAO it sucks ass 0/10 dnr but I'm looking forward to what comes after

#Cw pregnancy

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thewintersoldierdisaster · 6 months ago

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a/n: trade? what trade? brady’s a cane, always will be 😭 seriously tho, odds are pretty good that i just keep writing him as a cane bc i have no interest in having to learn the preds beyond beau and josi 🤷🏼‍♀️ had this written for a bit but never posted it bc i was yelled at during the playoffs for even thinking about the canes 🙄

tw: stomach flu, mentions of vomiting, mentions of dizziness

word count: 3.4k

summary: norovirus makes its way around the canes’ locker room and it finally takes you and brady down

Brady’s fingers are cool as they card through your hair, brushing gently against your temple and scratching lightly at your scalp. Your cheek is pressed against his thigh, smushed up so it interferes with your vision - not that you’re really focused on the TV. Comedy Central has a repeat of The Office on and above you, Brady chuckles faintly as Dwight complains about identity theft.

You roll your eyes back to cut your gaze at him and Brady’s head is resting against the back of the couch, his eyes partially shut. He’s mostly just listening to the TV.

Norovirus had swept through the Canes’ locker room, taking the players and their families out one by one - starting with Burnzie, which had led Jarvy to conclude that one of the Burns’ children had brought it home from school. As one player recovered, another was taken out. Last week had been Brett and Jordan, this week it’s yours and Brady’s turn to be down for the count. He’d come home from morning skate two days ago looking paler than usual, a greenish-grey tinge to his skin. You’d already dry heaved over breakfast that morning, thinking it was pre-period nausea.

Less than an hour later, you’d each retreated to separate bathrooms and hadn’t emerged until there was nothing left to purge. Brady had managed to text Rod, who was entirely unsurprised by the turn of events.

The next day and a half had been a blur of Instacarted Gatorade and crackers, the smell of Clorox and Lysol a permanent fixture in the house. Unfortunately, the smell of Clorox only triggered your gag reflex even more. Only this morning you’d managed to keep down more than a few spoonfuls of chicken broth.

Your stomach cramps a little and you curl your body into a tighter fetal position, turning your head to muffle your groan against Brady’s thigh. His fingers pause in your hair and he asks, “you okay, sweetheart? Need the bowl?”

“The bowl” is your combo popcorn/salad/vomit stainless steel bowl and it’s resting on the couch next to Brady, easily within arm’s reach just in case. The bowl has seen a lot of action the last two days and honestly, you’re contemplating tossing it out at the end of this. Or burning it, if stainless steel even burns. Hell, you’ll just throw it into the ocean at this point. You never want to see the bowl again.

“No,” you mumble against the fabric of his shorts, voice raspy and throat sore. “I think my stomach is eating itself.”

Brady nods his agreement and you can hear his stomach growl slightly behind your head. “Think we can manage more soup?” His fingers continue their work in your hair and it’s so soothing you find your eyelids fluttering, fighting to stay open.

“Honestly?” You nuzzle your face against his leg, tucking one hand under your cheek and the other underneath Brady’s thick thigh. “No, but you should try. You don’t want to be too weak when you get back to practicing.”

He hums and his fingers slow down, tangling gently in your hair. “Maybe ‘fter a nap,” he mumbles, head going back against the couch and body slouching a little deeper into the cushions. You can’t really argue with him - like clockwork, you’d both been with your heads in the toilet every thirty minutes. You don’t remember what a good night’s sleep feels like.

Brady falls asleep quickly, his hand covering the side of your head like a mask. The dogs pad into the den, semi left to their own devices the last two days and you feel bad about it. Reese settles on top of Brady’s feet, curling into a little ball and letting his tail swish along the floor while he looks up at you with big brown puppy eyes that bear a striking resemblance to your boyfriend’s.

“Sorry, pup,” you murmur, reaching out to scratch his head. “We’ve been bad pet parents, huh?”

He lets out a little whine that you take to be golden retriever for ‘yeah, mom, you guys suck lately.’

Sully hops up on the couch and wedges his body between your back and the back of the couch, a warm, solid presence. His nose presses against your shoulder and you wiggle forward a little to make more room for the big dog. Neither of them are supposed to be on the furniture, but you have no energy to shove him off.

“Just for today,” you warn him in a rasp. “Back to the floor with you tomorrow.”

Sully yawns, tongue lolling out of his mouth, showing just how much he cares about your proclamation.

With a soft scoff of your breath, you roll your eyes and keep them shut, pressing your face more solidly against Brady’s thigh. The muscle twitches under your cheek and you blink slowly. Soon enough, the combination of the low volume of the TV, Brady’s gentle snores, and the dogs’ soft breathing lulls you to sleep.

You wake with a jolt, your mouth filling with saliva and your stomach lurching. Sully’s draped over your legs and you don’t think, panic flooding your senses. Clamping your lips together tightly, you lunge over Brady’s lap and grab for the bowl, heaving into it. You empty the minimal contents of your stomach into the bowl, feeling Brady’s legs move under your torso. His hand fists in your hair, pulling it back into a makeshift ponytail so it stays out of your way.

“Okay, there you go,” Brady’s voice is low and soothing, his other hand rubbing circles on your back as you spit into the bowl. After a moment, nothing is coming up anymore and you groan, easing back carefully onto your knees.

Brady squints at you. “You okay?”

“I love your teammates,” you groan. “But I could kill every single one of them.”

Your boyfriend laughs and then winces when his stomach muscles tense. “Fuck, this shit really is no joke,” he mutters, stretching his arms over his head.

Your mouth tastes disgusting and your entire body hurts from heaving. On shaky legs, you carefully step off the couch, snatching the bowl and padding slowly into the bathroom to get clean it out. You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror over the sink and wince. Dark purple circles under your eyes highlight just how pale you look. Little red pinpricks of broken blood vessels are scattered over your cheeks like freckles and your hair is a matted, knotted mess in a limp bun on the side of your head.

“Ugh,” you mutter to your reflection, honestly surprised that you look so awful. You’d been avoiding mirrors as much as possible. You rinse out the bowl and douse it with Clorox, leaving it in the bathtub for now, before rinsing your mouth twice with Listerine and brushing your hair back into a semi-decent ponytail. This bathroom’s going to need a major disinfecting too.

Add it to the list.

Brady’s in the kitchen when you leave the bathroom, his body hidden behind the open fridge door. Both dogs are at his feet, circling his legs like he’s about to drop some food for them. He pulls back and shuts the door, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled over his head and a wan look on his face.

“Nothing looks appetizing,” he explains, leaning a shoulder against the fridge.

You slump over the kitchen island, one arm folded between the granite and your chest. Reese lopes over to you, brushing his head against your thigh and you reach down to scratch behind his ears. “What, blue Gatorade and saltines lose their appeal on the third day?” You joke, tucking your chin into the stretched out neck of your ancient crewneck.

Brady’s lips twist up in a small smile. “I would kill for the ability to keep something else down,” he scrubs a hand over his face, dragging his skin down on the second pass.

“We could try the golden diet,” your head feels so heavy, so you prop your chin up on your palm and look over at Brady. He lifts an eyebrow and you continue, “plain boiled chicken breast and rice.”

Both dogs bark, excited, and you wince at the noise and how it feels like an ice pick in your brain.

“I’d rather not feel like one of the dogs,” Brady laughs faintly. Almost immediately, he clamps his lips together and freezes in place, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows harshly. He doesn’t make a move for the bathroom and you wait another moment before it passes and he frowns. “Sorry,” he mumbles, “thought I might have to make a run for it.”

“I could try and make some more soup,” you suggest, your stomach rumbling a little. You honestly have no idea if you’re actually hungry or if you’re going to have to run off again. Reese butts your thigh with his head and you sigh down at him. “I feel bad that these guys haven’t been getting as much outside time.”

“How do you feel about a short w-a-l-k?” Brady spells out the word because the dogs will go insane otherwise and it always makes you giggle a little.

You hum and skirt around the island so you can wrap your arms around Brady’s waist and bury your face into his chest. His arms come around your back, warm and strong. “Not great,” you mumble into the fabric of his sweatshirt. “But maybe some fresh air and sun will do us some good?”

He nods, chin bumping the top of your head. “A short one, like two blocks,” he suggests. “And then right back to the couch.”

Agreeing, you give Brady a little squeeze around the waist before reluctantly pulling away. You clap and grin down at the dogs, “okay, puppies, time for a little walk!”

Predictably, they go nuts, barking and jumping at you so that Brady holds his arms out to brace his hands at your lower back so you don’t fall over. He laughs a little in your ear before whistling to get the dogs to calm down. They stop barking, but they’re still bouncing around your legs and you laugh as you push past them, heading for the hall closet. It’s warm enough in Raleigh that you don’t have to change out of the thin sweats and crewneck, but you do pull on a plain black vest just so you have a pocket for your phone.

Brady clips the leashes onto both dogs’ collars and steps into a pair of slides, holding the leashes out to you so he can lock the front door. You let the dogs have some leeway with the leashes, watching them as they roll around together on the front lawn. It’s bright and sunny and you squint even behind your sunglasses.

“Has it been this bright out all week?” Brady asks, taking a leash in one hand and lacing his fingers with yours. He still has the hood up on his hoodie and when you look up at him, all you can see is the side profile of his nose and chin. His nose wrinkles up and you can’t help but mimic the expression.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” you sigh, starting to walk down to the sidewalk. You feel like a baby deer, all wobbly legged and weak, but the breeze is nice and you have to admit that it feels good to not be breathing in Lysol scented air.

The dogs tug at their leashes and you give them more leeway, walking slowly down the sidewalk. Brady’s thumb rubs over the backs of your fingers, your linked hands swinging slightly between your bodies as you walk. It’s quiet in the neighborhood since it’s the middle of the day on a Wednesday and you savor the peace.

Your stomach cramps a little and you lean into Brady’s side as you walk, huffing a frustrated breath through your nose. “When I get my hands on Jagger…” you trail off the threat, ruining the effect with a little laugh. You’re on board with Jarvy’s theory about patient zero for the Great Norovirus Crisis.

Brady’s laugh wraps around you like a hug and trails off into a brief cough as he catches his breath. “You and Svechy, beefing with a middle schooler,” he shakes his head, sounding a little breathless.

“For valid reasons,” you grumble, stumbling a little when Reese pulls on his leash. Brady’s fingers tighten around yours and you manage to keep your footing, but your heart pounds in your chest and you suck in a startled breath. Your head spins a little and you close your eyes to stave off the lingering nausea from your stomach lurching.

Brady’s hand is warm in your own and he squeezes your fingers to draw your attention. “Ready to go back home?” He asks, a concerned frown turning his lips downward. You nod and Brady whistles for the dogs.

It’s been the world’s shortest walk, just two blocks away from the house, but your head is throbbing and you’re feeling lightheaded. Brady still looks pale too, his jaw tight as if he’s trying not to vomit. He rubs the tips of his index and middle fingers against the space between his eyebrows and you know he’s probably developing the same headache you’ve got pinching your brain.

“I think we pushed it enough for today,” you murmur, tugging on the leash so Reese will come back from where he’s sniffing at a patch of flowers at the base of a tree.

Brady nods and he looks a little better after his pause. He leans in and kisses your forehead, where you can feel his lips turn down in another frown. “You feel kind of warm, sweetheart,” he says.

You tug at the neck of your sweatshirt and shrug. “Probably just a little overheated,” you start back towards the house. “I’m going to put shorts on when we get back, I think.” Your phone vibrates in your pocket and you pull it out, reading the texts on the screen as Brady talks.

“I think we need some lunch too,” Brady says, digging his phone out of the pocket on his hoodie. “I’ll order something. Even if we can’t manage all of it, we probably need something with protein.”

“No need,” you laugh a little, waving your phone in his direction. “Amy felt bad we caught the plague from Brett, she dropped off chicken noodle soup and fresh sourdough.”

Brady grins and pumps his fist, making you laugh even more. “Oh hell yes. I think I’ll be able to manage that,” he unclips the leashes from the dogs’ collars and lets them into your backyard, closing the gate behind them before following you up to the front porch. You cradle the giant brown paper bag in your arms like a baby.

“It’s still warm,” you sigh happily, wiggling your shoulders a little. “I love Amy, god, she’s the best.”

You kick off your slides and head into the kitchen, getting lunch ready while Brady pulls open the back door so the dogs can traipse in and out of the house. They’re both barking up a storm while they roll around on the lawn, so you figure you might actually have a minute to eat in peace. Brady reaches around you to pick a piece of the crust off the loaf of bread, popping it into his mouth with a happy little noise. You laugh a little under your breath at how adorable he is and finish divvying up the soup into bowls.

“Bigger bowl is yours,” you tilt your head and Brady sets a glass of ginger ale in front of you, tugging lightly on the end of your ponytail as he withdraws his hand. You lean lightly back against his chest, bumping your head against his collarbone and Brady dips his chin to kiss your forehead.

“Still a little warm,” he murmurs against your skin.

You shrug, “I’ll take another Tylenol and sleep in the guest room, just in case.”

Brady snorts and drapes one arm over your shoulder to hold you in place since you’re leaning heavily into him. “Sweetheart, if you’ve got a fever, I’ve probably got a fever. The house is germ central,” he rips a piece of bread off the loaf with his other hand and tosses it into his mouth. Around the mouthful, he continues, “no use in separating now.”

You’re not about to argue with him because you’re feeling clingy and needy, desperate for the comfort of Brady at your side while you’re recovering. So you nod and reluctantly let him step to the side to eat.

Amy’s soup is probably magic because you both manage to polish off your bowls, with Brady going back for seconds, and a few hours later, nothing threatens to reappear.

You and Brady spend the rest of the afternoon lazing around, disinfecting the house, and just generally relaxing in preparation for return to normal. You’re planning on working remotely, easing back into your inbox after three days away. Brady will see how he’s feeling, if he’ll go to practice. But for now, Brady sits on the floor, his back against the couch, and tosses tennis balls for the dogs to chase after and fetch.

“Please don’t hit the glass,” you sigh, sprawled out on your side on the couch, one hand propped up under your head and the other working its way through Brady’s hair, a mirror of Brady’s actions earlier in the day. The salt and peppered strands are soft under your fingers and you can’t resist tugging gently, just to get a reaction out of your boyfriend.

He groans low in the back of his throat, the noise sending a little wave of heat through your body. “I was a quarterback, sweetheart,” Brady grumbles, affectionate teasing laced throughout his tone. “I never miss my target.”

Sully comes bounding back with the tennis ball clamped in his jaw and Brady wrestles it away from the dog with a laugh, sending the tennis ball flying through the air and out through the open French doors. You can see it land with a little bounce in the grass before Sully pounces on it. Reese jumps on his brother and they roll around in the grass for a bit.

“Cocky, former quarterback Brady is my favorite version of you,” you tease, scratching your nails against his scalp.

He laughs and reaches back to rub a hand over the top of your head. You curl up a little, bringing your knees closer to your chest and Brady’s head by default. He shifts, turning to the side so he can look at you and wedge his hand in between your knees, fingers curling around the back of your thigh. Your hand falls from his hair, coming down to rest on his shoulder, fingers dipping beneath the collar of his shirt to brush against warm skin.

Brady’s head tilts to the side, cheek coming to rest on the edge of the couch cushion, trapping your hand. You flutter your fingers against his collarbone, smiling softly. His lips curl up too, lifting his cheeks and crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Whatcha thinking, Mr. Skjei?” You ask quietly. “I can see your gears turning.”

“Nothing really,” he replies, tickling the back of your knee lightly. You squirm and press your knees together, squishing his fingers to try and get him to stop. “Just…been nice to relax with you.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, a skeptical smirk on your lips. “Norovirus was relaxing?”

“Well,” he snorts a laugh through his nose, “the last few hours were relaxing anyway.” He presses a kiss against the back of your wrist and brushes his nose against your skin.

A little shiver races down your spine, warm love for Brady flooding your entire body. He keeps his cheek pressed to the back of your hand and taps the back of your knee. “Think I can rejoin you in bed tonight?” He asks, breath warm against your skin.

“I’d really like that,” you grin, having missed his body curled around yours. Decamping to separate bedrooms had been a protective measure over the last few days since every time you heard Brady gag, you’d gone and puked.

The dogs traipse back inside and Brady shifts so he can stand and close the door, pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth as he goes. Tomorrow the routine will go back to normal, but when Brady comes back and lifts your legs to sit on the couch next to you, your legs draped over his lap and your ass pressed against the outside of his thigh, you soak up the quiet moment in your little bubble.

#brady skjei #brady skjei x reader #brady skjei fic #brady skjei x you #nhl fic

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chukys-mouthguard · 7 months ago

Note

For your prompt requests maybe prompt #1 with Joseph Woll, maybe she lives in Toronto and he went home for the off-season.

I’ve never written for Joseph Woll, but he cracks me up in any little player personality type videos so I really enjoyed writing this one!

“I don’t think you’re gonna even recognize me when you see me babe.”

Smirking to yourself you couldn’t help but chuckle. Joseph had been talking all about his off season training and how excited he was to get back to Toronto. To which you could attest, he looked great. He’d spent the summer with a couple of old teammates and they all committed to a pretty strict training program. The results were more than Joseph could’ve expected, giving him a nice confidence boost ahead of training camp. But of course it was also a plus for you to be able to drool all over your boyfriend’s new hot body.

“What did you get facial reconstruction surgery too? I didn’t know that was part of the training program.” He snorts out a laugh, always loved your quick comebacks and digs you could dish out.

“God I miss you.”

He lighthearted tone now fading as his line of the phone goes silent.

“One more night, and then you’ll finally be back in my arms.” You playfully call out into the phone as you head to the fridge to grab a drink before plopping down on the couch.

“One more night might as well be 10! I don’t know what’s been hard this summer; my training schedule or not having you to come home to everyday. Of course you couldn’t be making me bomb ass dinners like usual. Would probably have to throw a few extra salads into the mix. Oh my god and no more cookies or banana bread.”

He jokingly whined into the phone as you just shook your head. “Babe, you know there are healthier baked good alternatives I could make right?” “Yeah and they probably taste like shit! I can’t have you ruin my opinion of your baking with some gluten free buckwheat flower yak’s milk concoction. Noooo way!”

Your laugh now filling your apartment, causing Joseph to even laugh at his own words. “I don’t even know if buckwheat flour is a thing…or yak’s milk. But if it is, I don’t want it!”

The two of you continuing on your conversation as you’d heard the sound of Joseph’s car turning off, the locking with a beep. You hadn’t even noticed he was driving if you were honest. To excited about the conversation of him soon being home.

“Joseph Woll, where on earth are you driving to this late at night?” Scolding him playfully you can hear him grabbing something from his car, assuming he had one last late night training session before he came back to Toronto.

“Home silly goose.”

Shrugging it off you picked back up in the conversation, discussing some new plot point that was introduced in one of your guilty pleasure tv shows that Joseph loved hearing the drama about.

“And then, they built up the entire episode for you to think she was going to end up choosing Aaron, but then at the last minute she-knock knock knock- who the hell is knocking on my door at 11:50pm. Babe, stay on the phone please?”

He hummed a response, letting you know he was still on the line as you nervously walked toward the door. The peep hole being covered so you couldn’t see who the culprit was. Deciding you weren’t tempting fate, you walked away, pickup back up with your story.

“Babe who was at the door?”

“I don’t know the peep hole was covered! I’m not trying to die before my boyfriend gets back home!”

He laughed at you as a triple knock came again.

“Trust me babe, open the door…”

Something in his voice made you suspicious, quickly hustling back to the door to open it. Only to find Joseph standing their with a cheesy grin on his face as he laughed at you.

“Joseph Woll you scared me half to death! What is wrong with you?”

Playfully smacking him before jumping into his arms, wrapping him in a hug before pulling his lips to yous. “I couldn’t wait any longer, I had to get home to you. Can you forgive me?”

He pouted his lips only to have the pout kissed away by you instantly. “Of course, now wait a minute-“ taking a step back you eyed him up and down. Taking in how his chest and arms now filled out his tshirt, how his joggers clung to his thighs.

“I’m not sure we’ve actually ever met, you don’t look familiar, what’s your name?” He rolled his eyes at your comments, poking fun at his claim you’d not even recognize him.

“Very funny, guess I won’t show what I look like without the shirt then if you don’t recognize me.” He leaned in as he spoke, his lips almost brushing yours with his words before he headed off down the hall to the bathroom. Turning the shower on, as you quickly followed.

“Joooo, you know I’m just messing around I-“ stopping in your tracks you’d turned in the doorway of the bathroom to find him now shirtless as he reached into the cupboard for a towel.

“Wow.”

Simply the only words you could get out as he just smirked, slightly chuckling at your reaction before turning to face you. Closing the distance as you tried your best to look him in the eyes though his muscles really stealing the show.

“Do you wanna pick your jaw up now or after I shower?”

#joseph woll #Joseph Woll blurb #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl fics #hockey fic #hockey imagine #hockey blurb #nhl blurb #Toronto maple leafs

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thesuperiorrobin · 2 years ago

Text

“Media is stupid….”

❥ Pairing: Damian Wayne x FemReader

❥ Word count: idk I technically lost count

❥ Summery: small writhing of Instagram lives

❥ Warning: mentions of making out in the end.

You- white Damian-Green Jason-Red

Ever since you and Damian went out to the press to release the fact that you were dating people went wild. Aside from the whole stalking phase that had another phase where they tried to find your social media. Which really wasn’t hard in the first place because your username was your first and last name so it was easy to find you. The only form of media you have is just Instagram and Twitter. But Twitter is just for your daily news and Instagram—aside from those blurry pictures you claim are aesthetic— are for the lives. And the people of Gotham eat it up. Damian, for obvious reason, was never in the light when it came to the media having stated before that it was useless and “damages your brain and turns you into an idiotic imbecile” which is probably true. But then you came into his life and gave the world a glimpse of his sad dull little life—to which you had brought light into— and now everyone knows Damian Wayne isn’t as boring as he seemed! But to be fair Damian isn’t the only one—you brought his whole family involved! And the News will always be grateful for that! They really eat your Instagram lives and there’s completions of you with either Damian or one of his siblings.

Like for instant in a Instagram live—

“What are you eating? Must be good if you’re tearing that shit up up? What are you eating it looks good?’m eating a crouton salad”

Robin_lover: just a crouton salad?

!Batman_Forever!: it looks good!

Damian_Wayne_Fanpage: I don’t see any greens tho

“Well Damian Wayne fanpage-that’s cause it’s just croutons and ranch!”

“It’s my depression meal. At least that’s what my parents call it”

“What the hell is a Depression meal?”

“It’s like a meal that you put together when your mental health makes cooking hard”

“I could have had Alfred cook you up something, beloved. Something that’s has more nutritions and not salty bake bread bits with ranch all over it.

“But it’s good thought. Even Alfred look at me weird when I denied he was going to make for me and all i wanted was this. I saved him a lot of dishes”

____________________________________________

Damian_Wayne_Fanoage: what is one thing you like about damian.

“He’s big ass bathroom. Like his bathroom is the size of my bedroom and I’m jealous”

“You practically live in my bathroom love”

“Oh you’re right. As we speak guys we are literally in my boyfriends bathroom in the walk in shower just sitting here”

“I have my hair stuff here just sitting on top of the sink too”

“Don’t know why beloved you don’t even shower here”

“Yeah. For reasons I’m only allowed to use the guest shower though if I do end up spending the night”

“Unfortunately”

“Don’t let Bruce hear you lol”

____________________________________________

User19382818345: what’s a memory you will alway find funny

“They day I had accidentally took Alfred the cat home with me”

“I still do not understand how you take a cat home and not notice”

“Well Alfred snuck in my backpack. So honestly I didn’t even question why it was so heavy all of a sudden”

“But yeah he called me freaking out that his cat went missing. Almost burn down the city looking for him”

“I’ll do anything for that cat”

“Me too cause he’s my little baby. Right Alfred

“Meow”

____________________________________________

People loves that lives that include the brother sister bond between you and jason. The only reason as you try is because he’s the only one you show in your lives—not because your don’t favor Dick and Tim but because he’s the only one at the Manor when you visit.

Robin_lover: do you favor jason over the others? Cause he’s the only one we always see

“Nah. Jason’s actually my least favorite. My favorite one is actually Damian one hundred percent!”

“*Gasp*! Lady Gaga is live”

“Okay bye everyone see you in an hour!”

“Cant you just use tod-“

Instagram live has ended

____________________________________________

JasonToddFan: what’s your fav Lady Gaga song????

“My favorites are Love game, Judas, and replay!”

“I like poker face”

“Oh that’s a good one too”

“I wanna hold ‘em like they do in Texas please fold em, let em hit me—“

“Isn’t that song copyrighted?”

“Oh shit he’s right—don’t mind me I wasn’t singing poker face at all”

“You think if we played the Cartman version we’ll get sued or something?

“ I don’t know, probably”

“…..”

“P-p-p Poker face-“

____________________________________________

User2983108567: Does Bruce actually like you?

“Honestly the amount of times that poor man has caught me tongues deep in his sons mouth—I think he’s just tried of me to be honest lol”

“BELOVED!”

“You can’t be saying that sort of stuff online—more or less on an Instagram live”

“But he’s tried of both of us. Every time my father catches us doing something we are supposed to be doing in private I can always hear him sigh”

“Yeah like a very disappointing one too”

“Sometimes I think he just wonders why we’re like this”

“It’s true. I Sometimes see them making out too and it’s disgusting!”

“Todd I swear to go-“

Live has ended

#damian al ghul #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #batfamily #batman x fem!reader #robin x reader #batfamily x reader #damian x reader #damian al ghul x reader #damian scenarios #damian wayne headcanon #damian wayne x you

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oodlyenough · 29 days ago

Text

alright i started trying to write my s2 thoughts and just this one element already got long as hell and it's maybe my hottest take and most #unpopular opinion based on skimming other reactions so. whatever. i'm quarantining it to its own post god help me.

but

Speaking as someone who loved him the most in s1, to be honest I don't think Viktor's story in s2 was particularly good. I feel like they got into the season, realized they were supposed to vaguely tie into League lore, sort of haphazardly gave him some word salad speeches about evolution and emotion, and called it a day. I thought his cult motivations, the influence (or not) of the hexcore, etc were all pretty underwritten.

But in particular I'm bothered by the speech Jayce gives about Viktor "wanting to cure what [he] thought were weaknesses" and the suggestion that Viktor was doing evil blood magic because he was insecure about his disabilities and felt lesser-than because of them. This is just straight up not true in season 1. He does blood magic in 1.2-1.3 because he is DYING. It's like everyone in the show and the fandom forgot he was terminally ill. Conflating the general feel-good "love your body as it is" messaging around disability with *terminal illness* is just ... What.... in the world...?

In season one we saw *other people* treat him as lesser bc he was disabled, while Viktor's introductory speech is "nobody ever believed in [...] a poor cripple from the undercity, [but] I believed in myself". No one in s2 ever acknowledging that he took risks with the hexcore because he didn't want to die at, like, age 30 OR that by the end of s1 he had done the "morally correct" thing of accepting his mortality only for Jayce (and later Singed lol) to ignore that and plug the hexcore into him against his will... Jayce doesn't even own up to that or apologize for his role in things lmao I mean, #classic Jayce, but what is happening here.

If they wanted Viktor to be the average Spiderman villain messing around with science to cure his disabilities and unleashing eldritch horrors in the process, they could've written that in season 1 very easily. And of course it's great that Jayce loves him as he is -- to be honest season 1 never gave me any reason to think otherwise, but it's nice for Viktor to hear it, sure. But they specifically made him terminally ill only to act like that never happened, or like terminal illness is an "imperfection" you can defeat with body positivity and self-love. It's so tonally weird. I've seen a lot of people who were very moved by Jayce's speech about loving him anyway, and I'm happy people found meaning in it, but I was jaw dropped. Viktor was never "broken", yes, but he was fucking dying, and there is a difference.

#arcane #arcane spoilers #the pursuit of great #lol what was even his tumblr tag idr #viktor arcane

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cloveroctobers · 8 months ago

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BODE LEONE — Spring Writings 🩵

A/N: Happy Fire Country Friday! It’s just me feeding the ghost town of a tag that was inspired by that last episode with a side of drama or triggers—i try my best to make spring writings more fluff based which you will get somewhere here. I want to say this takes place a year or two after this current season idk whatever makes sense lol. I know timelines are kinda confusing for this show so feel how you feel!

WARNINGS: strained parent and child relationship, established relationships, infidelity of other characters, mentions of abuse to minors, alluding to s*ic**e, PTSD, blood, lots of descriptions that I should be employed as a screenwriter for the show with the amount of detail I give but we can just pretend, also I’m assuming that Bode and Riley were at least two to three years apart whereas him and Jake are the same age? I think that’s about it enough!

PROMPTS ARE FROM HERE + HERE & I’m using: 9. Our first dinner party & “god you’re bleeding! how the hell did you do that?” “i was trying to cut the tomatoes!”

⚘𖦹☼❀𑁍❀☼𖦹⚘ ⚘𖦹☼❀𑁍❀☼𖦹⚘ ⚘𖦹☼❀𑁍❀☼𖦹⚘ ⚘𖦹☼❀

“God you’re bleeding! How the hell did you do that?” Bode’s voice booms off the “almost oyster,” kitchen walls, making you zone back in to the fact that your middle knuckle and tip of your thumb happened to be oozing red all over the makeshift counter and cutting board.

He’s scrambling around the kitchen, snatching a rag from underneath the sink to wrap around your two fingers awkwardly. Applying pressure, which you hiss at, you meet Bode’s concerned blue-green eyes to see that he’s waiting for an answer.

You sigh, “I was trying to cut the tomatoes!”

Bode keeps his hands securely over yours and barely glances at the work you started on along with your phone that keeps silently lighting up. He blinks his attention back to you, sensing that you were disconnecting and was not entirely sure why. It was your idea to have your first dinner party after he moved in with you at the high rise out in Hillford, which was thirty minutes west of Edgewater.

“I see that,” he starts, “you don’t even like tomatoes, so I’m not sure why that’s on the menu for tonight?”

Closing your eyes for a moment you lift your shoulders nonchantly, “your mom loves a good Mediterranean salad, so I thought why not give it a go?”

Bode snorts, “my mom wouldn’t know the difference if it was store bought.”

His mom was a decent cook but she hardly had the patience to keep up with it. Majority of the time Bode’s dad was the one to throw down thanks to his own mother and grandmother forcing him to learn. Sharon loved to eat and sample so she wouldn’t be too judgmental…unless she ended up with food poisoning then you’d never hear the end of it!

“Vince would depending on what it is.” You peer at him underneath your eyelashes while Bode breathed out a laugh, figuring that you were most likely right. Mr. Leone may seem like a go with the flow kind of guy but one thing about the Leone’s? They loved to eat and if the food wasn’t cutting it then some words would be said.

Bode hoped the idea of his parents being here tonight didn’t make you nervous. It wasn’t your first time having a meal with them and one thing Bode knew about his parents is that they rarely held back. They liked you and they wanted to see him rebuild his life after being released. They were just happy that Bode was finally able to do that but after that text you just received…you weren’t so sure if that would remain true.

Bode gently lifts the rag from your fingers, “the bleeding from your thumb seems to be slowing down but that knuckle might need some stitches.” He announces before raising your hand back above your heart.

Feeling a wave of frustration fly over your being once more, made you want to lay face first on the kitchen floor—if it was sanitary. Hey you kept a clean house, otherwise you wouldn’t be having any family over! You were a bit of germaphobe and tried to ignore the itch of your brain to get to cleaning the mess you left on the wooden table turned island, that you got from a antique store two years ago.

“Hey,” Bode grips you even tighter, prepared to handle the deadweight if you decided to just drop to the floor, “what’s wrong?”

This was more than just you losing blood.

Opening your eyes you move your body around to slump against Bode, who didn’t hesitate to rest his cheek against the back of your head, “Sharon invited my mom and Manny, which is okay, I guess! Then my mom invited Gabriela! Which automatically makes what’s his face, the fiancé, her plus one while also extending it to Eve who invited Jake.”

The mumbling from you was a bit difficult for Bode to grasp but he listened intently anyways to get the gist of it all. There were many things wrong with this and he was tempted to call his mother up right now—despite knowing she had no ill intentions. Sharon seemed to get a kick out of your mom (which only meant trouble) who was casually dating Manny and you already knew your mother was solely the one to drag Gabriela into this. You’ve known the Perez’ since what felt like forever, way back in San Diego where you and Gabriela both attended school and actually became friends due to being in the same friend groups. You both tried out for the swim team, Gabriela made it and you excelled better at gymnastics.

She had the dream of being in the Olympics while you were being shot up with steroids from your coach to be the next star of the team. There was Lilavati Sharma who was the face of the team and carried herself with such grace despite the pressure to always be the best. She was sweet with all the girls and guys on the team and was genuinely likeable. The coach favored her just a little too much to the point she was here and then in the next she wasn’t.

Her father pulled her away from the team and gave the coach a nice shiner to the face that took weeks to heal. That only made the coach train you harder until you broke your collar bone, becoming the biggest disappointment until the truth of your coach came to light after the unexpected death of Lilavati.

That’s when you learned, maybe second best wasn’t so bad after all but that didn’t mean your trauma needed to be diminished as well. You hurt for Lilavati more than you did for yourself and it took years for you to understand why that was.

The universe seemed to have it written in stone that you and Gabriela were meant to be in each other’s lives. Yes you were older now compared to high school but it was safe to say that the both of you have fallen out long before. There always seemd to be some sort of connect with your mother and Manny. They were both once married and Manny’s been raising Gabriela all on his own for as long as you could remember. You recalled the conversations Gabriela would have about the gap she had in her life because of her mother’s absence and how lucky you were to have your parents.

Well…your mother’s been cheating on your father since you were a kid and basically bullied you not to tell your father about it once you were a bit older. Although he’s always known, he hated that she put you in that position after realizing that you’ve known. By the time leaving for college came around, your dad was moving from San Diego to Northern California far out to Edgewater; after serving your mother divorce papers who gave him such a hard time on signing them. She even followed him all the way out there after putting the house up for sale a month before your graduation.

Going back and forth to court was a common thing between them along with a restraining order being filed and lengthy phone calls from your mouthy mother filled your head while studying for finals. So yes your upbringing was as peachy as everyone thought.

Bringing it back to present time, your father was remarried and seemed to be thriving with his new aeronautical engineer of a husband, that you had to cat-sit every time they left the country to explore the world. Your father’s always been open about his sexuality and made you comfortable (considering he was a psychologist) if you ever questioned anything of your own personal experiences. You were one of the rare cases where you always had crushes and flirted once it felt like those crushes also showed interest but…it never amounted out into much.

You never had a significant other until you reached college. Let’s just say, you didn’t marry your college sweetheart. That wasn’t your story. The idea of love that you had wasn’t the brightest although it’s something you always wanted to have, it was just hard to truly receive it. And here you were with a man that always fought through so much in life that also wanted to give love and be loved in return.

“So the gang is all coming basically?” Bode used one hand to gently rub your back, “we could just cancel. It was supposed to just be with my parents…although I don’t mind Manny and your mom tagging along but…inviting everyone else to our place without talking to us about it…is crossing boundaries. How’d you find out?”

It still felt odd for Bode to call this waterfront townhouse his as well but you constantly reassured him that he was open to doing anything that made him feel like the home was his too. For one contributing to the HOA fees was a good start (after fighting a lengthy battle with the court to get EMT training and finally getting a spot on CalFire as stable income was a long time coming). Pre-Prison Bode had jobs before—some that he’s walked out on—but being with CalFire gave him purpose with a smidge of financial freedom. He was able to spend money on things that mattered like annoying adult stuff, a creepy ornamental two piece banana sculpture that he installed on the wall of the breakfast room (a small separate area from the dining room), and you.

“Mom texted.” You huffed, “and I’m trying to get better at not blowing up on her but when she does things like this? It makes it so hard.”

It took a lot for you to stand up to your mother since you tended to hold everything in. Over the years it’s been a build up and she’s apologized various of times but it started to fall on empty ears when she continued to repeat her same patterns.

Bode hated that your mother caused you such anxiety. He’s cupping your face now, gently placing his forehead against yours, “what do you want to do? I’ll call mom and yours up right now if it’s too much? We can have dinner ourselves, just us two and see if there’s any new streams on that movie you’ve been telling me about.”

You send him a small smile, cherishing that, “the kebabs are already done along with half of the other food. We can’t eat all of this ourselves.”

Bode peeks over at the covered food on the rest of the counters then back to you with a smirk of a smile, “want to bet?”

“Bode!”

“What? I can eat and I’ve been dying to try a kebab since you slapped my hand with a Spatula an hour ago.” He playfully glares at you, “I needed a snack.”

“There’s always crackers.”

Bode furrows his brows, “…I thought you loved me but I think you’re trying to starve me. What is this? Three rock?”

You laughed, “well at least one of us has an appetite and I just want to get through this night and enjoy the company of what I thought would just be with Sharon and Vince.”

Bode nods his head, “we still have time if you change your mind so, I’ll give you until after I’ve cleaned you up.”

“I love that you already know that I want you to do my stitches.”

Bode slides an arm across your hips to guide you out of the kitchen, “of course I know my baby. You nearly collapse every time you see prices in the grocery store when we’re out so I can only imagine what the bill from urgent care would look like. Lucky for you, you have a certified first responder as a boyfriend.”

He’s careful with you as he guides you up the narrow creaky stairs to the second floor to the main bathroom and you’re reminded this is the love you deserve.

You’re seated on the toilet while Bode is making a mess—like he commonly does—searching for what he needs. His hands are large and quick as they work the needle through the thread before setting it aside. He turns back to you, moving your hands from the pressure you’re applying against the rag, before motioning for you to keep it on the knuckle while he cleans, applies antibiotics and bandages your thumb first.

Bode kisses your thumb over the bandage, “how are we doing? Feeling faint? Do you need water? I probably should have asked before we came up here.”

“I’m fine.” You smile softly at him as he grabs a stool to sit down on as it’ll take him longer to work on your knuckle, “thanks for checking.”

He hums in response, “want to talk about work as a distraction?”

Blood didnt really bother you but you did cringe at the thought of needles. You can go ahead and write down PTSD note takers! You were an application security specialist, yes a true nerd, and also damn good at your stressful but fulfilling job but it was the weekend so that was a negative.

You redirect the conversation, “I’d like to draw you your next tattoo.”

Did you have artistic abilities like Bode? Let’s just say you were more of a data person while also being pretty athletic—although gymnastics was somewhat history you still found yourself stretching and working out to be crucial to your health routine—you had your own taste.

“Yeah?” Bode asks as he gets to work, “are you telling me you don’t like the two I already have?”

You shake your head, “sure I do. They have their own significant stories, which I’d never change and I have ideas if that artist brain of yours craves for more ink.”

“Appreciate that…so what’s on your mind?”

You deeply inhale as you feel the needle piercing your skin but talk through it, “you’re surprisingly into some odd art and I’ve been looking at vintage Halloween art that my co-worker is obsessed with and thought, why not create a wizard frog with a pointy star hat, wand and everything?”

“A wizard frog?” There’s a teasing tone in Bode’s voice while he pictures it as he pulls tight before going back to your skin while you hold your breath, “Magic’s not really my thing especially since I told you about my dad having me watch that one weird movie with Anthony Hopkins. Riley on the other hand? Could sit up for hours watching that horror crap with my dad…although she always ended up in my room, stealing my covers while talking away as I tried to sleep. As her big brother I dealt with it if that meant keeping her nightmares away, although I regretted it in the morning.”

The both of you share a laugh at this.

What you knew of Riley was that her and Bode were sorta opposites. She had the kindest big round blue eyes, was friendly and open to having conversations with strangers whereas Bode was more reserved before he felt comfortable enough to approach. Apparently she was soft spoken yet determined, into the well-being of animals that she planned to be a vegetarian once she was older, liked magic tricks and horror movies but only if that meant she got more time to bond with Vince that is. She seemed to have a heart on her sleeve and probably would have been a veterinarian if she lived past sixteen.

“Just big brother duties.” You inhale air between your teeth, “and I think she would like my wizard frog idea.”

“Yeah…I can see you two plotting against me.” Bode smiles over at you before giving one last tug before snooping off the excess thread, “all set.”

Before he can even move to start cleaning up, you throw your arms across his shoulders and give him a squeeze. Bode pauses but buried his nose against your fuzzy cardigan before rubbing your back against your embrace once more.

“What’s this for?”

You say, “just because I love you and I’m happy to have you here with me, which I know I probably don’t say enough since words of affirmation is more your thing than mine but I stand by this. I look forward to many more days with you, good and challenging.”

Bode feels his body go warm at your words and pulls back to meet your eyes. “I can’t wait and I love you too, softie.”

You roll your eyes as he chuckles at you while you scratch at his facial hair.

“…You’ll think about the wizard frog?”

Bode sighs with a small smile on his lips, “If it makes you happy, love.”

“Cop out answer!” You flick his broad shoulder with your good hand.

“How?” Bode lifts his shoulders in confusion.

You crinkle your nose in annoyance, “You can’t ever say what I want to hear and make me think I’m always the winner, fight back.”

“Okay…I’ll remember that when I don’t want to watch the traitors uk with you.” Bode holds your stare while you gasp with a hand to your chest and then nod your head, mentally saying that was fair game.

Bode can already tell what you’re thinking, which makes him grin at you before leaning forward to cautiously peck your lips. You humph before slowly pushing yourself to get to your feet and steady yourself.

Bode’s hands are immediately on your hips as you balance yourself and you give him a nod in reassurance before leaning forward. You connect your lips again, his beard tickling your face as you breathe him in. He smells sweet like amber, fresh but calming like cypress, and warm sandalwood and you feel like you could just sink into him endlessly but manage to pull away.

“You sure you don’t want to cancel? We could do more of that and I wouldn’t mind.” Bode squeezes your hips with a lick of his own lips.

You pull from his grip, “that’s what Sunday is for, a day with no plans! Now let’s go, chop chop! We have a dinner to finish.”

And you’re out of the bathroom before Bode can even blink. He’s shaking his head at you and calls out, “fine. Don’t touch any more knives though!”

Once putting everything back where it belongs, he stares at his reflection in the mirror. He’s not entirely thrilled to have Jake here, since they were attempting to get back to where they once were but Bode wasn’t holding his breath since he felt like Jake was trying to live what could have been his when it came to Genevieve. It took time for him to accept what happened when they were teenagers meaning with Riley but since he’s been locked up? It felt like it was one thing after the next even in his freedom. Then there was Gabriela…which you had your own issue with although you tried to downplay it and there was a smidge of a history that Bode had with her that probably didn’t help…

He just hopes this dinner isn’t a true disaster for both of your sakes but at least he could have the task of throwing someone out…if it came to that of course.

That wasn’t what brought a smile to his face, it was the thought of hosting something that he could call his own with the person he wanted to spend countless days with.

You.

⚘𖦹☼❀𑁍❀☼𖦹⚘ ⚘𖦹☼❀𑁍❀☼𖦹⚘ ⚘𖦹☼❀𑁍❀☼𖦹⚘ ⚘𖦹☼❀

#queued #fire country #fire country cbs #bode donovan #bode leone #bode leone x reader #spring writings #fire country fanfiction #sharon leone #vince leone #manny perez #gabriela perez #jake crawford #eve edwards #max thieriot

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