#Hospital beds Market Share | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cordeliawhohung · 3 months

Text

Where Your Feet Pass [2]

general masterlist | taglist | series masterlist

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Pregnant!Reader

nothing but bets and wagers

cw: depression, stress, medical situations, sexism, minor hurt, minor comfort

wc: 4.4k

You miss waking up to the scent of coffee.

There was nothing better than sliding out of bed and slinking off into the kitchen, still blinking the sleep from your eyes, where you would quickly be greeted by a fresh caffeine rush. Invigorating. Tantalizing. A delicious, earthy roast would coat your tongue as you savored the warmth of the mug seeping into the palm of your hands. Birds would chirp outside the window as your husband would approach you from behind where loving arms would wrap around your waist. Soft lips on your earlobe. A whispered promise. Rough stubble against your jaw.

It’s all a sour memory now — something that makes your stomach twist and flutter, and it’s not due to the tiny life growing inside of you. Now, you wake up in an empty bed. The only aroma that greets you is the strange mixture of a stuffy room and the rotten city air that drifts through your open bedroom window. Stale. Decaying. Getting out of bed is difficult now that you don’t have anything to look forward to. If it weren’t for the growing weight on your bladder, and your eighteen week ultrasound appointment, you probably wouldn’t have gotten out of bed at all today.

Fresh cut flowers greet you as you exit your bedroom, and their blooms attempt to fight off the stale scent of your new apartment. They’re a beautiful gift from your supervisor, Lilah, that you received yesterday afternoon — complete with a get well soon card and everything. Curly handwriting. Soft, vibrant petals. They’re the only bit of color that exists in your otherwise pale and barren kitchen. You try to use it as a reminder to stay calm and positive; it’s certainly a better reminder than the hospital discharge papers you had sitting there previously.

The last week has been rough. More than rough. Despite your best efforts at decorating, your new apartment has become a prison. White cell walls — stuck in solitary confinement. Alone with your vicious thoughts. There’s nothing more in the world that you want other than to just go outside and enjoy the new summer weather, but with the way your hormones and emotions have been treating you, you’ve realized that’s not the best idea. If you go to the market and see a sweet husband with his kids one more time, you don’t think you’ll ever recover.

What was supposed to be you on a wonderful, calming medical leave has quickly turned into terrible, lonely self isolation.

No matter; everything feels less lonesome when you’re surrounded by good art. Or, maybe you’re still alone, but the colorful paintings you’ve spent half the morning hanging up in your studio are at least a bit comforting. That’s why it’s created, isn’t it? Not only to convey emotion and share a story, but ultimately to make the painter feel less alone? Brilliant turquoise water and soft lilac flowers; Monet’s work has been some of your favorites for as long as you can remember. It certainly brightens up the room, at least. You’re sure you remembered reading somewhere in your lease that you weren’t supposed to use nails to hang things up, but at this point you don’t care. If you get charged extra, you’ll just take it out of Isaac’s account.

Lord knows the bastard can afford it.

All goes well until you’re trying to hang up The Water Lily Pond. The minimal amount of nails you were able to steal from your soon-to-be-ex-husband have run dry, and you’ve still got more paintings to hang. Its ethereal bridge and rippling river will have to wait to be displayed in all its printed glory. No matter. You’ve got to get headed out for your appointment anyway, and maybe on your way back you can pick some up at a hardware store.

That thought makes you pause, and you stop in the center of your half decorated room. Your tongue shrivels up in your mouth. Prunes. Cracks. Turns to a dust that threatens to choke you. Maybe you’d be better off asking someone if they have extras instead.

There’s not much for you to write on. Just simple scraps of paper and old hospital papers you keep around yet can’t stand to look at anymore. You blindly rip off the corners of one of these spare pages and quickly jot down your message:

Hey, do you have any extra nails you’re willing to part with?

- 209

You don’t bother to sign off with your name. You doubt anyone remembers it, anyway, and your apartment number is plenty recognizable. All packed and prepared for your appointment, you make a quick drop by apartment 205 and slide it under Grandma’s door. You’re not sure if an old lady like her would even have what you’re looking for, but between her and Kyle, she’s certainly the less embarrassing one to ask. As soon as that slip of paper is out of sight, you turn on your heels, walk to the end of the hallway — bypassing the still broken lift — and try not to think about anything.

It’s something you fail at. Miserably. Clear mind turns foggy, you think of everything. How stuffy the bus is. How the perfume the receptionist is wearing makes your stomach upset. Synthetic. Strong. How dark the ultrasound room is. The hum of the machines. The warmth from the computer. There’s something sharp that itches your skin in the gown they have you change into, and you don’t like the feeling of the warm gel sliding along your stomach. The tech is putting too much pressure on your stomach. It’s uncomfortable. Pressing. You want someone to hold your hand.

Someone should be holding your hand, but you’re alone. Even though you know it’s better that way — isolated in that room, abandoned — it doesn’t ease the sting. A wave of thoughts wash over you in a salty assault as you wonder what it would have been like if Isaac was there. If he still loved you. If he hadn’t broken you the way that he did. Would his eyes light up at that black and white screen? Would he talk about how proud he is of you? It’s a voracious want — to be loved in the way you always thought you were; the way you should be.

“Would you like to know the gender?”

Gentle and soft, the tech’s voice pulls you out of your mind and you’re brought back to that dark room. Her eyes are trained on the screen as she taps away, taking measurements and tracking progress, yet they flicker over to you, waiting for your answer.

The lump that’s been forming in your throat all morning snakes down your throat painfully slow as you swallow. Before he had decided to get his dick wet, Isaac had insisted that the two of you do a proper gender reveal. Neither of you would find out the gender until later. He’d order catering, invite — mostly his — family; there would be pictures and glorious celebration. Proper excitement for the life the two of you would welcome into the world in a few months —

But now…

“Please,” you say with a smile.

But now, it’s just you.

Giddy, the tech carefully turns the monitor towards you while trying to maintain her angle on your stomach. She’s still pressing vexingly hard on your bladder, but you try not to think about it as you take in the sight of your unborn child as the image pulses on the screen. Dancing in fluid, the little blip floats across the screen with still forming appendages and round head. They’re still surprisingly small for how much room they’re taking up; rearranging your organs, pushing out so terribly on your stomach. Your throat constricts. This is your child.

Yours, and only yours.

“This is the head here, as I’m sure you guessed,” she continues, finger carefully ghosting over the monitor. “Arms, legs, torso… properly formed skull, kidneys look good, lungs are coming in nicely… missing those extra bits, so I’m happy to tell you that you’ve got a healthy little girl cooking in there.”

A girl.

You watch her on the screen. Moisture pricks the corners of your eyes, makes them sting bitterly. How joy can elicit such odd pain is beyond you, but you ignore it in favor of attempting to savor the moment. Her legs kick, and you feel that flutter inside of you. Butterfly wings. Gentle rain on glass. You smile, and it’s just as bitter as everything else brewing inside of you, but your laugh smothers it with honey.

“You’ll let me keep prints, right?” you ask.

The technician nods her head, and ignores the way your voice cracks. “Of course. I’ll print several copies for friends and family, if you’d like?”

“Please.”

Maybe Grandma will take a copy.

This tiny being caught on black and white film is the only thing you can focus on. Even as your OB rattles off about keeping your stress levels down and increasing your potassium intake; your daughter is the only thing you can see. She’s all that matters. Your doctor talks about how high risk you are, and you’re busy counting fingers. There’s concern about your health after you ended up in the hospital a few weeks back, and her words fall on deaf ears. She mentions bed rest, and you’re comparing the size of your daughter's head to the palm of your hand. Small. Impossibly tiny. Still growing. Alluring.

Your baby girl is beautiful already.

Once you’ve made your next appointment for four weeks out, you head back home with a weight lifted off your shoulders. There’s still something insidious lurking around the corner. Tethering you to some pole. Pulling at your feet as you walk up the stairs next to the broken lift. It’s always there. Somewhere hidden. Something unnamed. You ignore it as you open your door and check to see if Grandma has answered your note yet. There’s no sort of response from her, and judging by the fact she’s not in her usual perch in the enclave in the hallway, you imagine she’s out and about doing… old lady things.

Maybe she’s got a family, which is more than you can say for yourself at the moment.

Regardless, you have no interest in decorating the rest of your studio anymore; not when you have the greatest work of art in the palm of your hands. Gentle fragrance washes over you as you enter your kitchen and place the ultrasound photos next to your vase of flowers. You giggle to yourself. What a perfect little shrine. Not even born yet, and you’re already decorating your devotion to her.

Now, you can plan. Put your energy toward something more rewarding than stressing or self depreciation. There are outfits to be bought, essentials to stock up on; names. Beautiful names, regal names, lovable names. Names you get to coo at night when she’s wanting to feed; a name that rolls off of your tongue as you call for her when she’s older. Your lips curl into a trembling smile as your thumb rubs over the smooth surface of the sonogram. You are terrified, but you are so in love.

Then your eyes wander — because they always do — around the counter. That same, pale lettering on the card your supervisor gave you stares back at you like an omen. Haunting. Get well soon! Your throat tightens as your smile fades, and you remember that you’re living in a delusion. What happiness is there to be found carrying the child of a man who couldn’t stay faithful? Or at least not fuck another woman in your shared bed?

With your mood already ruined by Isaac’s mere existence, you push away from the counter as you yank your phone free from your pocket. It’s been neglected these last few days as you’ve been doing your best to ignore him, but whether you like it or not, you’re still stuck with him. Answering his questions, keeping him updated on the baby; because if you don’t, then he’ll find some way to torture it out of you anyway. You’d rather do it on your terms.

You pull up his contact. The last message you had gotten from him was one you hadn’t seen from this morning:

Good morning my lovely.

You try not to gag as you type out your response:

The baby’s a girl.

Rapid knuckles rap against the wood of your door, and you nearly jump out of your skin as you shoot a glare at the entrance. Biting into your lip, you close your phone and discard it back into your pocket as you peer through the peephole. You’re surprised to find Kyle on the other side wearing a grey t-shirt and a dusty, Union Jack cap. Confused, though not repulsed, by his presence, you open the door and greet him with tight-drawn brows.

“Hey.” It’s awkward. Short. You’re certain he can smell your confusion from a mile away.

Instead of calling you out on it, he holds up a small plastic bag that jingles like Christmas bells as he shakes it. Several, miscellaneous-sized nails jump around, bumping into one another with an odd melody. “Got your note.”

He holds the bag out for you to take — polite and cautious — and once you have them in your hands, you can’t help but squint at them. You could have sworn you had slipped that note under Grandma’s door. Well, at least you’ve only made a slight fool of yourself.

“Oh, right, thank you,” you say with a smile, as if this had been the plan all along.

“We’re not supposed to use nails to hang things up, but I always keep extra lying around. They’re more useful and less damaging than that peel-n-stick crap they want you to use,” Kyle humors.

“That, and they’re significantly better at hanging up paintings. Don’t have to worry about them falling off the damn walls,” you chuckle.

Kyle hums as the corner of his lips quirk up. Everything about him is kind and sweet — especially his eyes, which not-so-tactfully look you up and down, lingering on your swelling stomach. It’s a look you’ve gotten used to. Pregnancy has a way of drawing attention. “Need help hangin’ anything?”

You should say no — you want to say no — but you can hear your OB in the back of your mind. Keep stress levels low. Rest in bed as much as possible. And please, keep strenuous activity to a minimum.

“If you’ve got the time.” That sentence leaves your voice shaking. Half finished. Not entirely convinced. “It’s… always better to have a second set of eyes to make sure they’re even, anyway.”

This isn’t the first time Kyle’s been in your apartment. He was in here last week to help you move your monster of a mattress into your bedroom — which you’re still not sure if you’ve thanked him properly for or not. For some reason, your stomach dips when you bring him into your studio. It’s not a place many people see. Or, that many people ever saw when it was still your proper set up when you were living with Isaac. It’s bare bones and gutted, at the moment. A lonely easel sits in the center of the room with no canvas to hold, surrounded by a mixture of works from your favorite artists. Sunlight seeps through the open windows, painting the dull white of the room an alluring gold; for a moment, it almost feels like home.

“Did you paint these?” Kyle asks. He’s staring at one of John William Waterhouse’s paintings. Miranda. A beautiful, fair skinned woman with flaxen hair sits on a large rock on the grey shoreline of a windy beach. Her hands are folded in her lap, patient, as if waiting for something.

“I’m very flattered you think I could paint as well as Waterhouse himself, but that’s just a print,” you chuckle.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

With Kyle’s mastery at maneuvering canvases, and your keen eye, it doesn’t take long to turn your studio from a half finished mess, into a beautifully covered masterpiece. There’s hardly a single inch of wall visible in that entire room.Natural lighting reflects off of the myriad of colors, casting a vibrant glow throughout the room. You smile with your hands on your hips. This is the first bit of triumph you’ve felt in weeks.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Kyle hisses. He’s made the mistake of turning the studio light on, and the bulb overhead sputters and flashes at seizure-inducing speed. He quickly shuts it off, and looks at you with a sheepish grin before clearing his throat. “I’ve got an extra bulb too, if you need it.”

“Don’t worry about it, I put a ticket in with maintenance,” you excuse.

Kyle hums, but doesn’t look entirely convinced that’s going to fix your issue. Still, he keeps quiet as you lead him out of the studio and back through the kitchen toward the exit. Goodbyes are always awkward, especially for someone who was technically accidentally invited over in the first place, and you feel your palms sweating about it already.

While you’re brainstorming ways to excuse him, Kyle’s eyes are wandering. It’s only natural that they do. That floral arrangement is beautiful, after all. Pristine, bright daisies, dainty sunflowers; glorious yellows and greens and whites. It looks too cheerful to be propped up next to a get well card. You can feel the question burning the tip of his tongue, because it’s what everyone always asks. How are you? Feeling any better? Hope things are going well for you-

Your phone buzzes.

It burns a hole in your pocket. You know you shouldn’t look at it. It’s malicious. Evil. Writhing against your body, begging to be paid attention to. Attracting your fingers like a moth to a flame, and before you know it, your hands are ensnared in the web Isaac so painfully crafted for you.

The screen burns your eyes as you look at his message:

I was hoping for a boy.

That memory of Isaac talking about doing a gender reveal party haunts you. He spoke about it as if he were ecstatic; as if he would have been happy no matter the gender. That it was supposed to be a mirthful celebration of the two of you and your unborn child — is this what you had to look forward to? I was hoping for a boy? Would he have looked at you, dejected and torn apart over the fact that this child is a girl? Would he have cheered as loud? Smiled as big? Did he just recently turn into this fiend, or have you been blind this entire time?

How long have you been loving a monster?

“What’s this?”

Kind curiosity interrupts your thoughts, and you look up from your phone to find Kyle scrutinizing over the sonograms on the counter. Your daughter's beautiful features captured on translucent film are muddied against the dark counter top that sits underneath it. There’s hardly a head or torso to be seen in that mess.

“Oh, I had an ultrasound of the kid today. It’s a sonogram,” you explain simply.

He’s bending at the hips now, eyes squinting as he tries to make sense of it. There’s something oddly respectful about the way he doesn’t touch it. Like he’s worried about intruding if he does.

“Here, it’s easier to see if you hold it up to the light. Like this…”

You grab the sonogram off the counter, and you hold it up to the natural light pouring through the open window on the other side of the room. Kyle tilts his head, enamored by the way the image clears up. A whisper of a laugh hangs in the back of his throat.

“I’ve never seen one in person before. Neat thing,” he admits.

It’s strange being so close to him. You can smell brass and soot on his skin, an odd scent you’ve never encountered before, yet one that isn’t entirely unwelcome. Certainly better than the overdose of perfume your receptionist used.

“Do you know what it is?” he asks as you lower the sonogram. He looks at you with genuine curiosity as you lower the picture back to the counter.

“A girl,” you answer sheepishly.

Kyle grins so bright you swear it’s blinding. “Granny’ll be happy to hear that. She placed a bet that you were havin’ a girl.”

Your laugh erupts from your throat without warning, and you find your hand flying to your stomach by reflex. “Did she really?” He nods. “And what did you bet, then?”

His shining grin melts more into a cheeky smirk as he glances towards the exit before looking back at you. “I bet on it being a girl, too. Guess we’re both winners.” He pauses, eyes once again falling to your stomach before landing back on your face, eyes softening. “But no one’s more lucky than you, I imagine.”

Most days, you don’t feel lucky. If anything, you’re haunted. Carrying around some sort of terrible ghost that lingers in your pocket. Cunning. Malicious. But today, in that room, getting to see your daughter? Knowing that this is your daughter? It made you feel like the happiest woman on earth, if only for a moment.

“You might be right about that,” you giggle in agreement.

There’s a gentle moment the two of you share. A hidden jocundity that you weren’t able to properly share with anyone else. But it’s short lived. Smothered and snuffed out before it can properly blossom, and then you’re walking Kyle to the door. He hesitates to step through the threshold, fingers twitching with intent, digging deep into the pocket of his jeans before holding out a small piece of paper toward you.

You recognize it as the note that you wrote on earlier — and swore you gave to Grandma and not him — but it’s got extra writing on the back. A phone number; scrawled in some of the most perfect handwriting you’ve ever seen.

“Take this. Just in case you need anything else. I’m usually gone most of the day because of work, so texting or calling is easier. If it’s all the same to you,” he explains.

You slip the paper between your fingers before folding it into your pocket where you silently pray you’ll never need it. Kyle is a good man, truly. Sweet, charismatic, and more than handsome — a model citizen, you suppose. But you know how it looks. A — soon to be — single, hopefully soon-to-be-divorced woman, pregnant, and living on her own? If people don’t think Kyle’s doing charity work, they’ll certainly think more malevolent of you.

Gold digger, pathetic, lonely woman that can’t take care of herself, can hardly keep a relationship, only hanging around this poor sod so he’ll take care of her kid no doubt. Lord knows she can’t take care of it herself-

“Thanks,” you smile.

When the door closes behind Kyle, he notices Grandma has magically appeared in her usual spot. Old, creaking rocking chair, same frail hands working yarn into clothes; she sits unbothered. She wasn’t there when he first arrived home, but she’s apparated like a damn witch.

“Was that your doing?” he asks, thumb jamming over his shoulder as he approaches the ancient crone.

“You’ll have to be more specific, dear,” she chirps.

“The note, asking about extra nails? She didn’t slide that under my door, did she?” Kyle explains.

Grandma shrugs. “I didn’t have any. Figured an able-bodied man like yourself would.”

A peeved sigh passes between Kyle’s teeth as he fumbles for his keys, head hanging low. Gunpowder and dirt cling to his body like a second skin. Filthy. Rotten like he is when he’s out in the field. He’d spent most of the day out at the range. You probably thought he was disgusting.

“Well, a little warning next time, if you would. She looked at me like I was crazy when she opened that door,” he requests as he turns toward his door. He pauses, hand outstretched and ready to unlock the door, when he remembers something. “Oh, we were right. She’s havin’ a girl.”

Crooked, yellow teeth flash in a quick grin as Grandma chuckles and pulls her knitting close to her chest. “Oh, good. I’ve already knitted three pink hats for the darling.”

Her happiness is an infectious sort of jovial that seeps into even Kyle’s skin, but his smile is quick to fade when he thinks back to the flowers and card that sat next to those sonograms. Something so bleak next to literal gifts of life — get well soon.

“You think she’s alright? Living on her own, I mean,” Kyle asks, voice low and quiet as if the very walls will whisper his words to you if he’s too loud. “I know it’s not my place but… it’s a little odd, isn’t it?”

A tangible solemness taints the air, forcing Grandma’s smile into a down-turned frown. Then, her lips set straight as she gets back to knitting.

“She’s in a lot of pain,” is all she says in answer.

“You think she lost her husband? She’s got ring rash, but no ring,” Kyle ventures.

The sound that exudes from Grandma is something he’s never heard from her before. It’s sour, bilious even. Her hands begin to work twice as fast than they did before.

“A woman who loses her husband is beside herself. She’s got too much anger for that, Kyle, and I think you’re smart enough to figure that out, too,” she replies.

That was a possibility he had imagined as well. Some idiot bastard, abandoning his pregnant wife during her time of need. It’s not unheard of. There are a lot of odious people on this earth — he’s very aware. Yet, a part of him had hoped — as sick as it is — that whoever you had been with had only died. It’s a different type of betrayal. To be loved beyond death would certainly be more comforting than to be loved until that affection suddenly ran dry.

“Suppose you’re right,” Kyle mutters.

The key slides into the lock easily, like a knife through flesh, and it almost makes him laugh. Look at him. What a tricky little monster, trying to care for someone so soft when he can recall the way blood gushes free around cold steel.

“Keep an eye on her, Kyle. I’m getting old. Won’t be around forever,” Grandma says, tone too steady to be joking.

He doesn’t look back as he opens the door.

“Yes ma’am.”

#gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #f!reader #where your feet pass

392 notes · View notes

alottiegoingon · 4 months

Text

hc! beecoming three

lottie matthews x fem!reader

summary: the one where you are pregnant and lottie loves to take care of you

warnings: endless amount of fluff it might make you throw up, established relationship, lottie and reader live together, characters are aged up, lottie being protective and an angel, mentions of sex but nothing explicit, not proofread

@l0tt1emy i hope you like this bby

𓆦 ever since you told lottie that she was going to be a mom, she became the happiest woman to ever live

𓆦 it’s not like neither of you weren’t expecting it to happen and had spent lots of money so you could finally be moms, but it was a pleasant surprise

𓆦 except for the fact that lottie’s life only purpose was to take care of you now and it was starting to concern you

𓆦 “baby, just come to bed,” you pout, tapping the empty space on your side as you begged her to join you

𓆦 after dinner, lottie had spent hours fixing the smallest details ever on the baby’s bedroom and organizing a huge bag with itens that could be needed for when you two had to rush to the hospital

𓆦 “but we need to be ready! what if the baby decides to come earlier?” she stops by the door holding diapers, with messy hair sticking to her sweaty forehead and looking exactly like 🥺

𓆦 “lott, the baby is six weeks old”

𓆦 lottie would always wake up early to make you breakfast, trying her best to make it healthy and nutritious for you and the baby. at some days, it was still dark outside when you tattered for her in bed but she wasn’t there because she got up at like 5am to get ingredients for meals

𓆦 when you decided to wake up earlier than usual after noticing her absence, you walk on your tiptoes to the kitchen just to find her mixing the ingredients for pancakes in a bowl

𓆦 quietly, you stop behind her and wrap your arms around her waist, briefly giving her cheek a tender kiss and resting your chin on her shoulder. “good morning, love”

𓆦 lottie wasn’t expecting you to be up so early and immediately flinched at your touch, making you two share a good laugh. she looks back at you and kisses your forehead

𓆦 “what are you doing here so early? are you alright? feeling sick? too cold?” she drops everything she’s doing to fully pay attention to you and make sure you are feeling 100% okay, inspecting every inch of your body and even hair

𓆦 “i’m fine,” you say, grabbing lottie’s anxious hands to hold them firmly in order to calm her nerves, “i just missed you. it’s so early, you should be in bed.”

𓆦 “i’m sorry,” lottie, now less anxious, nods and let go of your hands to gently place her warm touch on your stomach and slowly rub her fingers in a caress

𓆦 “i know i’m exaggerating but i just want everything to be okay,” she pouts and you felt the sudden urge to just squeeze her 😫

𓆦 “everything is fine, lottie. everything will be okay thanks to you,” you smile at her, getting closer to cup her cheeks and smooch her entire face

𓆦 eventually, she got less nervous about everything, not worrying or overthinking the small details too much. that doesn’t mean that she was any less eager to please you

𓆦 a few weeks later, you were in bed and it was past midnight when you couldn’t sleep, craving some ice cream. you didn’t want to wake up lottie and make her leave just to get you stupid ice cream but you would die for it at this point!

𓆦 “do you think the market is open now?” you whisper, turning your head to face lottie. it was almost instantly. the second she connected the words ‘market’ and ‘now’ her eyes fluttered open and she was already getting out of bed

𓆦 “i’m on my way, baby! what do you want?” she doesn’t even change clothes, just put a sweatshirt on top of her pajamas and heads out when she got all the information she needed

𓆦 thirty minutes later, lottie called you from the kitchen and the first thing you see when you get there is the counter covered in lots of ice cream with different flavors and a bunch of sweets and chips as well

𓆦 “oh my god,” you gasp, eyes wide open at the scary amount of food

𓆦 “i wasn’t sure if you liked vanilla so i decided to get others as well,” she explained with a super proud smile, “and some other stuff too cause i don’t want you to be hungry”

𓆦 before feasting on a full carton of ice cream, you were pretty sure that lottie almost ran out of breath thanks to your endless kisses and tight hugs

𓆦 singing to the baby was her thing. lazy sundays would be followed by lottie’s soothing voice singing the most beautiful songs ever and, sometimes, songs she wrote herself

𓆦 not only could she sing but she could spend hours speaking to your belly. telling the baby stories from your teenage years or gossiping about aunties taissa and van, reading stories or just being an adorable goofball, lottie was always near

𓆦 sitting on bed, lottie was lying on your side, elbows against the mattress for support and face inches away from your small bump

𓆦 “fuck!” she gasps, quickly withdrawing her hand from you as she feels the baby kicking into her touch. she was freaking out!

𓆦 “wait, sorry, i meant to say duck! please don’t repeat that,” she talks to the baby, hurrying to get closer again and place her entire palm on you, smiling incredibly big

𓆦 “i think the baby likes your voice, lott,” you whisper, tucking a few strands of her hair behind her ear, keeping your fingers in there to rub her scalp

𓆦 “you think so?” she lift her head up to meet your gaze and she’s adorable. her face lights up like a fucking christmas tree ☹️

𓆦 lottie was having the time of her life any time she had to go out with you to shop baby clothes, accessories for the nursery or, really, anything related to you and your child. decorating the nursery was also her favorite activity

𓆦 she would buy thousands of plushies and cute blankets, millions of colorful books and lots of toys even though the baby wasn’t due for another five months

𓆦 “you won’t believe what i got for our baby!” is the first thing she says as she opens the door, running towards the couch where you were in with a box

𓆦 she lets you open and it’s a TINY SHIRT OF THE YELLOWJACKETS TEAM WITH THE NUMBER ZERO ON IT 😔

𓆦 when it became impossible for you to sleep, always sick, irritated, swollen or just exhausted, lottie would stick to your side and would try her best to not fall asleep

𓆦 “i’m not sleepy, i promise. go on, finish that story,” she murmurs with a tired and raspy voice in the pitch black of the bedroom. you couldn’t see her properly but you felt comfortable with your head resting on her shoulder and her hand around your body

𓆦 “so, jackie was telling me that shauna told her that mari once said that she found a recipe for a soup that included boiling a belt!” the tiny remains of any sleep you had inside you vanished as you were gossiping with your girlfriend

𓆦 “can you believe that? and who would ever eat a boiled belt for dinner? people are so crazy nowadays and i-“ you abruptly stop, shifting positions to look up at lottie snoring

𓆦 “oh, you’re sleeping,” you whisper, tightening your lips to suppress a giggle

𓆦 lottie was worried 24/7 but also extremely protective. even if it was extremely hot outside, she would beg you to carry a jacket with you

𓆦 she thought about bringing a spare jacket for you and carry it around just in case you got cold but she really wanted to give you her jacket cause pooks is just a hopeless romantic angel 🤗

𓆦 lottie was very gentle and careful all the time, but when it came to sex, you could practically beg her to do you and she would still be so hesitant

𓆦 not even when giving her very obvious hints like whining on her ear all day long about how needy you were, letting innocent touches linger or putting on a nice lingerie would be enough to convince her. lottie was too worried with the idea of accidentally hurting you

𓆦 just when lottie was much more used to the daily routine of living with her pregnant girlfriend, you wake her up in the middle of the night, poking her shoulder. “lottie? wake up.”

𓆦 taking all the time in the world to turn the small lamp on, lottie knows that everything is fine. you probably just wanted her to get you something to eat or a drink. the lamp on

𓆦 “want some water, love?” she asks, half asleep, rubbing her eyes that were still adjusting to the light

𓆦 “no, i’m okay. but i think the baby is coming,” you whisper, trying not to panic and to not make your girlfriend panic. the baby was early by four weeks!

𓆦 lottie’s sleepy expression and drowsy eyes quickly fade away as she bolts out of the bed, hitting her knee against the bed frame on her way to you

𓆦 “i told you we should have packed the things for the hospital before!!!”

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #lottie matthews #lottie matthews x reader

258 notes · View notes

roxygen22 · 4 months

Note

Timothee gets overheated on the set of Dune and feels sick and reader who’s visiting him while they film in the desert takes care of him back at their rented apartment

C/W: hospital setting

Overheated

Thanks to the flexibility of your job to work literally from anywhere, you were able to accompany Timothée to Jordan when he was filming Dune 2. One day, you were strolling through the market while he was busy on set when you got a call from his assistant.

"Hello?"

"[Y/N], it's Lizz. He's alright, but..."

Your heart stopped. That was never a good start to a conversation.

"...we had to take Timothée to the hospital. He and Z were shooting a scene in the stillsuits, and he started fumbling over his lines. He got lightheaded and nearly fainted. He's hooked up to IV fluids and resting now."

"I- I'll be there as quick as I can. Can you stay with him until I get there? H-he hates hospitals," you stumbled over yourself due to rising panic.

"Of course."

Lizz let the staff know to expect you so they wouldn't stop you at the door. They quickly escorted you back to his bed. You pulled back the curtain, but her description did not adequately prepare you for what you saw.

Timothée's normally voluminous curls were plastered to his head by sweat. He was pale and shivering from the cold saline they were pumping into his bloodstream and the ice packs on his body. He opened his eyes as you touched his cold, clammy forehead. You could feel the grit from the sand on his skin.

"Hey," he rasped.

"Oh, Timmy," was all you could muster before you choked on tears. You brought his hand to your cheek and kissed his palm. You felt his thumb wipe a tear across your cheekbone.

"I'm alright, babe." He tried to reassure you.

"No, you're not." Your voice raised slightly as narrowed your eyes at him. "You are dehydrated. You are pushing yourself too hard. I kept telling you that your body would make you slow down if you didn't do so voluntarily."

"I know. B-"

"No buts. I am going to ask Lizz to clear your schedule for the rest of the week."

"They can't film without me," he argued weakly.

"Exactly! If you don't take care of yourself, you won't be able to film. Just think how many jobs will be lost if they lose their star. They cannot do this movie without you."

Timothée's eyes dropped, and he sighed heavily. "You're right."

"Damn right, I'm right," you said with a wink and a smirk. "I love you, Timothée. I just don't want to see you hurt like this again."

You took him straight to your shared apartment (a short-term lease) once he was discharged. He was still weak and shaky, so you supported his weight from the car up the stairs to the door. He practically collapsed on the bed, his lanky legs dangling from the edge. You took his shoes off and guided his legs under the covers.

Timothée fell asleep quickly, overextended just from the short journey. In the brief moments when he was awake, you encouraged him to sip on electrolyte mix. A few hours later, he attempted to get up. He was so weak that it didn't take much energy on your part to push him back down by the shoulder.

"I don't think so, mister. The doctor said you needed to rest."

"[Y/N], I don't think getting up to go to a different room counts as physical activity," he retorted. It was good to see he had the energy to argue.

"Whatever you need, I can get it for you."

Timothée smirked and raised an eyebrow. "And what if I need to go pee?"

You spluttered, then laughed, knowing he got you on that one. "Well, I would say that is a good sign and one of the few things you can get up for."

"Thanks. I can maintain at least a shred of my dignity. Do you know how embarrassing it was to nearly fall out on set?"

You tucked a loose curl behind his ear. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about, Timmy. They see how hard you work. The cast and crew care about you. Your phone has been blowing up ever since we got home. Z already sent over some of your favorite snacks."

"That was nice of her."

"They all want you to take the time you need to recover. Completely," you emphasized, "and not a moment sooner."

He let his head fall back on the pillow. "You were right that I needed to slow down. I went straight from Bones and All to Wonka to Dune. I promise, even though I may grumble about it, I will be a good patient until I am cleared to go back."

"Good. Besides, it'll be nice to sleep in, cuddle, and make some progress on our watch list," you replied.

Timothée squeezed your hand. "I'm glad you're here; otherwise, the downtime would be unbearable."

You pouted your lip at the sweetness. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be. I love you."

"I love you, too. But, babe, I really do need to go pee." You both laughed as you helped him stand.

<><><><><>

Masterlist

Tag List:

@croatianprincess

@bluizh

@jindongdongie

@groovyqueer

#timothée chalamet #timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet x you #timothée chalamet x you #timothee x you #Timothée x you #timothée x reader #timothee x reader #dune part 2 #dune2 #dune movie #dune #paul atreides #sick fic #sickfic #hurt/comfort #reader insert

182 notes · View notes

queenmayor23 · 11 months

Text

How do we tell our son?

Y/N, Buck, and Eddie leaned on the kitchen island, watching Christopher play his video game.

"So, how are you two planning on telling him?"

"Yes, Eddie, how are you planning on telling your son?"

"Oh, so he's my son now."

"He's been your son since he was born. I inherited him just a year and some change ago."

"Yeah, this one's on you."

"Why don't you tell him?"

"And have him hate his favorite Uncle Buck? Not a chance. Have you even tested the waters on this conversation yet?"

"I asked him if he liked Y/N once."

"And?"

"And he asked if he could have his sleepover party at your place, and I had to tell him no because I was horny and we were fighting, and I didn't want him and his friends to wake up to us…. doing us. You know how much I love angry sex."

"Was that when you brought Chris to Maddie's, and we did that thing with the rope and the nipple clamp…"

Eddie stood behind Y/N, signaling Buck to stop, but it was too late.

"You what?"

"Bebe. I'm sorry-"

"Edmundo. Diaz."

"Somebody's in trouble."

"Not helping Buck."

"Are you serious? That was supposed to be our thing. The one thing that we didn't share with Buck. We share clothes, food, beds, but not that."

"I was upset, and I'm so sorry. Can you forgive me for the sake of our son?"

"Yes, just because you said "our son," and it sounds so nice when you say it."

"If you like that, you should hear me call my husband's name."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

Eddie and Y/N were chest to chest. They would have burned down the building if their sexual tension were a fire.

"You mean we could live with Y/N forever? Awesome!"

Y/N and Eddie look at the sofa to Christopher and Buck looking back at them.

"I helped."

"Dad, when do we move to Papa's house?"

"I thought you liked living here."

"I do, but Papa has a park across the street, and last time, he told me that he would teach me how to play basketball so I could beat a meatball."

"A meatball?"

"You are looking a little beefier than usual."

"Me? You think you two can beat me?"

"You are a man of many talents, but basketball is not one of them."

Y/N pats Eddie on his shoulder, earning a disheartened frown. Chris turns around to resume his game, and Buck enters the kitchen to refill his water bottle.

"Great, now that's over. Now, all you have to do is tell the crew."

"You didn't tell the 118?"

"No, I thought you did."

"Why would I tell them you spend all day with them?"

"Who doesn't know? Hen knows that means Chim knows; therefore, Maddie knows."

"Buck knows."

"Ravi was your best man, so if he doesn't know, he's more of a himbo than me."

"Bobby knows from our anniversary dinner."

"Did you tell Athena?"

"No, she scares me. But she's not stupid she has to know."

"How about this? At the Halloween party, just announce it. You'll have everyone in the same room and only have to do it once."

"That's not a bad idea."

"Look at you, Buck-a-roo."

"I help."

Buck smiles like a puppy dog, receiving a cheek rub from Y/N as his face falls in thought.

"Same room?"

"What? What's wrong now?"

"The holidays. Last year, we were in Cancun with the crew for Thanksgiving, and-"

"You were in the hospital for Christmas."

"So, which family gets what holiday?"

"My family hates Thanksgiving, so we do Christmas in Texas."

"My family will kill me and send a search party for me if I miss a New York Christmas two years in a row."

"You are just adding to the headcannon."

"Here we go again."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Eddie thinks I'm in a mafia family just because I'm a New York Italian."

"Your father's name is Don. You have a weird fascination with gold chains and wearing sunglasses all day, you have a cousin named Vinny, you call people meatball, you said they called you Baby Gambino when you were a kid-"

"Because I was a chubby kid and snuck off to our family's bakery..."

"It's not just a bakery; it's bakeries, meat markets, pizzerias, wine shops, grocery stores, and that's just the stuff you've mentioned."

"... and I don't know how many times I have to tell you my father's name is John, but with his accent, it sounds like Don. You know what, how about you ask him? We do Thanksgiving in Texas and Christmas in New York, and when we're all at the table, you can ask him in front of my whole family."

"Maybe I will."

"If you want to die."

Y/N playfully nudges Buck into a light chuckle.

153 notes · View notes

scribble-dribble-writes · 1 year

Text

Plastic Hearts - (15)

<<<Prev Next>>>

---

Lazy Sunday morning

---

You were a go getter, a team player, one who knows what to do next all the time that you wished someone would just hold you down, to tell you to breathe. You jumped head first into the next big thing because that was how you survived in this hospitality business. That was how you survived in life in general. So the word lazy never existed in your world. You couldn’t understand the appeal.

Until today.

As you stretched under the covers watching sunlight filter through the blinds. Sunday morning gently coming alive and for the first time you were still in bed. Your usual routine was to head to the markets at five in the morning, to stock up the restaurant with fresh local produce. But instead, when you turned, you caught sight of him still asleep.

The details on his face were remarkable, that often times you only focus on his eyes when he was looking at you. He had that skill, to make you feel like the only girl to exist when his gaze was on you. But now, you caught the way his thick eyelashes curved up effortlessly. The subtle cupid’s bow and the scattered dark spots. The soft rhythm in which his chest rose and fell, his arm slung over you as his fingers twitched. He was dreaming, and just when you were going to question the subject of his dreams, he pulled you closer.

So it turns out, that even someone like you could do lazy mornings. You wrapped your arm around his torso and moved deeper into his hold. No one could take this away. This was all yours to enjoy.

He stirred next to you as he mumbled good morning, his voice husky and coarse. He placed his chin on the top of your head as he put his leg over yours, you couldn’t help but sigh with content.

“We have a lot of work to do today.”, you murmured into the skin of his chest with your eyes closed.

“What help do you need?”, he asked groggily.

“We have all these boxes to sort.”, you peeled away from where you had tucked your face into his neck.

“I haven’t been able to do it for awhile.”, you caught his eyes, contemplating if it was appropriate to tell him the reason behind it.

“Since Melissa’s passing?”, he asked gently, his hand rubbing your back as though he knew you needed comfort.

But all you could do was tilt your head to the side, bewildered how he knew about something you had never shared.

“I overhead bits and pieces about your story at school during lunch time. Teachers love to gossip.”, he gave you a lopsided grin.

“Ken Carson, you trust the rumor mill?”, you narrowed you eyes at him playfully.

“No but to be fair you were ignoring me then.”, he pouted and you couldn’t help but smile. You tucked your head under his chin and he very happily welcomed you into his embrace again.

“I know it’s been a while and I should have gotten over it. But I don’t know, she made me feel loved. Like I was a part of a family for a while.”, you said quietly. These secrets were never shared but confiding in him made the burden feel lighter.

“Grief takes time to heal.”, he said softly as he drew circles on your waist.

“When did you get this philosophical?”, you chuckled and he joined you but he sobered as though there was more to it.

“I knew this kid for a year. He was brilliant and kind but then stopped coming to school. When I found out he was getting treated for cancer, I didn’t know what it was. But I saw him, battle it out and lose against it. I didn’t cry then cause all these concepts that reality was bound by I had never experienced before. But one night as I sat to watch a show, I began to cry and continued to well into the night.”, he shared as he sighed.

“The toughest bit is when it catches you in the middle of a class or you see another kid play football that in turn makes you angry in how any of this is fair but that’s the stake of being here. It’s about every second and what you choose to do with it.”, he concluded to then softly place a kiss on your forehead.

“So if it catches you when we’re sorting the boxes, I’ll be there to hold you up.”, he said it with a confidence that it caused you to tear up.

“Thank you.”, you whispered as you held onto him.

“Now get up, lazy bones, I’ll make us a fresh batch of tea.”, he patted your back as you groaned when he began to slip away from you.

His skin a delight to look at in the morning light as he put on a Tshirt, his puffy sleep ridden eyes made him look all the more dreamier. You pushed away the blanket with a deep breath, the smell of fresh linen and fabric conditioner giving you the boost to get a move on. You had the world to save.

You walked into your place and knew the first thing you had to do. Walking up to the cookie jar, you popped open the lid and fetched one for him and yourself. His eyes lit up the moment he recognized it,

“I was supposed to give them to you yesterday but they were too hot to pack.”, you said as he took one from you.

He bit into it and you watched as his shoulder relaxed, his eyes closed and he groaned out of satisfaction.

“Brie, I had missed these.”, he mumbled with his mouth full as you lead him to the storage room, which had been Melissa’s room before.

Your hand hovered over the door knob and when you took a minute, his hand rested on your shoulder, to remind you that he was by your side. Taking a deep breath, you let your palm hold the cold metal and twist it.

The old residual smell of her perfume wafted over you and it brought back all the memories. You sitting by the vanity set as she gave you her antique jewelry set for the restaurant’s anniversary dinner. The side table that still held a half embroidered handkerchief. Pictures of you on one side of the wall, you grew nauseous. She had loved you like a mother even though you were no one’s daughter.

But Ken placed his palm on the small of your back, his lips touching the edge of your ear as he said, “You’re stronger than the past, Brie.”

It got you to stand still, to regain yourself. Because you were. You were stronger than all that had happened. So you turned to kiss his cheek as new found strength filled your system.

“Ok", you said as you inhaled deeply.

"Let’s start with this box here.”, you dusted your hands and got to work.

---

Tags:

@imogen-skye @ateliefloresdaprimavera @meowkid1000 @jokersgrf @linacool13 @oh-kurva @dreamsarenicer @memospacexx @haleysucks00 @babyimjustken @tempobaekh @fallingwallsh @whatafreakingloser @lcversrockk @imonmyvigilanteshh @constellationscharts @eddiemunson4ever @freyafriggafrey @neptunelixir @iamruiningmylife @floralsightings @ynbutbetter @lazyboikat @mrharringtonsbae @spookyscellar @harleyquinn03041998 @haydensith @thatgirljas13 @weasleytwinscumslut @bl00dy-murd3r @itstylersblog @papichulo120627 @lee-lee-23 @dazeglitter-blog @urmom24sworld @chaos-in-person @aremos @theoriginalwife000 @undercover-being-whack @puredreamagination @h-l-vlovesvintage @krazyk99 @agustdeeyaa @bluebear19 @berlinswifey @suzirumas @faustlyaccused @rennydenny @paintmekala

#barbie movie 2023 #barbie movie #ken barbie #barbie #ken carson #ken x y/n #ken x you #ken x reader #ryan gosling ken #ryan gosling #ken fic #ken fluff

189 notes · View notes

604to647 · 10 months

Text

Safest with You - Ch. 6 (The Courtship, Din's POV)

4.3K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Din continues his courting ways.

Warnings: 18+ content (MDNI please), even though it's mostly Fluff, pet names (the usual: Pretty bird, sweetheart, etc.), a little bit of angst (Din struggles with his FEELINGS), mentions of parental loss, a wee bit of dirty talk.

A/N: I didn't switch to a second person narration for Din, but I still consider this to be his POV because we "follow" him this week. We get a little backstory on Din's past with the Fett Family, and come to understand Din and Paz's relationship a bit as well. Greef is mentioned! Thank you for reading!

Series Masterlist

The next morning, Din picks you up and takes you and the dog to a big farmer’s market just outside the city. You walk hand in hand, weaving through the different stalls, lazily sampling baked goods and seasonal produce. Al receives his share of pets and samples as well, and the three of you look the epitome of contentment. After a light lunch, Din loads your purchases into the truck; in addition to some fruits and veggies for your own pantry, you got everything you needed to make a spaghetti sauce from scratch, having offered to cook dinner for Din before your movie date tonight.

Although the original plan was for you to do the cooking at your place with Din meeting you there after work, Din finds himself no longer wanting to part from you, even if only for the afternoon. He volunteers his own kitchen for cooking; with his apartment residing on the top floor of the gym’s building, he reasons that he can help you while easily popping downstairs periodically for work.

Putting one hand on your hip, you tilt your head and tease, “You know, this is sending mixed signals.”

“Hmm?” Din’s eyes widen in innocence.

“We agree to take things slow, and now you’re luring me back to your place?”

Din knows you’re only teasing, but looking down at your playful expression, he also knows that you don’t know the real reason he’s been hesitant to take the next step with you. Din’s insistence that you take things slow has nothing to do with any type of antiquated feelings about sex or so-called propriety, and everything to do with a deeply rooted concern that he doesn’t deserve you. Since he met you at the coffeeshop, you’ve been his own personal ray of sunshine; brightening his world with your sweet nature and calming presence. But what is he bringing to your life? He knows that you think of him as caring and considerate, traits that he loves about you and it fills him with pride that you see those qualities in him as well.

Does he deserve to be held in your high esteem?

Would you still be unafraid of him if you knew the brutality he’s capable of inflicting, inside and outside in the ring? Would you still feel safe around him if you knew how many men he’s sent to the hospital? Din’s proud of the man he is, and he wakes up every day doing his best to be a good person. You deserve someone who’s good, and he wants to be good enough for you. He would like to have earned your affections, his place next to you, so that you never look at him differently than the way you do now. This time he’s spending courting you, it’s for you to get to know this him. Not the fighter, not the enforcer, but a man who is kind, loyal, compassionate and gentle. He wants you to know this man and to choose him.

Although you can’t read his thoughts, you soften, “Hey, I’m just messing with you, Din. You’re being so sweet, and it makes me happy. Honestly.” You bring your hand up to Din’s cheek and he immediately leans into it before turning into your palm and giving it a gentle kiss. His own palms now flat against the car, caging you in and causing your back to press up against the door, Din says in a low voice only you can hear, “You won’t think I’m so sweet when I finally take you to bed and take you apart, pretty bird.”

His voice is so intoxicating you nearly whimper, “That’s a heavy promise, Djarin.”

“I plan on delivering,” he murmurs against your lips, kissing you long and slow against the car, leaving you breathless when he goes to open your door for you.

---

When you arrive back at the gym, Din shows you an entrance on the very right-hand side of the building that you hadn’t noticed before. The door unlocks to a long flight of stairs that you and Al climb, with Din bringing up the rear and all your farmer’s market bags. On a small landing a little past half way, there is a door on your left with a small window; you peek through and see that it leads to the second floor loft of the gym where Din’s office is located. He wasn’t kidding when he said he could easily pop downstairs for work, you realize, amused.

Reaching the top floor, you step aside for Din to pass and unlock his front door. He holds it open for you to go in first; you walk in, barely concealing your curiosity. The space is huge, which is no surprise considering the apartment takes up the entire floor; you step into an open living area, homey and lived in with a big comfy couch and several arm chairs, all pointed at large television. Both walls flanking this space are lined with bookshelves reaching from floor to ceiling, running the length of the large room. The shelves are filled with books, boxing trophies, knickknacks, and various mementos, including several framed photos of people with smiling faces. Walking towards where you can see the kitchen behind a partition wall, you grin as you recognize photos of Din at various ages with an older man that must have been his father. Just left of the dining nook that rests below a cut-out window that looks into the kitchen, there are some closed doors and the start of a hallway that must run back down the length of the apartment; you figure out that the bedrooms must be at the front of the apartment, overlooking the street. You imagine Din growing up in this space, and remembering what Din has told you about his childhood, you're satisfied that this must have been a good home to the Djarin men.

Din watches you take in your surroundings; this place holds many memories for him, of his childhood and his father. Moving back in when dad got sick had been an adjustment, but Din is glad he did it – while the last few years together may have been difficult, Din would not have traded them for the world. The bond between father and son had never been stronger than in those last years, and because of it, those years had been joyous in their own way. You’re the first new person to enter this space in a long time, and he wonders what you see, no longer trusting his own eyes.

You turn to Din, “I love it,” you say, beaming, and Din knows that you mean that you love more than just the physical space or layout. He sweeps you in his arms and kisses you warmly, silently conveying: thank you.

Cooking together is more fun that Din could have imagined. You’re a bundle of energy in the kitchen, putting your methodical mind to good use and assigning him tasks to help with the recipe you’ve memorized, all while chattering away and learning the lay of his kitchen. You poke around mischievously looking for everything and Din grins as he watches you putter around; he has a feeling you’re opening more drawers and cabinets than necessary, more to satisfy your own natural curiosity than actually searching for tools and ingredients. Smartly, he feels, he gives you free rein of the space and also choice over what music to play over the kitchen speakers. He doesn’t know all the songs you put on, but the way you’re enjoying yourself, bopping around him and moving your body to the beat, has him winding his arms around your waist and swaying along even to the ones he doesn’t know. The carrots are chopped, the onions are diced, the wine is reduced, all while you and Din kiss and dance. Sometimes Al will join in for a particularly upbeat number, but mainly concerns himself with nosing for food offerings. Din’s kitchen is coming alive in a way that he had nearly forgotten it could, and he feels invigorated.

He leaves you looking through his spices with a concentrated look on your face to go downstairs to the gym. Greef will be coming in a few hours to take over the floor, and until then, Din has a bit of paper work to finish off; he does so from a bench seat he takes on the main floor, overseeing the usual Saturday crowd. Paz comes by while Din’s finishing up some forms, hair wet from the showers after his workout.

Embracing as is their customary greeting, Paz checks in, “Hey brother. Glad I caught you. Something I might need your help with next week. You got some time to chat now?”

Here goes nothing, Din thinks, “Can’t, Paz. I’m actually… on a date right now. She’s upstairs cooking.”

Paz raises his eyebrows in surprise. He knows how private of a person Din is, and especially how protective he is of the memories of his late father in their space; for Din to let you in and leave you alone in the apartment… you must be special, “New girl? Huh. No wonder Brian and the guys have been saying you’ve been less of a grump lately.”

“Wha-“ Din is cut off from looking around the room for the young boxer when Paz jokingly punches him in the shoulder.

“So… when do I get to meet her?” Paz asks, expectantly.

“I’m thinking of bringing her to the fight next Saturday.”

“Perfect. Can’t wait to introduce myself to her… ‘bout time she meets a real Mando,” Paz laughs.

“Wouldn’t want you to strain yourself, Vizsla. She uses big words,” quips Din, easily dodging Paz’s cross-cut. The two friends play box for another minute before Paz claps Din on the back, “Happy for you, brother.”

Din knows he is. The two make plans to meet up for an early lunch tomorrow to go over what Paz needs. When Paz is gone, Din looks up to the ceiling, as if looking through to where you are in the apartment above, and thinks about you meeting his friends. Meet “a real Mando” Paz had said – Din grins at the childhood “club name” that had been given to their group of friends, naming the tightknit group of kids after the gym where they all hung out. Of course, after getting older, most of group had gone to work for Boba Fett as muscle, security, some times both; it was in that capacity, as a unit, the Mandos had carved out a reputation for being an effective and elite strike team. Everyone in the neighbourhood knew that messing with the Mandos or having the Mandos sent after you was a fate most preferably avoided.

Was he proud of this moniker and his association with it? The truth was, yes – Boba and Din’s dad had grown up together, friends until the end; Boba’s family was Din’s family, and vice versa. There is nothing Din wouldn’t do for the Fetts, and anything he had ever done, however morally grey, he had done with conviction and would do again in a heartbeat if it meant helping his family. Din’s commitment and loyalty to his friends and family were his creed, steadfast and unwavering. His thoughts drift back to you: Would you understand?

He remembers the hurt you tried to hide from him yesterday when you very honestly confessed that you thought he might not be wanting you. Without a doubt he does, but once again, Din wrestles with needing to feel he deserves you; that he deserves the way you want him. Din is not ashamed of who he is or what he’s done, but he can’t quite reconcile how that man is upstanding enough to deserve someone like you. And he would like to be deserving of you. You don’t deserve anything less.

As Din climbs the stairs to his apartment, he realizes how hard he’s fallen for you in such a short amount of time; just being away from you for a little over an hour has him missing you terribly, and he’s glad that he suggested the change of plans and invited you into his little home.

What he is not prepared for is the scene laid out before him as he enters the apartment; you, so beautiful and relaxed, the picture of comfort curled up on his couch with the dog, reading a book you had pulled off his shelf. This picture of domesticity make his pulse quicken and ache for you in an entirely different way than the pure lust he has felt for you every night this past week. You look up with a sweet smile, “The sauce needs to simmer.”

Din comes over and you make room for him on the couch, curling up close when he sits. You discuss the books you found on his shelf, and later you joke that you were either going to rifle through the bookshelves or his medicine cabinet. As the two of you talk, even in this close proximity, Din can’t help but make the point to always be touching you. Your hair, your hands, your face, your entire being is soft and delicate, though not breakable, and so, so precious and enticing to him. Quiet conversation coupled with looks of longing and gentle touches lead to lazy and languid kisses that seem to stretch out the afternoon. There’s nothing urgent about today. Din feels your body relax in his arms, soothed; looking at you, he can tell your eyes are closed not just from pleasure, but that you’re genuinely tired, “Pretty bird, do you want to take a nap?”

“I can’t take a nap in the middle of a date. It’s rude,” you reply, eyes still closed.

“You’ve had an exhausting week. You need sleep.” Din isn’t wrong, and you hardly need any more convincing, already half asleep.

You feel Din getting up from his seat and place your hand on his wrist so he’ll look at you, “Please set an alarm for an hour on my phone? Need to check on the sauce.”

Stroking your hair gently, Din reassures you, “Okay. I’ll go back to work and let you nap. I’ll lock the door, okay? You’re safe here, pretty bird. I’ll be just downstairs if you need anything.”

Din covers you with a blanket, and after pulling a separate blanket over the dog, gets ready to head to the gym. He leans over you, pressing his lips to yours lightly, “You know, it’s also pretty rude to leave your date to go to work.”

“We’re both so rude,” you yawn.

“Yup. The worst,” Din kisses you softly, “Perfect for each other.”

“Mmmhmmm,” you hum before drifting off into a deep sleep.

---

You wake, not to your alarm, but to a delicious and aromatic smell filling the apartment. You sit up and stretch, looking around. Some time during the nap, Al has rolled over onto his back, exposing his stomach and shooting all four legs straight up in the air – really making himself at home on Din’s couch; you’re scratching Al’s stomach when you see Din stirring the sauce and call softly to him. He comes over and leans over the back of the couch; brushing your hair out of your face, he kisses you gently.

“You let me sleep?”

“I did. Couldn’t bear to wake you, you looked so peaceful. Your snores are very cute, you know?”

You bury your face in your hands, “Oh noooooo… I snore?”

“Like an adorable kitten.”

It’s been a while since any one has been in a position to let you know, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Doesn’t bother me. I don’t plan on getting much sleep around you, in any case,” he winks, as he walks back to the kitchen.

Din hasn’t just stirred the sauce, he’s made the rest of dinner already; you’re impressed and grateful and you make sure to let him know. After you help set the table, the two of you enjoy a wonderful early dinner together. A quick clean-up later, you drop Al off at home to have his own dinner, then you and Din head out to the movie.

Din doesn’t even remember what the movie is about, but he remembers the way you put up the middle partition and curl up in your seat and into his side, making it easy for him to comfortably drape his arm around you. A little more than an hour through the movie, when the male and female leads are barreling towards a misunderstanding, Din looks down to see you watching him instead of the screen and he leans down to kiss you, somehow not stopping until the lights turn on in the theatre.

---

After the dog has been properly walked, and more long, soft kisses dispensed, you tell Din, “That was my favourite of our dates.”

“We’ve only had two.”

“I know, and this one is my favourite one so far.” And you mean it.

Tonight’s kisses mirror those of the afternoon; lazy, slow, sweet. Din sends you upstairs with the promise that the dates are only going to get better from here on out.

Sunday morning, Din receives a video call from your brunch: a cheerful, and somewhat chaotic video of you and your friends who apparently want to thank him for the books he bought them. The one named Katie, utters an innuendo that has you blushing a deep shade of crimson before quickly ending the call. You and your friends are adorable peas in a pod, Din thinks.

He’s still chuckling as he sits down to his own meal with Paz. Meeting at their usual table in a restaurant frequented by Fett family members, Din looks across to Paz who is perusing the menu, pretending he isn’t going to order the same thing he’s ordered every time since they started eating here when they were teenagers. Friends since childhood and both embraced by the Fett family, Din and Paz Vizsla have been running around the streets, starting and then later stopping trouble since they had training wheels on their bikes. Both had gotten into youth boxing at Mando’s gym, but while Din boxed all the way through college, Paz had gone straight to work for Boba after junior high. Of the two men, Din had always had the more strategic mind, rising faster in the Fett organization than others, and eventually becoming Boba’s lead enforcer; but Din was ever cognizant that his success and how tightly he ran the Fett family security could not have been possible without his friend and right hand man, Paz. When Din had stepped back from the organization, Paz was the natural choice to be Din’s replacement. The two men remained close as ever; there was no one with whom Din trusted his life more than Paz, and the feeling was returned, ten-fold.

As he had already explained to you, once in a while, Paz would ask for Din’s help with Fett family business, be it strategizing and brainstorming a mission plan, reviewing proposed tactics, or occasionally, coming out into the field with the team again. There were simply times where Paz just ultimately felt better if Din was involved, and Din could not and would never deny his brother assistance. Looks like this upcoming week would be one of those times. Paz’s strength and authority has always come from his formidable presence and his capacity for brute force, but Boba currently needs some intel on a target that would come easier via surveillance rather than intimidation. Over lunch, Din and Paz map out a plan and team assignments, including a few shifts that make the most sense if Din is on site. By the end of the planning session, Din knows that this week, he will be the one having long work hours; between his surveillance work with Paz and his responsibilities at the gym, your third date would have to wait.

He lets you in on his disappointment that night during the dog walk, which has now been cemented as part of your daily routine. As expected, you’re understanding and reasonably curious, but easily placated with Din’s promise to still come by every night to walk Al with you.

Monday through Thursday have Din burning the candle at both ends. He finds himself being infinitely appreciative for having an excellent head boxing trainer in Greef Karga who competently doubles as a floor manager. Several of the gym staff and boxers also work for Paz and Boba, so Din is not the only one pulling double duty this week – everyone knows what it means to do their part. Most nights, Din leaves Paz and the team late in the evening and comes straight to see you.

He's tired on these nights, but you’re always a sight for his exhausted eyes; you take to bringing him a little sweet treat each night, aware that he needs an extra pick me up these days. Regardless of what he sees or has to deal with during the day, Din is content when he ends the night in the softness of your embrace; with you in his arms, your lips on his.

By Friday, everything has wrapped up on the security end, but Din ends up having to work late at the gym to catch up on some accounting admin he had pushed back; happy to turn the tables on him, you bring him dinner when it’s obvious he might forget to eat.

When you see him hunched over, squinting at a spreadsheet for 5 minutes straight, you offer to take a look, helping yourself to a makeshift seat in his lap. Within 10 minutes you’ve whipped him up a new template that rolls over month-to-month, and calculates the information needed with less than a third of the monthly inputs Din was typing in before. With your encouragement, he finishes his reports speedily, while you go back to eating dinner. Coming over to the mini couch in his office that you’ve been lounging on, Din flops down and pulls you close so your legs lay over his, “Are you a wizard?”

You laugh, “I like spreadsheets.”

“I don’t. I don’t think I really like any technology. Can’t trust it,” grimaces Din.

“I figured, old man. Is that why you don’t have any socials?”

“Any what?” Din gives you a confused look.

Confession time. “Social Media. The girls and I tried to find you online that night after I ran into you at the bookstore! Nothing.”

“I might have an old Facebook? Don’t remember the login,” Din muses, face scrunching up as if the idea of inadvertently having an online presence gives him a headache.

You roll your eyes and climb over Din’s lap, straddling him, “Good thing you’re so pretty.”

Din raises his brow, “Oh yeah? I’m the pretty one?”

“Oh yes. These brown eyes are so pretty. And these crinkles around your pretty eyes when you smile are so, so pretty. Beard is so pretty, too. This is my favourite part, this little spot right here that looks like a little heart, it’s the prettiest.” You press a deep kiss to his jaw in the middle of the patchy spot on his left side and breath in deeply, humming contently before resting your head on Din’s shoulder.

“Didn’t realize you think so much about me, sweet girl.”

You face Din again, closing your eyes and leaning in to find his mouth already waiting for yours and murmur low, between kisses, “Mmmmhmmmm. Think about you all the time, Din. When I wake up, in the shower, at work, at home in bed. Especially when I’m in bed. I think about you a lot in bed.”

Din’s hands start to wander, creeping under your shirt and gripping your bare waist, fingers dipping into the waistband of your leggings, “What you do you think about, when you think about me in bed, sweetheart?”

The kisses are getting a little sloppier as you grind down gently, rhythmically; you answer in shallow, gasping breaths, “I think about you on top of me, baby. I think about you getting a little rough with me and positioning me any way you want. I think about your hands and how they would feel touching every inch of me, pulling my hair, squeezing around my nec-“

“Pretty bird, I think I should take you home now or I’m not going to be able to control myself.” Din cuts you off abruptly, a dark look in his eyes.

Shy under his intense gaze, you nod and agree.

---

Having had the car ride to your place and the dog walk to calm down, you now rest comfortably in Din’s arms, playing with his hair while looking deep into his eyes between sweet, lingering kisses. Din opens his mouth to yours, again and again, lazily chasing your tongue with his own, “I’m looking forward to our date tomorrow, pretty bird.”

You sigh, “Me too! I don’t know what to wear though. I’ve never been to a boxing match before.”

“I’m sure you’ll look perfect.” Din leans down and whispers, “Wear something I can take off easily.”

You can’t help the small whine that escapes your lips when you take in his words. Din chuckles, “You tease me all the time, pretty bird. You think I can’t tease you back?” Finding his boyish grin irresistible, you pull him in for a string of hungry and passionate kisses that leave the both you panting and you warm with arousal. You aren’t even being cheeky when you whisper to Din, “I’m going to go to bed to think about you now,” before turning to head in, leaving Din looking and feeling completely transfixed.

#din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #modern au #no y/n #modern!din djarin #din djarin fluff

110 notes · View notes

eumivrse · 2 years

Text

NEVERTHELESS : armin arlert

summary there’s no such thing as fate. being laced in a relationship with someone who you’re not meant to be with was the last thing you expected. nevertheless–

warning(s) oral, semi-public, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, 69, co-workers to lovers, slight angst, catcalling, armin and reader are both secretaries for eren

word count 9,069

author’s note the title and some of the phrases were inspired by the k-drama, nevertheless, even though i really fucking hated the drama itself LMFAO. also armin was based on mr. cha from business proposal cuz yum.

Routines, you love ‘em.

Nothing sounds better than your whole day already mapped out in your head to avoid any inconveniences. Wake up, get ready for the day, work your 9-5 office job, go home, get ready for bed, sleep, then repeat.

People tend to push this negative narrative on office jobs, but you pay no mind to it. You prefer it this way anyways– you’re earning enough money and you’re cruising through life smoothly.

You’re in your shared office right now with your partner secretary, timidly asking, “Arlert, can you go with me to pick up proposal documents for the meeting on Friday?”

Your job isn’t bad at all. Being employed right under the CEO as his secretary has its perks, but it’s hard to ignore his other secretary's distant behavior towards you. He frequently avoids you unless it’s for work, yet he confuses you whenever he sees you struggling and would be the first to help you.

Instead of saying anything, he just glanced up from his computer to acknowledge your existence, nodded, then went out the room ahead of you without a word.

See?

But just a month ago, when there was a dispute between you and one of the marketing managers, right when the other person stepped closer and had their hand balled into a fist ready to swing at you, he pulled you away to the office and offered you water and support, stammering and fumbling with his words as if he did something wrong. Oftentimes, he seems to want to say something to you and it leaves you skeptical. What, is there a piece of lettuce stuck in between your teeth? You don’t believe that you’re that ditzy, but you certainly feel that way when you’re around him.

And not only is he the CEO’s right hand man, he’s the Jaeger family’s adopted son, meaning he’s just as significant of a figure as your boss. The only reason he’s below him in terms of occupation is because he chose to– even though in technicality, he’s much more qualified than Jaeger. And though your position equates to his, he’s much more experienced than you are since he knows what pleases Jaeger — they’ve lived together for fuck’s sake.

You weren’t going to lie, you can admit that you’ve checked him out a few times. What can you say, he has an ass and a yummy bod, his uniform that included slacks and a button up doing him justice. Though he’s never piqued your interest — considering how you work with him. You and him are supposed to be a team, yet you feel so apart.

You had an inkling that maybe he had feelings for you but that’s just thinking of yourself too highly. He’s the same way with everyone else, introverted and antsy. That’s why he let his brother take the position as CEO.

Nevertheless, he’s never wronged you in any way, so you let go of speculations and separated your opinions from work.

Jaeger had some of his father’s business friends over in his office today. As per, he ordered you to brew his morning coffee as well as extra for his guests while Arlert treats them with hospitality. As you went into the dry room to place the drinks down on the glass coffee table, you already felt stiff as if you were being analyzed — specifically by the oldest man in the room — as you bent down to place his drink in front of him. It’s uncomfortable being observed like this; you were wearing a pencil skirt today, nothing scandalous, but nonetheless you felt uneasy.

The two other guests said their thank you and you were about to leave to give privacy, until the man that was checking you out, blurted, “Jaeger, you let things like that run around here?” He was obviously referring to you, pointing his chin at your direction.

Even though you wanted to get the hell out of there as soon as possible, you couldn’t. You’ve never been catcalled like this, and it’s twice as embarrassing that the first time had to happen in front of your boss and your co-worker. Your back is turned towards the rest of them, hand wrapped around the cold knob, frozen in place.

“Let’s be professional here, yeah?” Jaeger sighs as he grabs a stack of papers in front of him. Your hand quietly turned the knob and you exited out of the room, though you couldn’t help but just stand outside and try to recuperate from what you just heard.

Instead of dropping the topic, the man went on. “I’m just saying, if I were you, I wouldn’t be able to control myself.”

Jaeger answers, his patience running thin. “She’s my secretary. Nothing more and nothing less. I’m not quite sure what you’re trying to imply.”

“If she’s up for a part time job… you know I’m in need of a new assistant. You don’t really need two secretaries after all, I’m guessing. You’re a big boy.” Your stomach churned and your limbs felt weak, the next thing you know, you hear Arlert raise his voice.

“Get out.” Armin’s tone is filled with disgust and thus, you speed walk off the vicinity and into the room where your shared office with Armin is as you hear the voices in Jaeger’s room get more intense by the second.

You’ve never heard him raise his voice, much less on someone who seems important for the growth of the company. You perceive yourself as someone trivial to him, so why would he go the extra mile to protect you?

As you sit down, you see your faint reflection on the computer screen. You stare at yourself, cheeks flared up in heat due to how ashamed you are. Maybe if you’ve worn slacks instead of a skirt this wouldn’t have happened, maybe your boss didn’t have to be put into that position, maybe then—

“Are you okay?” A stern, yet gentle voice shatters the self-deprecating thoughts that’s straining your head. You turn your chair around and it’s Arlert behind you, arms crossed, head looking down to meet your eyes for what seems like the first time.

You stammer as you look away, “Yes- yeah.” Drops of tears fell and dampened the carpet beneath you, losing the fight of trying to hold back tears. Cupping your face with your hands, you quietly snivel in front of your partner, him kneeling to see you eye-level, reaching into his pocket and handing you a handkerchief as his own way of comforting you.

As you take the checkered cloth from him, your eyes puffy, he continues, “I’m sorry you had to hear that. Eren said can take the rest of the day off.” And though you couldn’t face him in the eye, you take note of his left cheek: swollen and flushed red.

“Hey… did you get hurt?” You reach your hand out to caress his cheek, but hesitated knowing how he is.

There was no use of lying, even a kid can decipher the fact that he’s been struck across the face. “It’s okay, a little ice can fix it. Don’t worry about me and rest, alright?”

You know it was a lie— he wasn’t okay, but nevertheless—

“Okay.”

Weeks have passed since then and oddly enough, he’s been treating you differently. In other words, he’s been more polite, visiting your desk more often, and such. It’s even gotten to the point where you’ve exchanged flirtatious glances, staring at each other for a bit too long, but both of you always quickly turn away to avoid any more awkwardness.

In general, your perception of him has changed and if this couldn’t be cliche enough, you’ve caught a little crush on him. You didn’t take it seriously though, as you figured that this is probably just from your lack of romance and your heart is mistaking your co-worker as someone you could potentially have a romantic relationship with.

Your fellow colleagues have noticed his sincerity towards you as well. By you— meaning that he’s still the same stoic person towards everyone else.

Tonight is the annual office Christmas party and instead of renting a proper venue, the president decided why not hold it on the floor you work on instead. Parties aren’t your forte, but you don’t mind. After all, it’s part of the job and to get on people’s good side. Avoiding this will just cause others to look at you as someone who’s arrogant.

It’s part of your routine to loosen up once in a while, so you didn’t hold back on the drinks. It wasn’t to the point where you felt like the world was spinning, but you obviously weren’t your… usual self. Calm, collected, and professional.

“Are you going to be alright going home yourself?” Sasha’s arm was draped over you as you walked her to the front of the building to wait for her Uber.

“Of course! I’m no baby!” She laughs maniacally, leading to you wondering how she landed on an office job with this energetic personality of hers.

After she got in the black sedan, you went back inside, hopped in the elevator, and when you got to your designated floor, you peeked through the small open crack of your office room as you were about to head home yourself. Arlert was typing away on his laptop, a bottle of whiskey along with a small shot glass sitting atop the wooden surface of his table.

“You can come in, you know.” He sighs, glancing at you for a moment then back on the screen in front of him, glasses reflecting the white sheen from the laptop. You entered the room, struggling to walk properly as you plop on the green velvet couch in the middle of the spacious room. You weren’t wasted by any means, it was just your damn 3 inch stilettos getting in the way.

Too tired to physically bend down and take the uncomfortable shoes off you murmur, “Why weren’t you out there with everyone else?”

“I prefer it to be quiet.” He clicks away on his keyboard, foot tapping on the carpet, the faint music blaring through the walls. The room was dim, the only light coming from his laptop and the open blinds. “Care for a drink?” He takes out another glass from his drawer, pops off the decanter of the whiskey and you watch the liquid meld onto the shape of the round glass.

You honestly don't feel like consuming anymore alcohol since you need to drive home, but your mind is urging you to take the drink anyways as a chance to spend more time with him. After balancing yourself, you sauntered towards him, took the drink in hand, and hopped so you could sit on his desk.

Clearly being faded is giving you more self-confidence, you’d never do this if you’re sober. You had no underlying intentions, you just wanted to unravel a layer of you he’s never seen before since you’ve led yourself to believe that he just thinks of you as his weak hearted co-worker and that’s why he’s treating you nicely and with care. Closing his laptop and walking around to lean against the edge of the desk next to you, you clink your glasses together and drink away.

“Good job on your presentation today, even Eren couldn’t make Ackerman as agreeable as you did,” His compliment only made you giggle. Placing your drink back down, you answer with a lopsided grin, “Well, I couldn’t have done it without you.”

It was sudden when he felt your head against his shoulder, not paying attention to the finger that slid around the edge of his jawline and the tilt that startled him, your noses nearly bumping. “Are you going to give me a reward?” You murmur, the corner of your lip turning up into a smirk.

“What would you like?” He wasn’t retaliating at all which only egged you on to go further.

You leaned to press your lips on his, the realization of how insane you are for doing this finally hitting you, but it’s too late. The repercussions for being unprofessional in the workplace can be dire, so you try to pull away with the assumption that Arlert will reprimand you. Before you could even part, he just pulled you back in, deepening the intimate moment and whimpering against your mouth from mere desperation.

One of his hands was around the back of your neck without force, but to imply that he wishes to keep going. You laced your fingers on his blonde locks, drawing his face closer as you nibbled on his bottom lip. When his other hand nipped on your collar button, you became aware of the buzzing in your heart.

The hunger and yearn you’ve had for him.

But is this really ethical? A few minutes of pleasure can cost you your career.

When half your button-up came undone, bra peeking in the crevice it revealed, you pushed him as lightly as you could.

Immediately, he stopped touching you and distanced himself by a few inches. “I’m- I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” He apologizes.

“No- it’s not you… it’s just that- I’ve never… God, this is embarrassing.” Yes, you’re a virgin and indirectly admitting it to your co-worker who was in the process of taking it is making you cringe. A part of you thought that you should’ve just kept going without telling him, but another part of you is afraid, what if it hurts?

What if you start bleeding and he gets icked out over it?

It’s not as if you’ve never had a significant other, you’ve just never gotten past second base because of the reasons just mentioned.

You were fiddling with your hands, trying to avoid looking at him at all until he pushed your chin with his finger to meet his eyes. His complexion is disheveled, strands of hair out of place and a smear of your lipstick apparent on the corner of his cheek. He seemed a little drowsy himself, his eyes are drooping, but impressively, he’s able to keep a good posture.

“I don’t think it’s embarrassing, but it’s up to you whether or not you want to proceed.” His words were reassuring with no doubt; you felt comfortable with him being your first, it was just a matter of judgment.

“We can keep going…” you shyly mumble, fingers grasping on his tie and pulling him back in for a kiss. Your skin felt cold, goosebumps forming from the anxiety bubbling in your stomach mixed with the fact that it’s actually freezing in the room you’re in at the moment.

Arlert noticed this when he felt your body trembling and your breathing hitch, ailing the tension by pressing soft kisses down your neck, one hand now past your top, cupping your boob under the fabric of your bra. He allowed his hand to squeeze around the swell of your breast, thumb flicking on your nipple.

Gasping, you mewl, “Arlert—“ he hushed you by putting his thumb over your lips. “Drop the formalities. Forget about our positions at least for tonight, okay?” You nod your head yes, hands slipping from under his shirt to frantically removing his buttons from its respective holes to shed Armin off his top. Being distracted enough, you didn’t take note of his hand sliding under your skirt and onto your thigh, finger teasing the cloth covering your pussy.

Shuddering, you squeeze your thighs back together out of instinct, Armin just prying them back open. He went down on his knees, kneeling in front of you while keeping your legs apart, taking a moment to appreciate the fresh view upon him.

The idea that he’s going to be your first drives him insane, more so that he’s not sober. It gives him a sense of possessiveness, the fact that his junior secretary is still a pure virgin. Still, he wanted to make sure you’re getting the best of the best instead of you feeling forced to do something you aren’t up for.

After all, it’s the least he could do. You’ve contributed a lot to the company— his family, and you share a lot of the same qualities which makes you two a great team.

Your panties were definitely soaked and Armin proceeded by pulling them down and tossing it over the headrest of his chair behind you. It felt bizarre that one of the company’s biggest names is kneeling in front of you, half naked and in between your thighs. “Are you sure you want to do this?” You mutter.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that? I’m fine, but I need to know if you’re good. As soon as you start to feel… unsettled, let me know and we’ll pretend this never happened.” His tone had a hint of tenderness, but still domineering. Your fingers are curled on the edge of the desk, Armin delicately trailing pecks to your inner thigh and rolling your skirt up to give him more allowance.

The tip of his tongue sent shockwaves of pleasure throughout your body as he licked your clit and down the slit of your cunt. You shivered, Armin gazing up and catching you biting your lip to prevent yourself from being too noisy. He chuckles, hands wrapping around the meat of your thighs, “Don’t be shy on me now, I thought you wanted a reward, sweet girl.” At this point, he’s lost all sense of logic, all he wants to see— to hear —now is just you, you, you.

With fingers laced and gripped tighter on his hair, you pushed his face further on you, his lips brushing and nibbling right where you wanted it. “A-Armin—“ You hesitated to cry out his name, yet it’s the only word you can think of.

On the other side of the wall, a dull mixture of music and mumbles of co-workers passing by the room are caught by the ears while Armin slides his tongue in between your folds, hole leaking with arousal.

While you fought to squeeze his head in between your thighs, he’d only push them out and moan, piling onto the sheer heat that you’re experiencing within your pussy. He puckers his lips, pushing two of his fingers in your plush walls. “So sweet…” He reveres, mesmerized to say the least.

Fuck, you were tight, Armin told himself.

He offered his free hand for you to clasp onto to assure that he isn’t hurting you. You grab ahold of it while his fingers stretched you apart, a slight squelch noise painting your cheeks with heat out of embarrassment.

You weren’t going to lie, it did hurt.

Did.

After a few pumps, Armin was able to slip his digits in and out with ease, curling them up when they’re knuckle deep, and it drove you over the edge. It’s different when someone else does it for you, it’s never felt like this when you were experimenting by yourself.

You were practically pulling on his hand, heavy squeezes letting him know that you’re close. With repeated mumbles of his name, you announced, “Armin, Armin, I’m so— hah, god, I think— I think I’m close…” Your whole body was stiff, head shifted back and eyes set on the ceiling as Armin added the tip of his tongue on your clit. He wasn’t rushing you to your orgasm at all, but he’s precise, he knew immediately when he hit your spot and repeatedly arched his fingers in that angle.

Coating his fingers with your slick, you cried in silence, still sober enough to realize that this isn’t your bedroom and there’s people constantly walking back and forth by this room. Armin used his thumb to swipe languid circles on your clit, soothing you of your orgasm, massaging your inner thigh with his other hand, mumbling, “You’re okay, you’re okay… you did so well, love.”

You kept shuddering even as he got up on his feet after being on his knees, tugging on your waist slightly, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him in for a longing kiss, lips gentle and with a slight tinge of your arousal apparent on his taste. Craving for more, you sneak your hand in between his pants to get a feel of the rigid texture against his boxers.

You giggle, pulling away from him. “Mm- you’re hard.”

“I just saw a beautiful woman cum in front of me, who wouldn’t be?” He smiles drunkenly, taking a chunk of your cheek in between his fingers to pinch you.

You could only feel flustered at his comment, not knowing what to say after that — you aren’t particularly used to someone complimenting you in that manner.

In a world where this situation might seem immoral, to you and Armin at this exact moment, it just felt… right.

You give him the green light. “Please… continue.”

His eyes flickered with surprise. “Are you sure you’re ready? It- it doesn’t have to be right now, we can take a rain check-“ Shushing him with your finger, you chuckled for two reasons.

First reason, you decided to verbalize. “Why are you talking as if it’s as simple as a team dinner? You’re so cute, Arlert- I mean- Armin.”

Second reason? This whole thing is just a fling. The most that’ll come of it is just more sexual tension in the workplace and probably awkwardness, but what are the chances of that happening when your personalities won’t allow that to happen?

If this is going to be your way for your feelings to fade into a memory, then you’ll take it. You’ll go to work on Monday pretending like it was just a wet dream, and avoid eye contact with him until you clear your head of it.

But unfortunately for your little innocent head, feelings don’t work like that.

Your reassurance was enough said, he slips his hand into his wallet to search for a condom, which luckily he had one, unbuckles his belt, then pulls his pants down. The lump against the fabric of his boxers seemed as if it was begging for fresh air, you pulled his briefs down to his mid-thighs as he bent over to place kisses on your neck.

His cock was on the lengthier side, tip flushed pink and oozing with pre-cum. You wrap your hand around it with a light squeeze, gliding up and down lazily. He groaned your name right up in your ear, hands traveling all over your body, holding onto you like he’s been longing for this more than you have.

A stroke up, then down, roll your thumb on the tip, and repeat. “Holy shit, oh yeah. Oh god yeah…” Occasional grunts turned into chants of mewls and cries before you swallowed his pleas with your lips. It felt a little empowering to have this much control over your senior, so safe to say that you were eating this up.

He completely submerged himself under your touch, the vanilla scent of his hair vigorating the nerves of your nose. Armin felt weak in the knees the more you teased him by denying him of his release, one twitch oh his cock means your strokes would get twice as slow as prior. He gasps as you parted, “Oh fuck, oh fuck—! baby… please make me cum… please…”

Not like you were planning on teasing him any further, but he came almost straight away, warm cum spurting on your hand and the edge of the desk, in between your thighs. “Fuck… thank you, darling.” He sighs, unwrapping the condom from the packet and slipping it around his cock.

“God, Armin.” You whimpered when he slid his cock up and down your slit, tip bumping against your clit with each slip. Armin’s hand kept your thighs pried as he positioned himself to enter the crown of his cock past your hole.

You nearly screeched, lips parting, fingernails etching onto Armin’s shoulder blades. ”Shh, shh, it’s okay, baby. I’ll be as slow as you need to.” He captures you by the lips, comforting you as you engulf him whole. Whining into the kiss, his warm hand caressed your tear-stained cheek, thumb swiping away the tear that rolled down your face.

A few inches in and you weren’t moaning into his mouth because of the burning sensation, it became bearable— pleasurable. Armin was being as careful as he could, his chest nearly touching yours as he bottomed you out.

“Ready?”

“Yes…” And with that, he drags his girth out your hole, until it was only his tip stretching you. One slam of his hips and you were forced to choke in your moans, a hand keeping your thighs apart while the other hoists your skirt up your waist. If he could be honest, he wished you weren’t being modest with making noise. In his drunk point-of-view, who would even care that the CEO’s two secretaries are screwing in their office when everyone else is having their own fun outside?

You muttered curses while he drilled into you, his hips not too fast that it was painful, but not too sluggish that you were left bored. Armin pressed soft pecks on your jawline, hand sneaking up and fondling with your breast, nipple in between his fingers.

“Ah- mm— hah- Armin-“ You cry, his free palm wrapping around your ankle and bending it towards you, one knee against your chest. Armin’s face was warm, eyes nearly brimmed with tears to how good your pussy felt.

He groans, grabbing your chin to pull your eyes on him without faltering the speed of hips. “How does it feel having me take your virginity, hm?” He knew how you felt judging by the way your face is making that fucked out expression, drool dribbling from the corner of your mouth, but he wanted to hear it.

Quivering, you whisper as he lets go of your face, “I love it, I love it s’much.”

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you.” Greedy bastard, he totally heard it. Your slick frothed and pooled on the wooden luster of the desk, coating his cock while his balls pressed up against the base of your ass with each thrust.

Your ankle felt a bruising pain with his tight grip, your nails clawing on his back while you raised your voice, feeding into his covetous desires. “Armin—! Fuck, I love it. It’s- it’s so good, baby please.” You’re practically babbling nonsense, words slurred and barely coherent.

With each slam, the desk rumbled, pens and organized documents plummeting off the desk and scattering all over the carpet floor. Your hand went up to cup his face, thumb pressing on his lips and in his mouth. His tongue swirled around your finger, humming while you struggled to keep still.

“Hah- yes, yes… taking me so well,” Armin praises, forehead clashing against yours, hunching himself over to lick your lips open and slip his tongue in. You took a fist full of his hair to pull him closer, your body leaning back until you were laying on the table, legs pulled to rest against his shoulders. Each slam of his cock progressively turned rougher, his thighs slapping on the back of yours as he threw his head back, the evening glow gleaming through the curtains and on his Adam’s apple glossed with sweat.

It’s as if your walls were molded just for him, you were so good, pussy clamping onto his cock like a goddamn champ. Armin mumbles without his hips faltering, “Would it be okay if- if I change it up?”

“Yes— holy, fuck—“ You were folded in half, Armin pushing the back of your thighs. It was getting harder to breathe, but he put you in a position that allowed him to plunge his cock deeper, penetrating your g-spot. Your body is tense, teeth sinking on your bottom lip while Armin kept a tight push on your thighs, his eyes glued to how your creamy cunt stretches nicely for him. Using the tips of your finger to relieve the ache of your clit, you yelped, a stream of liquid spurting out of your hole.

“Fuck… you fucking squirted…” He groans, leaning back down to kiss you as he cums. He lets go of your exhausted legs, hands now cupping and massaging your boobs to help you come down from the intense stimulation. Your breathing stuttered when he pulled out to take his condom off, your lower half feeling numb and limp.

“Thank you, Armin,” You whisper.

“Of course, love.” He chuckles.

You’re aware that it has already begun, you started something you know you shouldn’t have, but nevertheless—

It’s the next morning, Saturday, meaning you’re off.

Eyes slowly snapping open, your brain immediately went into panic mode. You weren’t in your apartment and your body felt like it got hit by a truck. The room you’re in was unfamiliar, it was in the color pearl as opposed to your creme walls and the decor was off too– it’s not suited to your taste. Your eyes wandered to see picture frames on the white oak nightstand of Arlert, Mr. Jaeger, and their family.

Arlert… Mr. Jaeger… wait.

“Good morning.” A voice interrupted your train of thought. It was Arlert, carrying a tray with a bowl of warm soup and a glass of water. Hardly remembering how you ended up here, you just nodded as he sat on the edge of the bed, placing the tray on the nightstand and handing you the glass of water.

You held the cup with both your hands, and took a sip, clearing your throat, then asking, “Um… so how did I end up here? Don’t tell me I went batshit insane and-“

“We slept together.” He cuts you off, the water almost splashing out of the glass as you were taking your second sip.

Those words immediately struck you and you were able to recover some patches of yesterday’s events. Specifically the part where you threw yourself at him.

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

This isn’t right, this wasn’t supposed to happen. He’s your co-worker, your work partner. Sure, you have feelings for him but that was supposed to be suppressed.

The silence felt too thick even for Arlert. “I figured you wouldn’t be able to come home by yourself after all that, so I took you to my place. I apologize if I made you feel uncomfortable.”

You weren’t angry nor disappointed at him. You felt stupid that you could barely remember the first time you had sex. Your memory is so fogged, you forgot everything past when you kissed him. Plus, he’s the president’s son. If word gets out, you’d be lucky if the company just lets you go quietly. No, rumors will start to spread about how you were just sleeping around to get to your current position. You’ve worked too hard to prove yourself competent, you’re not going to risk everything just for some temporary fun.

Eventually composing yourself, you take your belongings from the lounge chair next to you and slip your shoes on, as hard as they already are to walk on without the ache on your legs. “I’m sorry… uh- can we pretend this never happened?” Maybe you should’ve worded it more nicely.

In a perfect world, it would’ve been nice to entertain the idea of having a relationship with Arlert. He’s smart, handsome, and he’s quite caring once he lets you in his personal bubble.

Armin’s heart sunk, his mouth shaping from a smile to a blank stare. “What do you mean ‘pretend it never happened’?”

“You know… that it was null and void.” You purse your lips, leaving him with that cruel statement while you flee the room with your head hung low.

You couldn’t bear to look at him after saying those harsh words, he didn’t even bother to run after you.

But that’s that, you tell yourself as you hopped in the elevator. Maybe you’ll just take a few days off of work and hope for the best.

You’re aware that there’s no turning back no matter what you say. Nevertheless—

Needless to say that you couldn’t skip work after the weekend that felt like lasted forever. Jaeger will end up interrogating you, and you’d rather not make it obvious that you’re avoiding a certain someone.

Arlert didn’t show any signs of concern, he treated you the same way and gave you your desired space. You did the same, making sure no one will suspect anything, which went on for a few consecutive weeks.

He’d constantly try to approach you after work, but you’d always excuse yourself first and hurry down to your vehicle to get away as soon as possible. You’ve dug yourself a hole by saying you never want anything to do with him again, ashamed of yourself for not remembering what had happened that night.

Even so, fate is always somehow always against your wishes, thus Eren assigned you both to travel for the weekend since his terminally ill grandfather wished for a specific kind of bread only available at a bakery 4 hours away from town. You offered if you could just do the task yourself since it’s just bread, but Jaeger insisted on having Arlert by your side to secure your safety.

Neither of you could refuse, it is Arlert’s grandfather and it’s part of your job to aid him out of respect as he’s the former president.

You drove there right after work, in a separate car from Arlert. The drive was silent besides the mellow jazz from the aux. Your fingers were tight on the steering wheel, barely able to relax the whole way there as you’re about to spend the weekend alone with him.

It was around midnight when you got to the hotel, Jaeger offered to book a room since he has some connections with the owner. Arlert had already arrived, waiting for you in the front, glancing at his watch then up to see you walking to the front steps.

“Would you like dinner first before we check in?” He offers, hand rubbing the back of his head.

“Uh…” you were planning on making some excuse, but your stomach said otherwise.

You’re here for work after all, not for some cheesy romance bullshit.

You grin meekly. “Sure.”

Dinner was quiet, yet uncomfortable. You had it right in the hotel, the menu prices almost got your heart to flat line, but Arlert slipped a company credit card out of his pocket to assure you.

You barely spoke, the only conversation you really had was about the meeting today, nothing outside of work.

The sounds of silverware clanking on the ceramic plates and other people’s chattering filled your ears, soon interrupted when Arlert blurted out, “So um, Eren only booked a one bed-room on accident. I’ll stay on the sofa and you can take the bed.”

You kept silent, acknowledging him by nodding, but for some reason you felt unsatisfied that he’d rather sleep on the couch than share a bed with you, even though it’s clear that he’s respecting your wishes. It’s agitating — enough that you wanted to blurt what you’re feeling right here and now.

“Arlert-“

“It’s okay. ‘Just pretend nothing ever happened’, right? You don’t have to feel like you have to avoid me anymore.” He didn’t even make eye contact, blue eyes latched onto the slab of steak in front of him.

You’ve never felt so conflicted in your life. All the signals in your brain is telling you that it’s best that he’s drawing the line, but something in within you is saying to fuck all of that.

When you finished eating, you got your luggage from your car and went ahead of Arlert to go to the room first. It just happened to be 6 stories high, spacious with a huge king-sized bed, the window overlooking the unfamiliar city.

Placing your bag on the ground, the door behind you opened and it was him.

The quaint pair of glasses sitting gracefully on top of his nose bridge, complexion calm and collected, yet was filled with solitude.

You really couldn’t take having to tighten the lid of your feelings anymore.

It’s over. You know this, but nevertheless—

“Wow the view is nice huh?” He tried initiating small talk, sauntering towards the window. You followed behind, pulling his arm, then pushing him against the cold glass, hands on his wrists. He neither seemed startled nor irritated. Just that same stoic look on his face.

“I’m sorry, Armin… I just- ugh. I don’t remember anything.” You sigh.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

You didn’t have a tight grip on him, but he didn’t retaliate. You continue rambling. “I only remember a little bit of sleeping with you that night, but… but… aghhh! I know how frustrating this is for you, but god this has been killing me for the past week now. I just- I’ve been trying so hard to hide how I really feel about you, but now I just feel like I fucked everything up.”

He chuckles, his thumb rubbing against your cheekbone. “You’re adorable, you know?”

You exhale, “And also… what if everyone else thinks I’m some ladder climbing whore?”

“I won’t let them do that to you, I promise. You’re the smartest, most reliable woman I know, I’ll make sure that’s how everyone else perceives you.” His flattery is tugging on your heartstrings, a slight smile forming on your complexion.

“So did you actually mean what you said earlier about pretending like it never happened?” You frown.

“Let’s make that null and void.” You felt like you were able to breathe again when he finally kissed you, one arm wrapped around your waist to push you against his body and the other on the back of your head.

You stumble towards the bed backwards, unaware of whatever else is happening besides the pair of lips clashing onto yours, breathing heavily through your nose. He quickly pulls away to toss his glasses to the side while you work on tugging his tie off, then undoing the buttons of his linen top.

Armin expertly popped the buttons out of your top and you shimmy your way out of it, leaving the both of you topless. You tripped on the mattress, back landing on the plush surface, Armin pinning you down with both his arms.

“From now on,” He presses a soft kiss on your neck, “I’ll make sure you remember everything.”

While he nibbles on your earlobe, you tease, “I’ll be keeping my expectations up.” You wiggle your way towards the huge headboard, suddenly holding onto Armin’s biceps and swiveling them to make your way on top of him, legs folded on either side of his thighs.

“You sure you can handle it?” He chuckles, face lit with fervor. You unclamp the button of his trousers, sliding them down, leaving him with only his boxers on. A dark splotch of precum was apparent on his underwear, the fat of his boner melding through his boxers.

You palm his clothed cock, cupping and eliciting sharp gasps from him. “Arlert, I wanna suck you off,” Already crawling with one knee in between his legs, he grabbed onto your wrist and paused you.

“Hold on.” He shuffled himself until he was laying on his back, your expression painted with slight confusion. “If you insist, sit on my face while you suck my dick.” His grin showed pure malice, as if he’s been dreaming about your pussy suffocating him.

You’ve seen what he just described in porn you come across on your twitter timeline, except you don’t have the self-confidence to push your whole weight down on someone’s face.

“Um- are you sure? That sounds uncomfortable…” You ponder, hand now grasped beneath the sheets from anxiety. This whole thing is still so new to you, it’s so nerve wracking knowing that someone else is taking the effort to make you feel good.

Armin reassures, reaching his arm out to turn on the table side lamp next to him. “Does it look like I care about that? Come on, let me give you a good time, hm? If you don’t like it, we’ll stop.”

There’s no harm in trying. Armin has been so sweet and careful knowing that you don’t have a lot of experience, assuring that you’re receiving the best of the best. And it’s not as if he’s not getting perks of his own. He’s still wondering how no one else has taken you up and given you what you deserved.

First off, you’re pretty. Often clad in a tight white button-up, see through enough to the point where he can see the color of your bra strap if he takes the effort to stare. He also knows the days you alternate between skirts and pants. Not on purpose of course, but he sees you everyday and he’s a meticulous person, it’s easy for him to notice patterns.

It’s perverted, he knows, but he can’t help it. That’s why he’s so nervous whenever you’re around that his hands get sweaty and he frequently has to twist his tie to cool down.

Plus, you’re the dopest person he knows. Ambitious, self-serving, never takes shit from anyone. You also didn’t kiss Eren’s ass to get to your position which isn’t necessarily common in the company where kissing up might as well be part of the job.

So it’s nice to see you under that veil, where you’re so frail and whiny all of a sudden because he’s too fucking big for your unstretched cunt. Where he got to take a picture in his brain of every second of that night– how you look like under your clothes, nipples prickled hard from the breeze of the AC while he fucked your brains out.

You stand on the mattress, carefully pulling your slacks down then curling your finger under your bra strap to slip it off one shoulder, then the other. Your breasts bounced out of its confinements and Armin observed as you knelt and swung your legs so that one would be on each side of his head.

Swallowing hard, you stared at his navy boxers, smeared with precum, the outline of his cock prominent under the fabric. Your thighs were trembling, the air was cold and you felt a pair of eyes piercing its gaze towards the wet splotch apparent on your panties.

Armin took the crotch part of your underwear and pulled it to the side, your pussy already puffy, folds glossed with slick. He grasps your waist and gently pulls you lower, closer to his face, and he sticks his tongue out until the tip bumped your clit.

Meanwhile, you’re shuffling to pull his boxers down, just enough for his cock to spring out, the head swollen and leaking with translucent, thick precum. You wrap your palm around the base, just above his balls, suddenly hissing at Armin teasing your clit. “Fuck, Armin… “ You laughed off the sting of his wet tongue, but you were getting a little frustrated.

And Armin can tell. “Baby, you know I can’t reach you if you don’t sit on my face properly right? Just relax, you have nothing to worry about.” He chuckles, practically lying through his teeth because he knows damn well of what he’s capable of.

Hesitantly, you placed more weight on top of his face as you slid your hand up his cock and rolled your tongue out where a ball of spit coated the head. Your back arched into a firm bow, a response of pain when he sank two of his fingers inside you. “It- it hurts.” A low hiss crept past your lips, just right on the head of his cock.

“Does that mean you want to stop?” Armin was being polite, but him drooling on your cunt shows nothing but pure spite.

Squirming, you whisper. “No… I need more. Stop teasing.” Your ass was aching from your position, mouth practically pressed against the length of his dick. He sighs, his breath fanning against the heat of your cunt. Your bossy attitude provoked a laugh out of him, he thought it was cute.

After chuckling, he jests, “Agh, I guess I can’t deny a pretty girl like you.” Those words wrapped your heart in a warm blanket, it felt so sweet and nourishing even if he meant it sexually.

That feeling didn’t last long however, he was back to licking your pussy, tongue making its work by slipping along the slit while his lips sucked your clit. You whimpered, your mouth around his cock sending vibrations straight to his balls.

You had never given head, but nonetheless you use this opportunity to try things you’ve seen in porn. Caving your cheeks in, you take slow steps in taking more of his cock in your mouth, saliva dripping all over his dick.

Armin noticed what you were trying to do and was ready to stop you in case you gag, but he could feel you getting closer to your orgasm as your legs shook around his head and the louder your moans got. So instead, he encourages you by sticking a third finger in your hole and fucked it in and out while groaning under you. Your throat constricted the more you took of him, up until the tip nearly punched the back of your throat.

Grinding on his face, you were practically seeing stars, more so when Armin curled his fingers inside you, tipping you over the edge. A stream of fluid projectiles past his head and onto the plush pillow. A sharp gasp was emitted from your throat when you pulled away, a twine of saliva connecting your lips and his tip, your hand continuing on jerking him off.

“Fuck, Armin, fuck, you make me so horny, hah…” At this point, you were just spitting out what you had in mind, words that you’d never typically say out loud.

But he took those words to heart.

He grins, voice slightly muted as you rock your hips on his face. “Oh yeah? Can you do that f’me again then?” The wet plump of his lips sucked on your tender clit, his fingers only picking up in pace. You tried your best to pump your hand as fast as you could, your tongue sticking out and teasing his leaking fat cock head.

The topic of sex was something you rather avoided. You enjoyed hearing about your friends’ sex lives but you always thought they were just sugarcoating for bragging points. Watching porn didn’t have that much of an effect either, sometimes you get so turned off when the man is too aggressive or when the woman is moaning too loud.

But with Armin? Your first time felt like a reenactment of a steamy smut scene in those romance novels. He holds onto you, reassures you, and makes sure that you don’t feel belittled because you’re lacking in experience. You always thought that the process of losing your virginity would be painful, but this is only your second time and you're already addicted.

Armin was panting, his body shifting underneath you. “Oh god, oh god, fuck—! Oh—“ He yelps, broken strings of cum spewing out and onto your lips, which you licked off. His cock twitched while your hand faltered in speed.

You weren’t far from cumming yourself, Armin’s fingers were slipping in with ease, the combination of that and his tongue ejecting a mess out of you, a porn-worthy moan bouncing off the walls of the room. Your slick ran on your thighs, Armin still kitten licking your clit, evoking a weak giggle from you. “That’s it… Just like that…” He praises.

Rolling off him and onto the mattress you laid down in disbelief as you were coming down from your high. Armin sat up and plopped beside you, your heads on the foot of the bed. Strands of his blonde hair were stuck on his forehead, chin gleamed with arousal against the city lights from the window view. “Are you tired?” He asks, staring at the blank ceiling.

You turn your body sideways, facing him. “Not really. Are you?” He rolls to the side and positions you so he could hover above you. Hunching down, he goes in for a sweet kiss, the bubbling feeling in your stomach flaring up.

While remaining embraced, arms hooked around his neck to keep his face close, he pulled off, his thumb drawing circles on your cheekbone.

“I want it… I want you.” You mumble, desperation dragging in each syllable of your words. Despite your memory not cooperating, your body was yearning for more.

“Are you sure? I don’t have a condom with me.”

“Can’t you just… pull out?” You raise the question, eyebrows raising in curiosity of his answer.

“Is that really what you want though?” Armin is aware that asking too many questions can turn you away from wanting to continue on any more, but he can’t go on without the assurance that he isn’t forcing you to do something you don’t really want to do.

You nod timidly.

Armin lightens up the mood, chuckling, “Only the second time and you’re already asking for it raw? You’re so ambitious.”

“Only with you.” You laugh along with him, face flushed with heat.

Only with him, you can feel this comfortable with being naked and saying whatever was on your mind. Romance-wise, your relationship with him is still fresh, but the feelings already had a seed in your heart.

“I always liked you, you know.” Armin doesn’t know what the fuck he’s saying and why now, but for some reason he felt that this was the best time to do so.

“Yeah? How so?” You tease, arms still locked around his neck.

“I don’t know, it just happened. Maybe it’s because you’re so cool and you kinda intimidated me.” He confesses, his arms still caging you in between.

“What do you think of me now?” The room was eerily quiet, as if you two were the only ones living on the planet and nothing else mattered.

He ponders, “Still cool… not as intimidating… beautiful…” looking you in the eye, you snuck him in for a heated kiss before he could comprehend what was happening, tongue slipping in between his lips and clashing with his tongue.

Whimpering against your mouth, he was jerking himself off for lubrication, nudging his cock in between your folds quickly before parting from you shortly to pull your panties off completely, tossing it on the floor. He’s sliding in slowly, but it’s difficult when your cunt is sucking him in so good.

It was different this time; you’re taking a mental note of each second of this moment, the stretching burn as his cock dragged along your tight walls, his lips smashed against yours, his choppy breathing in between kisses…

As soon as he was fully inside of you, he placed your ankles against his shoulders and bent down, staring at your pleasured face. Mouth agape and eyes blank, he caressed your cheek with his finger while snapping his hips on yours. Your nails dug on his back, crescent shaped marks engraved on his skin.

“Armin… so deep…” You’re mewling, his cock sinking into your hole, leaving your legs numb as he folded you in half. He only hackled a chuckle; the more you moaned, the more he was encouraged to thrust faster and deeper.

The smack! of your wet cunt against Armin’s balls and the heavy breathing were the only noises in the muted room. Armin was utterly obsessed — obsessed with everything about you. Even the way your teeth ram into your bottom lip because his cock is fucking into you so deliciously is something he wants to replay in his mind over and over.

“You’re so pretty darling, squeezing onto me so well, hah-“ He wasn’t going to lie, he hadn’t planned on doing this tonight; otherwise, maybe he would’ve been more prepared. Armin really doesn’t mind staying in between your legs all night, but god is he fucking addicted on doing you raw. Your throat strained, whines becoming fuller while you spat out sweet nothings about how he’s making you feel so good.

Armin leaned back, observing your boobs bouncing in sync with his thrusts, your hands going up to knead and massage them. He held onto your legs, eyes traveling to your glistening cunt engulfing his dick, reveling in the feeling of his cock rutting into your most sensitive spot.

Reaching forward to squeeze your nipples in between his fingers to rouse you up, you whimpered quietly, “ ‘m so close…” Your eyes were shut, breathing jagged with each rock of his hips.

“God— yes, do it for me, schatzi.” His mother tongue slipped out the more his mind was hazed and could barely keep a lucid thought that wasn’t filthy. Your eyes squeezed shut, body tense when you came, legs twitching and lips muttering his name.

Armin was on the verge of cumming as well, letting go of your legs to pull out, pumping into his fist before forgetting to do so. He came on your tits, long strings of white, translucent cum on your lithe skin as he groaned under his breath. Slumber was running all over your veins, the temptation of sleep taunting you.

He hops off the bed and sits next to your head. “Baby, we should clean up. We have a long day tomorrow.” He pokes your cheek.

You were sore as you followed him to the ivory bathroom, and into the unnecessarily huge glass paned shower. Armin twisted the knob for warm water and he did the honors of washing your body, hands travelling all over you, cupping your breasts although it didn’t feel inherently sexual. He trailed kisses all over the back of your neck and your back as the water ran down your bodies.

Twisting your head, you laced your fingers with his own and you locked your lips against his before whispering, “I like you too.”

Giggles and kisses were shared prior to going back to bed, both of you were too infatuated to figure out that this is way out of your routines and character, considering that this is an HR violation and god forbid if other people find out.

Nevertheless…

There’s no turning back.

schatzi is an endearment term in german according to various sources. literally means treasure, but can be used as ‘darling’ or ‘sweetheart’.

#armin arlert #armin #armin smut #armin arlert smut #armin x reader #armin arlert x reader #armin x reader smut #armin arlert x reader smut #aot smut #attack on titan smut

835 notes · View notes

sionisjaune · 1 year

Note

Share your deranged lewis/mick idea with the class babe

Technically Seb/Mick/Lewis but anyway...

“Seb told me to give this to you.”

Lewis blinks, bleary from an hour of staring at glowing data points on too-dark screens. Mick is standing beside him, one hand extended towards Lewis. He’s holding Roscoe’s leash. Roscoe is on the end of it, flopped on his butt on the floor and panting happily.

Lewis wets his lips. It’s already dark outside the Mercedes hospitality.

“He told me—” Mick cuts himself off and raises an arm to ruffle his own hair nervously. “He said I’m not your personal dog sitter and I should stop letting you—walk all over me, just because I’m at the track. And I am available, obviously, if you need me sometimes—but I actually have a lot on my plate even if it isn’t obvious, and—”

“It’s cool,” says Lewis. He licks his lips again. It does sound like something Seb would say—shrewd advice that he would give. “I guess I just assumed that since you liked dogs, and since he needs someone to hang out with…” Lewis trails off. There isn’t anything more to say. It’s entirely possible that he’s been selfish.

“It’s fine.” Mick fidgets in front of him. “I’m just. Busy. You know?”

“Yeah, I know,” says Lewis. “Well. You can tell Seb that I’ll find a new dog sitter. And tell him I said hi.”

—

“Seb said I should give this to you.”

Mick shoves his hand in the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a handful of colorful glass beads—jewelry. He opens his hand and the chain drops and sparkles under the violet lights of the venue. Each bead is unique—the chunky, hand-blown style that Lewis has been into recently—and the chain is short enough that it should sit close to Lewis’s throat.

“It’s weird,” says Mick. Lewis watches him drop it on the bartop beside his empty glass. “So, I was visiting Seb and there was this market. And I saw this stall selling little handmade glass things, and then I saw this, and I said it looks like something you would wear, and Seb said I should get it for you if I really thought so.” Mick messes with his glass, sliding the pad of one finger across the rim. “I couldn’t tell if he was joking.”

“Sometimes I can’t either,” Lewis admits. He slides the necklace off of the bartop, and holds it in a cupped hand. The beads are still warm from Mick’s pocket, glistening with a slippery shine. “I like it. You have a good eye.”

Mick wraps a hand around the base of his glass and glances at the floor. His eyes flick back to Lewis after a long second has passed.

“Tell him I said thank you,” says Lewis. And then half joking: “And ask when I’m invited around.”

Mick’s gaze snaps to the floor again, like there’s something very interesting between his and Lewis’s barstools. “Probably anytime,” says Mick. “I’ll ask.”

“Seb told me to—” Mick closes the gap between them and slots his lips against Lewis’s. Lewis turns it into a real kiss, because why else was he hanging out in Mick’s hotel room on a Sunday night anyways.

Mick makes a small noise and pulls away wetly. Lewis chases him until Mick is halfway reclined in the pillows of his bed and pliant underneath him. His hair is short and spiky between Lewis’s fingers, and his jaw is strong, and his lips are quite red when Lewis pulls away.

“He said I should—” Mick pauses, breathless. “He told me to show you how I feel. He said showing is better than telling, and I should give you something that makes it obvious.”

Lewis smoothes Mick’s hair down and settles his weight over Mick’s lap. “I think that’s just Seb. He can’t stand obfuscation. Everything has to be one way, and it has to be the most earnest, honest, bull-headed way.”

“I know,” says Mick. "That's him."

“Seb said I should give it to you like this.” Mick punctuates the statement with a short punch of his hips. Lewis muffles a groan in the crook of his own elbow. “He said you would probably like it like this. Hard. Fast. He said I should try to deny you.”

Mick fucks into him again, drapes himself across Lewis’s back, and digs his teeth into Lewis’s shoulder. Lewis gives up on holding up his head and drops his forehead onto the arm of his driver’s room sofa. The fabric is coarse and scratchy and already supporting his right arm, but it makes it easier to take it in this position and gives him another point from which he can anchor himself.

“What else did he say,” Lewis gasps.

“He said that we should both visit during the summer, and he’ll give it to you himself. Soft and slow, until you beg for it. He wants me to watch, and then he wants to watch me fuck you until you can’t fuck anymore.” Mick pants into the side of Lewis’s neck.

“Tell him—” Lewis groans. Someone definitely heard that one. “Tell him to stop telling you shit. Tell him to tell me himself.” Mick is absolutely nailing his prostate. This is the stupidest idea Lewis has had at a racetrack in years.

“But I like this,” says Mick. “I like me telling you. I like telling him things from you too.” Mick tips his weight further onto Lewis so that he’s forced to collapse forwards into the sofa, his back curving at an impossible angle.

“Oh fuck,” Lewis says, overcome with the image of Mick telling Seb, telling him about this. “Fuck. Shit. I’m going to—”

Lewis comes on a feedback loop of sensations, Mick’s mouth on his neck, his chest glued to Lewis’s back. Mick cups his hand helpfully underneath Lewis to prevent a stain on the sofa. When Lewis is finished shaking with an orgasm of unexpected intensity, he flops on his stomach on the sofa and comes to the realization that Mick is still hard and half inside of him.

“Seb said—” Mick catches himself. Lewis can feel him shifting around, tugging at Lewis’s rim. “He said I should come—on your back. That it would look good, with the tattoos.”

Lewis turns his head into his elbow and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Yeah. Just. Do it. Whatever he told you.”

#someone tell me if i have done this pairing justice #i am trying to figure mick out #lewis/mick #i wrote this

141 notes · View notes

salt-kat · 1 month

Note

Haaii me again! Took me a while to figure out what to request.

How about a Mercy x f!s/o thats a firefighter? Established relationship. Angela helps when reader comes into the hospital with burns on her body. Shes there to listen to her trauma and all that fluffy stuff. Maybe she even saves mercy

Have a splendid day!!!!

Hiiii!!! So nice to hear from you again!!! This was a fun ask to do, I did make it a little light-hearted. Hope you enjoy<3

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Mercy With A Firefighter Girlfriend✦

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Angela definitely has a giant respect for you and your work. She understands what it’s like to work long grueling hours saving people. She knows how stressful and demanding your line of work is. After a long day of work, she’ll want to help you both unwind. She’ll order take-out from your favorite restaurant and watch a comfort movie with you cuddled up in bed.

Angela is always there with a listening ear if you need to talk about scary things that have happened at work. She knows going through the trauma of saving people is hard to manage. She’ll hold you as you cry or complain about the crappy things that come with your job. If your job ever makes your mental health go to extremes, she’s going to find you the best therapist on the market. She knows that she helps you, but it would also be good to have a professional on your team as well.

If you ever were to be injured on the job, Angela is immediately rushing to help. The moment she sees the tiniest burn or scrape, she already cleaning and dressing your wound while giving you a warning about being more careful. God forbid you get a bad burn, she would panic internally. She would appear very calm while tending to your burns and marks. As soon as you were stable and okay, she would bursts into tears. She was so terrified for you. Please reassure her!! She’ll be with you every step of the way during recovery.

Despite your girlfriend being an intelligent doctor, she’s not good at staying calm when she sees fire. There have been a time or two when Angela has set things on fire in your shared home. One time she was trying to cook up a fancy meal for you both and proceeded to over-heat the oil in the pan, causing a small grease fire. Instead of remembering the fire safety tips she’s been taught, she panicked and screamed. You come rushing into the kitchen and see the fire. You grab the lid, quickly cover it, and turn off the stove. She’s so thankful you were there to help! “You’re my knight and shining armor”, Angela giggles, giving you a kiss on the cheek as a thank you.

#mercy #overwatch x reader #mercy x reader #mercy overwatch #overwatch headcanons #angela ziegler

18 notes · View notes

blog-site-for-market-research · 8 months

Text

Hospital Beds Market Size, and Region - Global Forecast to 2032

Market Scenario

The hospital beds market was valued at USD 3.1 billion in 2021 and is expected to rise from USD 3.33 billion in 2022 to USD 6.38 billion by 2032, with a compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of 7.5% over the forecast period (2023-2032). However, expensive hospital beds, such as semi-electric and electric beds can counter the market rise in the forecast period.

The increase in number of admissions in hospitals and surge in demand for health care services can promote expansion of the market in the assessment period. Hospital beds aid in positioning that body that has greater feasibility over regular home bed that can promote expansion of the market in years come. The increase in number of ECG machines and their need can favor expansion of the market in the analysis period. The availability of advanced type hospital beds can also promote expansion of the market in the study period. The increase in prevalence of different chronic malaises and rise in number of ambulatory centers can promote expansion of the market in the years ahead.

Market Segmentation

The segment assessment for the global hospital beds market is done by type, end-users, and power.

The type-based segments of the global hospital beds market are psychiatric & bariatric care, acute care, and long-term care among others. Maternity beds and rehabilitation beds are among these others. The Acute care bed segment can earn about 58.7% share of the worldwide hospital beds market by the end of the review period.

The power-based segments of the hospital beds are semi-electric bed, electric bed, and manual bed.

The end-users-based segments of the hospital beds market are ambulatory, hospitals, and clinics among others.

Regional Analysis

As per MRFR regional assessment, the hospital bed market in Europe can secure the largest share of the worldwide market. Europe hospital beds market research can valued above USD 916.6 Mn and rise at 5.5% CAGR across the analysis period. In Asia Pacific, the hospital bed market can surge at 5.9% CAGR through the forecast period. Europe can dominate the worldwide hospital bed market due to hike in healthcare spending, well-developed healthcare sector, favorable reimbursement policies, and rise in government support can favor expansion of the market through the assessment period. The U.K. can rise at decent pace and earn greater than USD 916.6 Mn at 5.5% CAGR through the forecast period. In the Americas, the well-developed healthcare ecosystem, huge geriatric population, and hike in investment in healthcare research and development can support expansion of the regional hospital beds market. In Asia Pacific, the hospital beds market can surge at decent pace. In the Middle East and Africa, decline in healthcare spending and no easy access to limited technologies can support expansion of the market in the analysis period.

Key Players

Hill-Rom Holdings, Gendron Inc., Invacare Corporation, Stryker Corporation, Linet spol. s r.o., Paramount Bed Holdings Co., Ltd., and Getinge AB are some reputed names in the worldwide hospital beds market that are listed by MRFR. The report offered by MRFR on Hospital Beds Market can hold valuable insights on the market that are acquired by extensive research that is both qualitative and quantitative. Involvement of Industry experts and opinion from global leader aid in preparing on deeper insights into the market and its performance along the analysis period. The report offers clear picture of market scenario that includes historical interpretation and projects market size. Technological advancement, and other governing factors, such as; macroeconomic can provide information of the market for investors.

About Market Research Future:

Market Research Future (MRFR) is a global market research company that takes pride in its services, offering a complete and accurate analysis with regard to diverse markets and consumers worldwide. Market Research Future has the distinguished objective of providing the optimal quality research and granular research to clients. Our market research studies by products, services, technologies, applications, end users, and market players for global, regional, and country level market segments, enable our clients to see more, know more, and do more, which help answer your most important questions.

Market Research Future (Part of Wantstats Research and Media Private Limited)

99 Hudson Street, 5Th Floor

New York, NY 10013

United States of America

+1 628 258 0071 (US)

+44 2035 002 764 (UK)

Email: [email protected]

Website: https://www.marketresearchfuture.com

#Hospital Beds Market #Hospital Beds Market Size #Hospital Beds Market Share #Hospital Beds Market Growth #Hospital Beds Market Trends #Hospital Beds Market Outlook

0 notes

askstevella · 7 months

Text

Valentine's Day Special // I miss you.

It's been a week. More than a week when Stella was left alone at home, minding her own business. Yes she had work to do at SHIELD medical wing and the hospital if she was on call. But it's weird coming home to silence, no chatter or smell of food being cooked.

Being woken up in the middle of the night with a small cold sweat and looking over your shoulder to find the that side of the bed colder than expected.

Empty.

She will play with her ring and sigh, belly flopping on the back of her queen size bed.

God, I missed him.

She missed annoying him with her lousy comments, barking up a laugh at his jokes and seeing the way his nose snuff up signing how he felt. He sometimes didn't even have to say a word, she can read his face like the back of her hand.

And now she can't.

He was gone.

More than gone.

Out of the country never to be seen again...until the next booking month. He, Sam and Bucky were on a mission in Mother Russia to take down some scientific project. She wasn't allowed to know the details nor call him. But made due with what she had, leaving her hair tossed up in messy bun and wearing his sweater as she lay around the house. Or if she was out with friend, she'll check on her phone to wonder if he arrived yet.

But nothing.

Natasha would say, "He'll be back before you know it."

And she'll reply, "I know..I know."

She fell in love with Steve Rogers, but she married Captain America.

~~~~~

It was now Valentine's Day. The commercial holiday where couples went to enjoy themselves. She knew it wasn't a true holiday or anything, just some lousy way for companies to sell chocolate and flowers to people. And or have them stress about what gift to get their lover.

And to have people wonder if they will never find love.

She knew the whole plan behind this day, but she didn't care. It was always an fun excuse to feel pretty, eat at a nice place, watch a movie and cuddle with the people she loved. Every Valentine's Day, Steve would wake her up with kisses on her cheek before he head off to a work out. They would have breakfast together like always, plan their day and head off to their usual routine.

Then in the afternoon, she will come home to make a late lunch (if they weren't going out) and as he arrived, stepping into the door with flowers along with a nice box of heart shaped chocolates to share together afterwards. Afterward, they would watch a movie and if there is time...

..dance in the living room then crashing onto the very couch they started on.

But today, she felt like a part of her was missing. She just wants to know he's okay. To someone else, she might've sounded dramatic for missing him but when you fall in love with someone who makes you smile whenever possible, you can't help but feel that way.

In result, she spend the day as she normally would watching the clock ticking away every once in a while. Some moments at work would pass like years, waiting to get out and head to the super market. Finally she was able to leave, going to the super market to grab extra ham and bread as she hesitates to pick herself up some flowers and chocolate but she does anyway.

Once she arrived at her apartment door, humming Avril Lavingne's song 'When You're Gone' due to it playing on the radio this morning, she paused. The radio was on again...

She remembered she turned it off this morning, she groaned muttering, "Not today..anything but today." Stella picked up her big girl pants muttering a few curse words as she returned to enter through the fire escape instead closing the window shut behind her. She hummed since the whole place felt normal, at least as normal is it can get for her. She grabbed her taster from her pocket as she put her items down gently searching around for anyone she didn't recognize.

Then she sucked in a breath, gasping at the sight once she arrived at the kitchen. Her eyes watered as she chocked on a silent sob seeing the small display on the dinning room table. Flowers. Not just her any flowers but her favorites, tulips filled with a second bouquet of rose beside those. She pinched herself almost wishing this wasn't a dream. But she knew it wasn't one. She inched over to find a soft hand written card with a little doodle of a money with a bow tie and top hat, which allowed a small chuckle to escape. She knew who's handwriting it was.

Underneath the soft note card stood a box of chocolates. God, it was a box of chocolates with a mini bag of M&M dressed on top. The lights were turned down low, creating a soft almost whispering feeling, yet it was comforting. Like a warm blanket on this freezing cold day.

The 14th was always a good day in general, but Valentine's Day tend to always be colder. Which mean being wrapped in cozy sweaters and blankets underneath the warm of each other.

"Hey. You're back early."

In came the voice. She knew it all too well, as she chuckled and nodded. Her man has returned in the flesh. Tears came rushing back to her eyes at the sound of his voice that she can tell tickled with laughter behind it.

Once she turned around, she was given a wishful sight. She expected to find him in sweatpants and a old t-shirt. But she was completely wrong and god, could she be more happy. The sight in front of her was Steven Grant Rogers in a white collar robe, messy deep brown hair, a beard and a peak of his chest showing underneath it all. She must've died and went to heaven.

"What? Like what you see?" He said in a teasing tone, reaching out a hand waiting for her to grab it. He even wiggled his fingers for added effect.

"You tease." She mumbled, walking over to loop her fingers with him and eyed his faced, having his features wash over her. She forgotten how deep his eyes looked in the dim lights of their apartment.

"What?"

"Nothing..I just missed you. So much."

"I'm sorry I was away for longer than expected, but Bucky and I, we couldn't miss Valentine's Day. Sam was beginning to get annoyed wanting to have his boyfriend all too himself today."

"I bet. And I don't blame him, I would feel the same way if I was him. Now, I think you owe me a kiss."

He leaned into her touch, pressing his forehead against her and hummed, "I'll do you one better. You get washed up and I'll rock you're world."

"Yes, sir." She hummed with a blushed grin, rushing to the bathroom seeing a robe waiting for her too as she gasped, "Me too?! Did you boys shopping in mother Russia?!"

All could be heard was Steve's laughter yelling at her to go take a shower. Once she entered the shower, washing herself from head to toe deciding to leave her curls loose today instead, allowing herself a moment to breath and take in the sound of the water hitting the tub's floor and the soft sound of music playing from their radio.

The moment Stella left the shower, getting half dressed and wrapped herself in the nicest robe she ever seen, she untangled her crazy curls and left the bathroom. What she didn't expect for the lips of her husbands to softly crash onto hers in a long awaited kissed. It was so tender, so sweet and ever so gentle as he cupped her face humming at the sound of her giggles in return.

"Hm. Now you're clean." He hummed with a chuckle, hands still placed on her cheeks, "I missed you too. I don't know much longer I was take being stuck with my crazy friends in the freezing snow."

"I can share that same sentiment." She replied with a chuckle of her own sighing, "I love you, Mr. Rogers."

"I love you, Mrs. Rogers."

"Not possible."

"It most certainly is possible."

She was about to say another word when smell of ham hit her nose and snorted, "Is something burning?'

"Shit." He muttered snorting at how the romantic moment was ruined by the smell of burn food as he added, "It's not burnt, it's crispy."

"Extra crispy."

"Shut up you will eat it anyway."

She laughed at that knowing it was true, following him into the kitchen with her arms wrapped around his middles as he fluttered kiss up and down her cheek and neck.

It was nice Valentine's Day indeed.

----

----------

Happy Day Of Love! I wasn't expecting to write this today but I got inspired hehe I hope you like it

Question for everyone: Any favorite love songs?

Tags: @rooster-84 @missstrawbs2001 @purpleprincessonfyre @meiramel @gcthvile @rickb-chaos @gaminggirlsstuff @wizzzardofoz @cherrysft @thechoooooosenone @luna-d-marsh @sherloquestea @blueboirick and etc

#steve rogers x oc #stevella #ask the super spouses #mcu x oc #valentines day #short story #romance #quick fic #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x wife!reader

12 notes · View notes

gdbatbitch · 11 months

Text

Surgery happened on Tuesday! So my thyroid is now gone, along with some suspicious looking lymph nodes. The surgeon, Dr Lawrence Shirley at Baptist Health, was wonderful and has genuine concern for my progress. He told me that what was removed will be examined/tested by a pathologist to see if there may be any other issues, but hopefully this will be all I need to start healing. Hopefully. I'm not saying anything for certain.

The surgery itself was pretty easy on me. The only other time I've had major surgery like this was almost 24 years ago, when my twin daughters were born. That was a much different experience, but I have strong memories of the hospital staff at University of Kentucky hospital, and most of those memories are not positive. I'll just leave it at that. Baptist has been great so far. Everyone I've interacted with has been kind and made me feel like I was being genuinely cared for. Especially the nurse I was assigned Wednesday morning, Cody. He and I had a few conversations about the economy and comic books and movies, and that really helped me stay positive even though I was in pain.

I am still in a lot of pain. Swallowing hurts, as well as turning my head, leaning, bending over, or sitting up in bed. I tried a couple of times this morning before just rolling myself over to the side so I had more leverage to stand. I also apparently talked way too much yesterday because by the end of the day, my voice was all hoarse and that was causing pain as well. So I think today is going to be a quieter day.

I'm also going to be able to take off the bandage on my incision today and see how that goes. I'm kind of dreading that, even though I am curious to see what it looks like. I'm not afraid of having a scar, I have several as it is. It's just I have this weird fear of the incision opening up on its own. That comes from when I was recovering from the C-section and a staple that was holding the incision closed popped. It didn't really cause any problems, but I had nightmares that my guts could just fall out at any moment. Logically I know that's not going to happen, but the gremlins that control my anxiety levels are having a blast making me paranoid.

At this point, I'm at just around a third of the way toward my goal. I've already had to use what I've raised so far to keep the bills paid and pay for part of the surgery. The hospital has put me on an installment plan that will have me paying about $300 a month for 18 months. That is so far outside my budget, so I'm going to be pushing this fundraiser more, and I'd really love it if those of you that have already donated to share this page and encourage your friends to do the same. The more eyes we get on this, the better.

Right now my bank account is looking sad and since I'm missing time from work, my next paycheck is going to be just a little over half of what I usually bring home. It's only the 19th now, but I'm already nervous about being able to make November's rent. And I know things are tight for everyone, so even the smallest donations can make a big difference to me. A $5 donation is just as good as a $500 donation, and I'm grateful for all of them.

I'm grateful for all of you, for all you've done for me, whether it's a donation or words of support or a phone call, all of it. I usually feel like I'm taking on the world all by my lonesome, but I do feel very much supported and cared for thanks to all of you.

Please enjoy my post-op selfie and the grippy socks I absolutely took home with me. I'm wearing them now and I love them. I'm going to be doing nothing but resting today, since I overdid a little yesterday. Later taters.

#surgery #thyroid cancer #fuck cancer #grippy socks #gofundme #fundraiser #help please #reblog the shit out of this

29 notes · View notes

mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years

Text

The antitrust Twilight Zone

Funeral homes were once dominated by local, family owned businesses. Today, odds are, your neighborhood funeral home is owned by Service Corporation International, which has bought hundreds of funeral homes (keeping the proprietor’s name over the door), jacking up prices and reaping vast profits.

Funeral homes are now one of America’s most predatory, vicious industries, and SCI uses the profits it gouges out of bereaved, reeling families to fuel more acquisitions — 121 more in 2021. SCI gets some economies of scale out of this consolidation, but that’s passed onto shareholders, not consumers. SCI charges 42% more than independent funeral homes.

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/09/high-cost-of-dying/#memento-mori

SCI boasts about its pricing power to its investors, how it exploits people’s unwillingness to venture far from home to buy funeral services. If you buy all the funeral homes in a neighborhood, you have near-total control over the market. Despite these obvious problems, none of SCI’s acquisitions face any merger scrutiny, thanks to loopholes in antitrust law.

These loopholes have allowed the entire US productive economy to undergo mass consolidation, flying under regulatory radar. This affects industries as diverse as “hospital beds, magic mushrooms, youth addiction treatment centers, mobile home parks, nursing homes, physicians’ practices, local newspapers, or e-commerce sellers,” but it’s at its worst when it comes to services associated with trauma, where you don’t shop around.

Think of how Envision, a healthcare rollup, used the capital reserves of KKR, its private equity owner, to buy emergency rooms and ambulance services, elevating surprise billing to a grotesque art form. Their depravity knows no bounds: an unconscious, intubated woman with covid was needlessly flown 20 miles to another hospital, generating a $52k bill.

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/14/unhealthy-finances/#steins-law

This is “the health equivalent of a carjacking,” and rollups spread surprise billing beyond emergency rooms to anesthesiologists, radiologists, family practice, dermatology and others. In the late 80s, 70% of MDs owned their practices. Today, 70% of docs work for a hospital or corporation.

How the actual fuck did this happen? Rollups take place in “antitrust’s Twilight Zone,” where a perfect storm of regulatory blindspots, demographic factors, macroeconomics, and remorseless cheating by the ultra-wealthy has laid waste to the American economy, torching much of the US’s productive capacity in an orgy of predatory, extractive, enshittifying mergers.

The processes that underpin this transformation aren’t actually very complicated, but they are closely interwoven and can be hard to wrap your head around. “The Roll-Up Economy: The Business of Consolidating Industries with Serial Acquisitions,” a new paper from The American Economic Liberties Project by Denise Hearn, Krista Brown, Taylor Sekhon and Erik Peinert does a superb job of breaking it down:

http://www.economicliberties.us/wp-content/uploads/2022/12/Serial-Acquisitions-Working-Paper-R4-2.pdf

The most obvious problem here is with the MergerScrutiny process, which is when competition regulators must be notified of proposed mergers and must give their approval before they can proceed. Under the Hart-Scott-Rodino Act (HSR) merger scrutiny kicks in for mergers when the purchase price is $101m or more. A company that builds up a monopoly by acquiring hundreds of small businesses need never face merger scrutiny.

The high merger scrutiny threshold means that only a very few mergers are regulated: in 2021, out of 21,994 mergers, only 4,130 (<20%) were reported to the FTC. 2020 saw 16,723 mergers, with only 1.637 (>10%) being reported to the FTC.

Serial acquirers claim that the massive profits they extract by buying up and merging hundreds of businesses are the result of “efficiency” but a closer look at their marketplace conduct shows that most of those profits come from market power. Where efficiences are realized, they benefit shareholders, and are not shared with customers, who face higher prices as competition dwindles.

The serial acquisition bonanza is bad news for supply chains, wages, the small business ecosystem, inequality, and competition itself. Wherever we find concentrated industires, we find these under-the-radar rollups: out of 616 Big Tech acquisitions from 2010 to 2019, 94 (15%) of them came in for merger scrutiny.

The report’s authors quote FTC Commissioner Rebecca Slaughter: “I think of serial acquisitions as a Pac-Man strategy. Each individual merger viewed independently may not seem to have significant impact. But the collective impact of hundreds of smaller acquisitions, can lead to a monopolistic behavior.”

It’s not just the FTC that recognizes the risks from rollups. Jonathan Kanter, the DoJ’s top antitrust enforcer has raised alarms about private equity strategies that are “designed to hollow out or roll-up an industry and essentially cash out. That business model is often very much at odds with the law and very much at odds with the competition we’re trying to protect.”

The DoJ’s interest is important. As with so many antitrust failures, the problem isn’t in the law, but in its enforcement. Section 7 of the Clayton Act prohibits serial acquisitions under its “incipient monopolization” standard. Acquisitions are banned “where the effect of such acquisition may be to substantially lessen competition between the corporation whose stock is so acquired and the corporation making the acquisition.” This incipiency standard was strengthened by the 1950 Celler-Kefauver Amendment.

The lawmakers who passed both acts were clear about their legislative intention — to block this kind of stealth monopoly formation. For decades, that’s how the law was enforced. For example, in 1966, the DoJ blocked Von’s from acquiring another grocer because the resulting merger would give Von’s 7.5% of the regional market. While Von’s is cited by pro-monopoly extremists as an example of how the old antitrust system was broken and petty, the DoJ’s logic was impeccable and sorely missed today: they were trying to prevent a rollup of the sort that plagues our modern economy.

As the Supremes wrote in 1963: “A fundamental purpose of [stronger incipiency standards was] to arrest the trend toward concentration, the tendency of monopoly, before the consumer’s alternatives disappeared through merger, and that purpose would be ill-served if the law stayed its hand until 10, or 20, or 30 [more firms were absorbed].”

But even though the incipiency standard remains on the books, its enforcement dwindled away to nothing, starting in the Reagan era, thanks to the Chicago School’s influence. The neoliberal economists of Chicago, led by the Nixonite criminal Robert Bork, counseled that most monopolies were “efficient” and the inefficient ones would self-correct when new businesses challenged them, and demanded a halt to antitrust enforcement.

In 1982, the DoJ’s merger guidelines were gutted, made toothless through the addition of a “safe harbor” rule. So long as a merger stayed below a certain threshold of market concentration, the DoJ promised not to look into it. In 2000, Clinton signed an amendment to the HSR Act that exempted transactions below $50m. In 2010, Obama’s DoJ expanded the safe harbor to exclude “[mergers that] are unlikely to have adverse competitive effects and ordinarily require no further analysis.”

These constitute a “blank check” for serial acquirers. Any investor who found a profitable strategy for serial acquisition could now operate with impunity, free from government interference, no matter how devastating these acquisitions were to the real economy.

Unfortunately for us, serial acquisitions are profitable. As an EY study put it: “the more acquisitive the company… the greater the value created…there is a strong pattern of shareholder value growth, correlating with frequent acquisitions.” Where does this value come from? “Efficiencies” are part of the story, but it’s a sideshow. The real action is in the power that consolidation gives over workers, suppliers and customers, as well as vast, irresistable gains from financial engineering.

In all, the authors identify five ways that rollups enrich investors:

I. low-risk expansion;

II. efficiencies of scale;

III. pricing power;

IV. buyer power;

V. valuation arbitrage.

The efficiency gains that rolled up firms enjoy often come at the expense of workers — these companies shed jobs and depress wages, and the savings aren’t passed on to customers, but rather returned to the business, which reinvests it in gobbling up more companies, firing more workers, and slashing survivors’ wages. Anything left over is passed on to the investors.

Consolidated sectors are hotbeds of fraud: take Heartland, which has rolled up small dental practices across America. Heartland promised dentists that it would free them from the drudgery of billing and administration but instead embarked on a campaign of phony Medicare billing, wage theft, and forcing unnecessary, painful procedures on children.

Heartland is no anomaly: dental rollups have actually killed children by subjecting them to multiple, unnecessary root-canals. These predatory businesses rely on Medicaid paying for these procedures, meaning that it’s only the poorest children who face these abuses:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/17/the-doctor-will-fleece-you-now/#pe-in-full-effect

A consolidated sector has lots of ways to rip off the public: they can “directly raise prices, bundle different products or services together, or attach new fees to existing products.” The epidemic of junk fees can be traced to consolidation.

Consolidators aren’t shy about this, either. The pitch-decks they send to investors and board members openly brag about “pricing power, gained through acquisitions and high switching costs, as a key strategy.”

Unsurprisingly, investors love consolidators. Not only can they gouge customers and cheat workers, but they also enjoy an incredible, obscure benefit in the form of “valuation arbitrage.”

When a business goes up for sale, its valuation (price) is calculated by multiplying its annual cashflow. For small businesses, the usual multiplier is 3–5x. For large businesses, it’s 10–20x or more. That means that the mere act of merging a small business with a large business can increase its valuation sevenfold or more!

Let’s break that down. A dental practice that grosses $1m/year is generally sold for $3–5m. But if Heartland buys the practice and merges it with its chain of baby-torturing, Medicaid-defrauding dental practices, the chain’s valuation goes up by $10–20m. That higher valuation means that Heartland can borrow more money at more favorable rates, and it means that when it flips the husks of these dental practices, it expects a 700% return.

This is why your local veterinarian has been enshittified. “A typical vet practice sells for 5–8x cashflow…American Veterinary Group [is] valued at as much as 21x cashflow…When a large consolidator buys a $1M cashflow clinic, it may cost them as little as $5M, while increasing the value of the consolidator by $21M. This has created a goldrush for veterinary consolidators.”

This free money for large consolidators means that even when there are better buyers — investors who want to maintain the quality and service the business offers — they can’t outbid the consolidators. The consolidators, expecting a 700% profit triggered by the mere act of changing the business’s ownership papers, can always afford to pay more than someone who merely wants to provide a good business at a fair price to their community.

To make this worse, an unprecedented number of small businesses are all up for sale at once. Half of US businesses are owned by Boomers who are ready to retire and exhausted by two major financial crises within a decade. 60% of Boomer-owned businesses — 2.9m businesses of 11 or so employees each, employing 32m people in all — are expected to sell in the coming decade.

If nothing changes, these businesses are likely to end up in the hands of consolidators. Since the Great Financial Crisis of 2008, private equity firms and other looters have been awash in free money, courtesy of the Federal Reserve and Congress, who chose to bail out irresponsible and deceptive lenders, not the borrowers they preyed upon.

A decade of zero interest rate policy (ZIRP) helped PE grow to “staggering” size. Over that period, America’s 2,000 private equity firms raised buyout warchests totaling $2t. Today, private equity owned companies outnumber publicly traded firms by more than two to one.

Private equity is patient zero in the serial acquisition epidemic. The list of private equity rollup plays includes “comedy clubs, ad agencies, water bottles, local newspapers, and healthcare providers like hospitals, ERs, and nursing homes.”

Meanwhile, ZIRP left the nation’s pension funds desperate for returns on their investments, and these funds handed $480b to the private equity sector. If you have a pension, your retirement is being funded by investments that are destroying your industry, raising your rent, and turning the nursing home you’re doomed to into a charnel house.

The good news is that enforcers like Kanter have called time on the longstanding, bipartisan failure to use antitrust laws to block consolidation. Kanter told the NY Bar Association: “We have an obligation to enforce the antitrust laws as written by Congress, and we will challenge any merger where the effect ‘may be substantially to lessen competition, or to tend to create a monopoly.’”

The FTC and the DOJ already have many tools they can use to end this epidemic.

They can revive the incipiency standard from Sec 7 of the Clayton Act, which bans mergers where “the effect of such acquisition may be substantially to lessen competition, or to tend to create a monopoly.”

This allows regulators to “consider a broad range of price and non-price effects relevant to serial acquisitions, including the long-term business strategy of the acquirer, the current trend or prevalence of concentration or acquisitions in the industry, and the investment structure of the transactions”;

The FTC and DOJ can strengthen this by revising their merger guidelines to “incorporate a new section for industries or markets where there is a trend towards concentration.” They can get rid of Reagan’s 1982 safe harbor, and tear up the blank check for merger approval;

The FTC could institute a policy of immediately publishing merger filings, “the moment they are filed.”

Beyond this, the authors identify some key areas for legislative reform:

Exempt the FTC from the Paperwork Reduction Act (PRA) of 1995, which currently blocks the FTC from requesting documents from “10 or more people” when it investigates a merger;

Subject any company “making more than 6 acquisitions per year valued at $70 million total or more” to “extra scrutiny under revised merger guidelines, regardless of the total size of the firm or the individual acquisitions”;

Treat all the companies owned by a PE fund as having the same owner, rather than allowing the fiction that a holding company is the owner of a business;

Force businesses seeking merger approval to provide “any investment materials, such as Private Placement Memorandums, Management or Lender Presentations, or any documents prepared for the purposes of soliciting investment. Such documents often plainly describe the anticompetitive roll-up or consolidation strategy of the acquiring firm”;

Also force them to provide “loan documentation to understand the acquisition plans of a company and its financing strategy;”

When companies are found to have violated antitrust, ban them from acquiring any other company for 3–5 years, and/or force them to get FTC pre-approval for all future acquisitions;

Reinvigorate enforcement of rules requiring that some categories of business (especially healthcare) be owned by licensed professionals;

Lower the threshold for notification of mergers;

Add a new notification requirement based on the number of transactions;

Fed agencies should automatically share merger documents with state attorneys general;

Extend civil and criminal antitrust penalties to “investment bankers, attorneys, consultants who usher through anticompetitive mergers.”

103 notes · View notes