#We need stress to function and I hate it.

[card-carrying-system]

i swear our memory is only getting worse. Where the hell did our ability to rember go? Also I'm low-key not feeling great bc mum got pissed at us because we misunderstood a bunch of stuff and I'm currently just <:(

[ismael5135]

i really do hope that the next generation of students will no longer have to sacrfice their health for their education

[steampoweredskeleton]

.

Ignore

[pynkfairyheart]

pairings: Onyankopon x black reader

warnings: Jean slander, smut 18+

Need you

“And then the bitch scoffed and rolled her eyes like I didn't just apologize. I need to find a new place asap cause I swear next time she try me Imma fuck her up- “

“What I tell you bout cussing?” Ony’s deep voice filled the room, dark eyes piercing into yours as a warning.

“Anywaysss” You rolled your eyes, ignoring the side eye he was giving. “You’ve been awfully quiet since I came over. What’s going on?” You put your freshly manicured feet in his face.

“Nothing you’ve just been yapping the whole time.” He smirked.

“Rude” You gasped, nudging him with your toes.

“Nah I'm just chillin’. You know I like listening to you talk.” He shrugged, placing your legs into his lap. Lighting the blunt he just rolled, a cloud of smoke surrounding him as he took a hit.

“Whatever” You smiled as he passed it to you.

You and Ony often had moments like these, a smoke sesh usually spent with you talking about your week as he massaged your feet. Your relationship with Ony was…complicated. Ever since Sasha introduced you two, y'all were inseparable, constantly getting mistaken for a couple, and who could blame them?

Most thought this because Ony always had to be touching you, whether it was holding your hand, an arm around your shoulder, or a tight grip on your waist. However, for some, it was how you two would always disappear during the function. Claiming you were only talking, but the slight sheen on Ony’s lips and your slightly ruffled clothing told otherwise.

You weren’t quite friends with benefits. At least that's what you told yourselves. The whole ordeal just kinda happened. You were stressed over your midterms and Ony of course offered to help you study. Though after hours of reading flashcards and practice tests, you were still stressed and on the verge of tears when Ony offered another way to help you. That night you ended up with your legs in the air as Ony sucked the soul out of your pussy. Ever since then any inconvenience one had, the other would do their best to help relieve the stress. Your roommate upset you? Ony fed you long deep strokes, pampering you with soft kisses while he whispered in your ear. Ony was pissed that his supplier flaked on him? Ony would have the tightest grip on your hips as he drilled into you from behind, claiming the waves of your ass hypnotized him into forgetting what he was upset about. Some days neither of you needed an excuse. Some days you just craved each other.

Despite your unique relationship, you remained friends allowing the other to do what they pleased, though neither you nor Ony slept with or saw other people. Your dynamic was good and worked for both of you. That was until you started seeing Jean.

“You n that nigga Jean still fuckin around?” He broke the silence, waiting for your answer as your eyes met his.

“Ony” You groaned, the tight grip he had on your ankles preventing you from moving.

“What? I can’t ask you questions now?” He kissed his teeth, putting out the blunt.

“No, because any time you ask about Jean we end up getting into an argument and I’m really enjoying my time with you right now. So no, you cannot ask.”

“Whatever. I’m just tryna figure out when you gon stop playing in my face nd be with me instead of his bitchass.”

“Onyankopon '' You shrieked. You never understood why Ony hated Jean till a few weeks ago when Ony drunkenly confessed his feelings. At first, you thought he was joking but the look on his face told you otherwise. For a minute, you were happy. Ony was everything you had wanted in a boyfriend and you two had practically been in a relationship just without the labels. It wasn't till Jean texted you that you got upset. Why confess his feelings when you're finally in a relationship? Deciding it'd be best to forget about it, you put Ony to bed, hoping he'd also forget about his confession. Clearly, you were wrong.

“What? I don't understand what you see in him. He's annoying as fuck, and I'm pretty sure he has 4 brain cells. Maximum.” He rolled his eyes at the thought of Jean. “Why won't you give me a chance when I'm the one for you?”

“We've talked about this Ony.” You sighed. Conversations like these were becoming frequent and they were so tiring.

“No mama you've talked nd I've listened.” You thought about it, he wasn’t exactly wrong. Silently praying this wouldn't end up in an argument you gave him a chance.

“Okay. I'm listening.” You whispered.

“C’mere,” He released your ankles.

“Ony I’m not gonna-”

“[☆]” The dominance in his tone had you clenching around nothing.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you did as he told. The moment you sat on his lap you just knew how it was going to end.

“Why you with him instead of me? And don't feed me no bullshit” His large hands were rubbing up and down your thighs getting dangerously close to your pussy that desperately ached for him.

You tried and you tried but there wasn't any good reason as to why you were Jean. Sure he was cute but he had no idea how to make you feel special and overall just couldn't please you. In multiple ways. The main reason though was that he wasn’t Ony. He just asked first.

“I don't know, Ony” You finally sighed, looking everywhere but him.

Any discipline you had when it came to Ony vanished when his hand wrapped around your throat, the slight pressure on your carotid causing your brain to go fuzzy and your panties to get damp “Look at me”

“Be real. Please” Ony released his hold on your neck to grip your thighs.

“You had the longest opportunity to ask me to be with you but you never took the chance, yet when I'm finally in a relationship you suddenly wanna give up everything and take a chance to be with me and I feel like that’s not fair to me Ony.”

He rubbed his hands down his face with a sigh. “You're right.”

"I did have that opportunity and always hesitated. I always assumed it would be just you and me, that you wouldn't pursue other relationships because of our bond. Since the day we met, I've wanted you. I know this is unfair and I'm so sorry princess, but I can't ignore my feelings any longer. Jean can't possibly be the man you want, the man you deserve. But I can. I promise to take the chance if you just give me another opportunity, and I'll do everything in my power to make you proud. You’re my best friend, my favorite person in the whole universe and I'm determined to be the person you need. I love you [☆].”

“Ony” you huffed, feeling as if all air was being vacuumed out of your lungs at his confession.

“Please. Lemme show you how much I love you.” He whispered, closing the distance that separated you. “Please” He captured your lips, his usual sweet taste with a hint of spiciness from the weed clouding your thoughts. Oh, how you missed this. Missed him. The kiss was intimate and familiar, the passion growing with each second. Ony’s hands roamed your body, gripping the soft flesh of your thighs before traveling to your ass, taking pleasure in the soft moan you let out, and using the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips. On instinct, your hips rocked down onto him.

“Fuck, baby. I missed you” He groaned, flipping you onto your back.

“Ony we can’t” You huffed, despite the wetness growing in between your thighs. God he looked so good. His muscles bulged as he took his shirt off, your eyes trailed down his torso, mouth watering at the prominent v-line peeking from his low sitting sweats.

“Do you want this? Yes, or no?” His tongue traced lazy patterns on your skin as he littered your neck with kisses.

“Ony I-”

“Yes or no [☆]?” He nipped on your earlobe, hand dipping below the waistband of your leggings.

“Fuck, Ony” his hand slipped beneath the thin fabric of your thong, fingers slipping through your folds. Gathering your arousal before circling your clit in tight circles. “Yes, please”

“Then shut up and lemme show you how much I love you” He murmured as he undressed you. Replacing his fingers with his tongue, he lapped at your folds like a starved man, his tongue repeatedly flicking your clit. “Missed you so fucking much. Don't ever give my pussy away again. You hear me?” He muttered, sliding two digits past your entrance. The action was easy with how wet you were.

“Ony” Your thighs threatened to close around his head.

“Answer me or I'm stopping” He slowed his movements, leaving you needy.

“It's yours. I'm yours pa, I promise” Your legs shook as he continued to give you slow strokes, the addition of another finger having you seeing stars. “O-Ony wait” You panted, attempting to push his head away but he refused to let up on your pussy, never wanting to stop till he and his couch were soaked in your essence as he lapped at your clit.

“Ony I’m so-fuck I'm so close” Your words encouraged him to speed up as he repeatedly hit the spongy spot of your walls. “Ony” Your walls clenched around his fingers, leaving little room for his fingers to continue as you reached your peak.

Despite your thighs tightening around his head he continued his assault on your pussy. It wasn't until he was finally satisfied with slurping up your arousal, that he pulled away pressing gentle kisses on your throbbing clit as he pulled his soaked fingers out of your walls.

“Missed you so much” He mumbled, giving you the nastiest kiss ever, your arousal all over his lower face.

“I missed you too”

“Yeah?” He grabbed your hips, positioning you on all fours.

“Ony” You whined, pout forming on your lips as you looked back. His dick standing tall now that it was no longer confined. God, please let me have feeling in my legs tomorrow.

“I know you ain't think I was done. You played in my face and let another nigga hit and think I'm not finna put you back in your place? Nah, both you and this pussy need a reminder of who you belong to” He slid his dick through your folds, your cream acting as lube.

“Matter a fact” He lined up at your entrance just as your phone started ringing ‘Jean baby’ flashing on the bright screen.

“Lemme show this nigga too.”

first time ever writing smut nd even though it was short it took me foreverrr but i think it turned out okay. also so sorry for all my Jean girlies out there lol. anyways i hope you enjoyed nd any feedback is greatly appreciated. mwah

[cometkenji]

Doctor, Doctor, please listen!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Chubby!Fem!reader Cw; Tension (I tried), cursing, the smallest physical description of reader in the last portion (just mentions their stomach going over their pants), reader has scars from previous cases, rivals to lovers?, lmk if i'm missing smth Summary: 3 times you called him doctor, 3 times he wonders why. Disclaimer: Reader is always written with a chubby/bigger person in mind but I don't really ever describe their bodies that much cause it's x READER and every body has a different body <3 WC: 3,596 I am literally so obsessed with criminal minds somebody save my soul OBLIVOUS IDIOTS WHO WANT EACH OTHER MY BELOVED. Title from mad hatter by Melanie Martinez don't even @ me for that

1.

“...she will be an important part of making your team function quicker. We fought hard to get her here. I ask that you all treat her with respect and not make me intervene.” 

Strauss finished her introductory spiel with a familiar “mom-glare” towards the team, walking away once she finished her speech. Unfortunately, her departure left you standing alone in front of the most intimidating man you’ve ever seen and four of his team members. You had been practically still until now. You hated the pressure of everyone’s eyes on you, causing a general freeze response to the stress of a new team. Fawn, you thought, the newest addition to the fight or flight categories and also the lovely thing forcing you to practically disassociate in front of your new boss and co-workers. 

“Welcome, Dr. L/N. We’ve heard good things. I’m Aaron Hotchner, I supervise the team.” He was leaning on the table before he stepped forward to shake your hand as he spoke. “This is Emily Prentiss, Jenifer Jareau, Derek Morgan, and Doctor Spencer Reid.” He pointed towards the corresponding people as he spoke of them. “Agent Rossi is away right now, and you’ll meet our T.I. later…she’s been excited.” If you hadn’t been good at your job, you’re sure you would have missed the way his lips turned up slightly at the edges when mentioning the woman. He didn’t seem so scary anymore, more like a father of the team. You’d been expecting a drill sergeant - your last team leader could have given a bull a run for it’s money with how much aggression that guy had. You welcomed the rush of excitement you felt at the discovery, mentally shaking off the stiffness you were carrying. 

“I’m happy to be here, sir. I’ve heard good things about the team, too. Your boss seems to think highly of your capabilities.” You addressed the room as you spoke. Public speaking was a skill you were still trying to master, so you practiced whenever you could. 

Your statement earned a chuckle from the table. Nobody bothered to explain the reason. You figured it was too much history to sum up on the spot. Your eyes wanted to linger on Reid. He seemed so young, and you wondered if he’d been told that his entire career - lord knows you had too. A fellow doctor. You assumed he was a bit of a stickler about the title, as even his boss kept it tacked onto his name when introducing him. You’d originally hoped to find some comfort in the man, on the surface he seemed a lot like you. He was probably too smart for his own good as well. Given the way he was staring at you, though, you felt the realization sink in that the man had no intention of welcoming you. 

“Why exactly do we need another profiler?” His voice held no malice as he spoke in the direction of his boss. There was more curiosity in his voice than anything, however you did pick up on the sense of superiority that sat just beneath the surface of his words. You guessed that’s how he behaved generally - as though he was superior. Still, your head tilted slightly to the side at the question. 

Damn. Tough crowd. 

You saw the intake of breath in Hotchner as he prepared to defend your place here but you spoke before he could start. “While I am a profiler, sir, first and foremost I am a psychiatrist - a doctor. As I’m sure you heard from Strauss, the board is unhappy with your recent efficiency rates and would also like to aid your team in dealing with mental health crises. I’ve spent my entire life studying the effects and conditions of the mentally diseased brain. I’ll be able to tell you the most efficient and effective way of interacting with these individuals, along with more accurately predicting their actions and methodology. I’m an agent, I took the same oath everyone here did but I was brought here for my expertise.” You were on a bit of a tangent, you knew that, but something about the smug feel of the man forced an emergence of competitiveness. He looked at you so indifferent, and you couldn’t help the tiny sparks of anger lighting beneath your skin. You kept a friendly disposition towards the man - you were a professional, after all, not a teenager - but you sensed a rivalry sprouting it’s roots.

The others at the table suppressed their smiles or looked down to hide it. Nobody had ever challenged Spencer like that. They could all feel he was a tad bit territorial. He was the guy people went to when they needed to know something. He was the Doctor of the group. They didn’t think he would take too kindly to another one encroaching his land. They saw the way he was tense, even more so after you responded. It was a riveting sight, though. The lot of them saw Spencer as a younger brother, and him meeting his match was something they were all so excited to see.

“Play nice, pretty boy.” Derek muttered to him, Spencer was slightly slouched in his chair now, not losing sight of you. Derek followed suit, turning his attention towards you. “We’re glad to have you, Doctor. We’ve spoken about an addition like you before, I’m glad to see the higher ups finally listened. I look forward to working with you - excuse me.” He left once his phone rang. 

The others took his exit as an excuse for their own, everyone giving you a warm welcome as they left. You reciprocated happily, telling everyone they could just call you by your first name, never having been one for titles. ‘There’s one difference.’ You thought, even your internal dialogue was bitter. Aside from him, there was a warmth here that you had been desperate to find in your last team. If you had to work passive aggressively with one uptight man in exchange for a team like this - you were going to take that deal. 

He refused to leave it seemed. He just sat looking inquisitively at the table, occasionally extending his stare to look at you before returning. How did you two end up alone in this room?

“Are you gonna have a problem with me, Doctor?” You shifted slightly on your feet. A notoriously nervous sign, one he definitely picked up on.

He stared again. It was his mind that kept him rooted in his seat. You were fucking alluring. He’d never met someone so like himself in his line of work. He was being a dick and he knew it but it seemed to be instinctual - some type of precaution, maybe. He didn’t know why you were being so respectful. Doctor. God, he didn’t know if the title had ever sounded so good being directed at him. His frustration only rose as he thought on the issue more. He wasn’t welcoming, it would be so easy to drop the formality, something he knew you knew would get on his nerves. But you didn’t. It didn’t seem like a question of dignity. You didn’t seem like the type to refuse a little pettiness - he sure wasn’t the type either. A thought stirred, an unsafe one he wanted to squash immediately but one he also couldn’t help but lean into. Did you want a power imbalance?

“No.” He stood abruptly, obviously still focused on the thoughts in his head. “Welcome to the team.” He addressed you one last time and then walked out of the room.

You followed shortly after, ready to make home on your couch and be done with being the newbie for the day. Your stress would follow you home, though, as the last thing you heard before you left the building was “Oh my god they’re perfect for each other.”

2.

The first few weeks were always the hardest. This was something you knew and were prepared for but it did nothing to calm your nerves. You’d been on countless missions having worked this job for a while now, but this was an entirely new dynamic to learn. You were an outsider for the first time in four years and it was scary. This case was shaping up to be a rough one, too. A man was having delusions telling him to kill. An extremely rare manifestation of his Schizophrenia, only elevated by the newly acquired aspect of him being an insomniac. 

Spencer hadn’t ceased being headstrong in cases either. Every time you wanted to help he made it his mission to overcompensate in order to snuff you out. On the contrary, he’d warmed up to you a little. It wasn’t major, he barely held any positive feelings toward you, but barely was better than not at all, so you coped. You two had managed a couple small talk conversations outside the battle of one-upping that you were currently losing. You absolutely hated it, but you liked him. You liked him a lot, actually. You don’t know when in the past few days that anger morphed into fondness but it had shifted hard. The casual dominance he exuded drew you in like a porchlight lures a moth. You doubted the opposite proved true for him, and that stung. You came to enjoy the banter, the competition, even if you were always playing the losing hand. It was the only way to get his undivided attention and the feeling of his eyes on you started to follow you home. 

You thought a lot about how you could get the relationship to pivot into something better. You didn’t want to be the girl he bickered with at work. You didn’t know what it was you wanted but you knew that your current fate sounded horrid. He was an ass, though, and he did not make it easy to admit those feelings. Every time he undermined you, you grew more attached and also more angry at yourself for doing so. It was because he’s so much like you, you thought. You knew from the way he interacted with his team that he wasn’t a cold guy, didn’t hold malice towards people for no reason. He needs time. He needs to know you, and God how badly you wanted to know him. 

You had sustained good relations with everyone the past few weeks you’ve been here. Meeting Garcia and Rossi had been a treat - both of them being delightful company. You’d heard them whispering about you and Spencer when they thought you weren’t around. The whole team seems to think that you’re basically fated to be together. It was unnerving how comforting that thought was to you. You hoped they were right. 

Spencer hoped they were right too. He’d heard the same whispers you had, chastising the team when he got the chance as if he didn’t think about you every moment he could. His eyes seemed to naturally land on you if you were around. He watched you walk around the bureau more and more lately, enjoying the gained confidence in your step as you cemented your place in the team. The sway of your hips or the swing of your arms. You mesmerized him no matter what you did. One time he got so caught up in his thoughts of you that Prentiss had to check he wasn’t having a silent panic attack. He clung to his sense of resentment, tried so hard to remind himself of the feelings he had when he first met you - you were beautiful, of course you were - but you were on claimed land and he was anything but eager for you to make home on it. That had faded fast, seeing how kind you were, scrambling to help and earn respect from everyone. The only reason he kept up the act of  “man who wants you gone” was so that he could keep talking to you. Spencer was a genius but he didn’t know how to handle someone like you. He’d been interested in girls before, hell he’d had girlfriends before but it had never felt like this in such little time. Such intense infatuation was crippling for someone who’s brain worked in patterns - this was new ground for him. 

“Everybody suit up. We have Foster’s location and we need to move quickly. He’s going after the source of his rage and we don’t have time to spare.” Hotch came down the stairs two at a time, spurring the team into action. 

“This man is highly dangerous but also highly deluded. The cases I’ve read similar to this say it’s best to speak gently. He’s sick but he can be reasoned with.” Spencer pulls from his memory as he sets his ‘FBI’ vest into place on his chest. 

“No, not this time. This man is too severe, his mind is too far gone. If these hallucinations of his are strong enough for him to touch them it’ll be extremely easy for him to rearrange or imagine your words differently. You need to be loud, direct, and assertive. Speak as little as possible. The quieter you are, the easier it will be for him to change what you’re saying in his head.” You also spoke while putting your vest on. You didn’t carry a weapon - a personal vow of yours, as you were more than classified to - so there were no holsters to fill. The contradictions between the two doctors of the team made everyone hesitate even though they lacked the time to do so.

Spencer looked at you, slightly out of breath from working so quickly. “You’re questioning my memory?” 

“I’m not questioning your memory, Doctor. I’m questioning your sources. There’s a higher risk level if we do what you’re suggesting. Let me do my job.” You made the final adjustments to your attire as you finished speaking. You returned his eye contact for just a beat too long, letting the others rush out of the building while you stood your ground, the two of you begrudgingly following after them a moment later.

You had been assigned a different car than him for the ride over. ‘Thank God’ was the only thing you could think when you saw him heading to the other SUV. After another confrontation - another public one, at that - you weren’t sure you could handle being pressed leg to leg with him in the backseat. Your words were a looping record in his head as he rode towards Foster. They were about to attempt a hostage negotiation with a man seeing people who weren’t there but all he could think about was that fucking word you refused to drop. 

I’m not questioning your memory, Doctor

You had to be doing this on purpose, he thought. He originally believed this had started because you knew stripping him of his beloved title would cause irritation. Now he suspected you knew how badly he wanted his name in your mouth and this was your way of torturing him. ‘It’s working.’ He thought. God was it working. He agreed with his team, you were perfect for him. You had knowledge to match his, kept him on his toes. One time the start of a ramble slipped through his “I don’t like you” façade and he felt his heart speed up at the genuine interest that roused in your eyes. You wanted to know him and he was an idiot for all the shit he was doing. 

He wasn’t surprised when your strategy worked and Ben Foster was taken into custody. You were the one to talk him down, and if you hadn’t already been accepted to the team, he knew then and there that they needed you. You were flawless. He knew you’d been doing this as long as he had and it showed. He pleaded with himself to stay focused, zeroed in on the weight of the gun in his hand to save face. His mind never left you, though, much like his eyes. This was the expertise you spoke of - no wonder they fought hard to get you here. 

“You were excellent in there.” It was just the two of you now. Even in the dull, flashing police lights, you were breathtaking. “Good job.” He said. Then he walked away because he was on the brink of kissing you and didn’t feel like breaking about 18 workplace rules while at the scene of a crime. You wouldn’t have been complaining if he did.

3.

Every time something like this happened it was difficult to remind yourself that not carrying a weapon was a choice you made willingly. You were currently sitting in the back of an open ambulance, about to be hoisted onto a stretcher and driven to the ER for stitches. You’ve been with the BAU for almost 3 months now and have miraculously managed to avoid injury in that time. This had been one of the easier cases. No chases or clues to follow, just a sick man who left a fairly obvious paper trail. You were the speaker on almost all cases. You were in charge of de-escalating a situation, making sure the bomb didn’t blow. You’ve never carried a weapon, always preferring to take the wounds of a job over using a gun to back up your words. You were a psychiatrist, you wanted to make people better, not vilify them. It worked, usually. People did tend to trust you more when you were unarmed. This time, though, it got you stabbed.

It wasn’t a bad injury, the blood had already stopped and was mildly dry by the time Spencer was joining you. Just one more scar to your collection. It was to the side of your quad, missing any artery by miles and just serving as a pain source at this point. A little numbing and some stitches and you’d be right as rain is what the doctor in the ambulance had said. 

“What happened?” He spoke softly to you. There wasn’t a rivalry between you two, not really. The banter hadn’t stopped, but it changed. It was playful and actually fun now. The both of you weren’t obsessed with outdoing the other anymore. Some casual boastfulness and a budding friendship is where you were at with him currently. 

“I got stabbed.”

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.”

He exhaled like he couldn’t comprehend the stupidity of your answer. You laughed at that. One enjoyable pastime you’d picked up in the past month was trying to bewilder him. The EMT said he needed to check the rest of your body for injury despite your protest of such a procedure. It was typical and you knew that, but you held onto the fear of your own body that middle school gave you. There was a man you liked here, and the thought of him seeing the bit of stomach that hung outside the waistline of your pants scared you more than you thought it would. You forced yourself to be rational in spite of this. It was Spencer, you wanted to be seen by him. 

“Holy shit.”

You chuckled at that. You forgot that maybe a warning was in order for the amount of scars that littered your stomach.

“Probably should have told you about those.” There were dozens. You amassed a countless amount of scars over the course of your job. Stab wounds, bullet grazes, burn marks. Unsubs, as much as you tried to empathize, were often violent at the end of the day and usually lashed out before they could be helped. 

He was staring - well, gazing more like. Not like someone stares at a car accident on the freeway but instead how someone stares at the moon - awe. He was in awe of you. Your strength, your courage, the fact that you went through all these individual events and still chose not to arm yourself. Some of these were in places that could have been fatal, and he thanked whatever entity may be listening that you persevered, begged them to continue that streak. He crashed hard into the desire to touch you, to run his hands over what little of your past he could see. He wondered if you would let him. If you’d fit into his palms the way he thought you would - if that was something you even wanted. The EMT was gone by now, having moved to the passenger seat for the ride to the hospital. 

“Could I - " He hesitated for a moment, this was definitely the wrong question to ask. “Can I touch you?”

Your eyes glazed over slightly. Jesus. You felt your lips part a little.

“You want to?” Genuine surprise. You didn’t think you looked particularly desirable in your current state. He wanted to touch your fucking scars. Who does he think he is?

“Please.” He was looking at you in a way you hadn’t seen before. His eyes were glazed over too. You held his eyes as you nodded. The heat was so stifling that you laughed just a little at the tension.

“Fucking hell, Spence.”

Blood shot to his ears when you said his name. It had been well worth the wait to hear you say it like that - breathy and confused and so fucking pretty that he wondered how he ever lived before you said it. 

“Will you tell me about them?” He was breathy too, but he wouldn’t have you here, not like this. He just needed to feel you. 

“I’ll tell you anything you want, Doc.”

His hands were warm. It wouldn’t be the last time you felt them.

[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: Joel is forced to take Ellie while dealing with his seven month pregnant wife.]

“I’m not taking you out there, you’re pregnant it’s too much of a risk” he whispered leaning close to you.

Joel was pissed making his way back to you, he should’ve known Marlene would have something up her sleeve. Now here he was responsible for a young girl he knew nothing of other than the fact that she had a real sarcastic attitude. How the hell did this fall on him? How the hell did this become his responsibility? Joel had enough on his plate with you eight months pregnant, the thought of stressing you out only angered him more.

“So uh, do you stay by yourself?” The young girl began to ask questions curiously.

“No” he responded blandly as he continued to walk.

“Who do you live with?” It was hard to hide how he felt and in that moment he was irritated.

“Keep walking kid” he mumbled under his breath.

“My name is Ellie” she snapped back at him but he barely acknowledged her response. Concerned of what your reaction would be once he arrived and you learned of what he had to do, he couldn’t think straight.

“Why do you look so worried?” Ellie’s voice interrupting his thoughts making him look up.

“I’m not”

“Okay…whatever you say” she raised her brows looking away.

For the rest of the walk she didn’t say much which relieved Joel. Once arriving to where he stayed he stopped before the door and turned to her.

“Listen, you do not say a word. You do not question, you do not argue, you simply do as your told and that’s it. Understood?” She nodded pressing her lips together.

The sound of Joel opening the door making you practically run towards him as you held your belly.

“Joel?” You yelled out as the door opened and to your relief, there he was. He hated whenever he had to leave your side, he knew how anxious it always left you, afraid he wouldn’t make it back. Noticing blood on the side of his face you gasped grabbing him gently.

“What happened?”

“I’m fine” he assured you knowing you hadn’t noticed Ellie behind him.

“There’s something we need to talk about” just as he began to explain, the sound of a sneeze made you furrow your brows. Slowly looking behind him you saw a young girl looking down at the ground anxiously.

“Who’s this?”

Joel took a deep breath before turning to her and motioning towards the other side of the room.

“Go stand over there” she did as he asked as Joel took your hand leading you to the kitchen.

“Joel, what happened out there?” You asked as you leaned back on the counter.

“When I got to Marlene, they had just been attacked, Marlene was shot and they no longer had a functioning car for us to use.” You sighed brushing your hair back.

“She asked me to take her with me, her name is Ellie.” You looked over at her across the room before looking back at him confused.

“She needs to be taken somewhere and there, Marlene promised a car would be ready for us.”

“So what does this mean?”

You asked still struggling to understand.

“You’re gonna wait here for me while I go take her where she needs to go and I get the car-“ before he could even finish you already began shaking your head.

“No, no, I’m not waiting here again for God knows how long” Joel took a deep breath rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’ll come right back here and we’ll finally be able to get you to that doctor-“

“No. No,” you continued shaking your head stubbornly.

“I’m not taking you out there, you’re pregnant it’s too much of a risk” he whispered leaning close to you.

“Oh yeah? And what if something happens while you’re gone? Then what?” Joel knew you were right but the thought of you being out there didn’t sit well with him either.

“You’re staying here” he insisted.

“No, Joel neither of us have any idea how long you will be gone. I could have the baby within the next few weeks” you began to cry out of frustration which only made him guilty.

“Ok, ok c’mere” he pulled you to him leaning his chin over your head. He couldn’t stand seeing you stress out especially at this point in your pregnancy.

“I can do it, Joel. Just please don’t leave me alone here, plus where you’re going is in route to where we are suppose to go. There’s no point coming back and fourth” he didn’t say a word. He didn’t like the idea of leaving you alone this far long nor taking you out into the danger. Looking over at Ellie he caught her looking at the both of you before she quickly looked away.

“Fine,” he looked back at you.

“But the second anything goes wrong or you feel anything, we’re coming back.”

You sighed in relief knowing you wouldn’t be left alone.

Joel packed whatever he could in his bag that he thought you might need for the journey. He hated that he somehow was put into this mess responsible for Ellie’s delivery, but if it meant a car to get you a doctor, he was willing to do so.

As the three of you began to walk he wouldn’t stop looking your way, concerned with each step you took while also aware of his surroundings. Ellie noticed he seemed paranoid looking behind every couple of minutes but she didn’t say a word of it.

“So uh, are you having a boy or girl?” Ellie couldn’t help but ask after what felt like an hour of silence.

“Ellie-“

“We don’t know” you responded in a friendly tone cutting off Joel. She noticed you seemed more open to speak than Joel did and immediately took a liking to you.

“So do you want a boy or girl?” She asked making Joel look back at her with a warning glare.

“Hm, I don’t know, I always imagined I’d have a girl” your response distracting Joel, making him look back at you intrigued.

“Either way, as long as the baby is ok I’ll be happy, but I have a feeling it’s a girl.” Joel didn’t say a word but Ellie noticed his expression soften. One thing she was quick to notice was that if you said green, then green it was for Joel. He listened to you, his concern for you overlapped any grumpiness he seemed to have at times.

Stopping in front of what seemed like broken giant scraps of metal, Joel looked around to see if there was another way through that road.

“Let’s go” you looked over at him as Ellie quickly skipped past you and hopped on a metal box.

“It’s not so bad” she shrugged as Joel looked over at your belly before your eyes.

“Alright well, you’re gonna hold on to me” Joel went onto grab your hand as you sighed.

“Joel, it’s not that messy here” ignoring you he proceeded to walk leading you over the scraps of

metal and glass. Taking step by step he didn’t let go of your hand, trying his best to push aside anything in the way to make a trail for you. Ellie watched how careful Joel was with you as you walked close behind him. She ran ahead the both of you as Joel called out for her to slow down.

“Almost there” he whispered to himself finally reaching the end. Breathing in relief he quickly turned to you helping you down the last step when your foot slid on a pipe. Before you could fall he quickly caught you with panic in his eyes.

“I’m ok” you assured him seeing the concerned look he had. In silence he nodded before looking up at Ellie.

“Let’s keep moving” your voice making him turn back down to you. He still hadn’t let go of you but he did as you asked and calmly continued the walk.

Walking down a quiet block you happened to pass an abanonded ice cream shop. You sighed rubbing your belly, one of your biggest craving through out your entire pregnancy.

“Oh what I’d do for some chocolate ice cream” Ellie looked at the store you stared at remembering she had some snacks in her backpack. Rushing looking through it she found a chocolate bar she had been saving for later.

“Heads up” you both looked over at her as she threw something small your way. Once you caught it you had realized it was a chocolate bar.

“Where’d you get this?!”

“Marlene” Ellie shrugged.

“Are you sure, Ellie?” You felt guilty taking candy from a kid.

“Go ahead, I’ve had enough of those anyways” she lied with a smile.

“Thank you” excitedly you rushed to open it and take a bite as Joel watched in silence. He knew how much you loved chocolate. A smirk appearing on his lips as he watched you sigh savoring the taste of it.

“This is so good” you whispered taking another bite. Joel looked over at Ellie who watched you excitedly eat, feeling a little guilty about being so hard on her in the beginning.

“Thank you” his voice making her look up at him. She didn’t say much but he could tell she felt good about herself in that moment.

After another half hour of walking you began to feel tired. Joel could tell you were beginning to look exhausted and began looking around for a place to rest.

“Alright, we gotta find shelter” he began looking at the surroundings for a place.

“I’m fine, Joel”

“You’re exhausted-“

“I’m fine. I can keep going” you assured him but he knew you were lying.

“How much longer is it?” Ellie asked.

“Another hour or so” Joel responded not taking his eyes off you. He leaned in closer noticing you lean on the wall beside you for support.

Something didn’t feel right but it only made you want to rush faster to where you had to go to get the car. Yet, you refused to tell Joel knowing he would stop anything right there.

“Maybe she needs water” Ellie suggested.

“She needs rest”

“No. Let’s go” you pushed yourself forward and continued to walk taking deep breaths as you did. Joel stayed close behind you, keeping a close eye on you while also continuing to make sure the surroundings were clear.

“Alright we’re stopping right here” Joel insisted after another half hour went by.

“Stopping where?” You asked as he proceeded to open a door of an abandoned shop. Quickly checking around the small store he motioned for you both to follow him in as you sighed.

“What are we doing?” You raised a brow as Joel double checked the place.

“We’re taking a break. Im gonna see what I can find around here while you get some rest and Ellie stays with you-“ just as you were about to ask question Joel cut you off knowing what it would be.

“Im not going far” he assured you.

“You need me you just call out for me, I’ll hear you.” He knew you didn’t like this but he also knew how stubborn of a woman you could be.

“We are delaying time”

Joel ignored your words as he pulled a massive box to the door to help block any entry.

“So I’m suppose to watch her?” Ellie asked a bit confused making Joel stop what he was doing to turn directly to her.

“You don’t take your eyes off her even for a second” he pointed his index finger at her as he spoke.

“I’m perfectly fine” you insisted.

“I’ll be right back” Joel made sure the door was blocked behind him as he made his way out while Ellie looked at you awkwardly.

“Is he always this friendly?” She asked sarcastically making you sigh.

“He’s not too bad, he’s just…worried” you looked down at your belly before slowly taking a seat on a chair against the wall.

“I might as well get my rest” you shrugged as Ellie looked around quickly noticing a hall that led to a comic book section. Looking back at you she watched as you closed your eyes leaning your head against the wall. Wait for a bit she slowly made her way to the back without waking you.

Before you could realize twenty minutes had passed and you opened your eyes with Ellie nowhere in sight.

“Ellie?” You called out for her wondering where she had gone.

“Ellie?!” You called for her again as she walked further into the back, distracted with her excitement reading the books she hadn’t heard a thing.

“Dammit” you whispered pushing yourself to stand up when a sudden sharp pain struck your belly making you gasp and lean forward. Holding your belly you winced feeling another stronger pain.

“Woah” you whispered.

Attempting to sit back in the seat you lost your balance from the pain and fell to the side.

Squeezing your eyes shut tightly you felt a rush from your lower back into your lower abdomen like you had never felt before. Fear setting in, you called Ellie again to no avail when you heard the main door open. Joel pushed the box out of the way instantly seeing you on the floor.

“What happened? What’s hurting you?” He rushed falling to his knees before you trying to sit you up.

“I don’t know I just felt a pain, I went to get up and-“

“Where the hell is Ellie?” He looked behind him as the sound of you in discomfort made him quickly turn back to you.

“Ellie!” He called out not taking his eyes off you.

“Joel I think I’m getting contractions” you spoke in between breaths.

“It’s too early, it’s not time yet” you shook your head seeing the concern in his deep brown eyes.

“Calm down, I’m gonna get you out of here-“

“That was pretty fast, Joel” Ellie appeared quickly noticing you on the floor.

“Is she okay?” She ran up beside you as Joel narrowed his eyes on her.

“I told you to stay with her.”

“Joel, she was sleeping, is that I saw-“

“I don’t care what you saw, I asked you to stay with her didn’t I? ” he spoke coldly.

“Joel stop, she’s a child. Don’t blame her” you placed your hand on the side of his face turning him to you. He could still see the pain you felt, panic settling in he took a deep breath.

“There’s a place close by I saw while I was out there. There’s guards, I think it’s Marlene’s people, we’ll get you there and get help”

Joel wasn’t one to trust anyone but you could see the desperation in his eyes for you.

“You think that’s a good-“ before you could even finish you cried out as another rush of pain took over. Joel hated seeing you in pain, he felt helpless. Without saying a word he stood up and lifted you up in his arms.

“Let’s go” he looked over at Ellie as she quickly grabbed your bag and followed.

Joel walked as fast as he could as Ellie ran ahead hoping to find someone to help them in.

“Joel I think it’s over here!” Ellie yelled out to him noticing something from afar. He ran side by side with her, you hid your face in Joel’s neck with your arms wrapped around him.

Arriving at the place Joel noticed large doors with guards out front making you all stop in your tracks.

“Stop right there!” A man yelled out holding a gun.

“We’re not sick!” Joel quickly yelled out as a dark flashback in his mind of him in this exact position with his daughter.

“She’s pregnant” he tried to explain in desperation as the doors suddenly opened and Joel came face to face with someone he never thought he’d see again.

“Tommy” he whispered in disbelief at the sight of his brother before him. Dealing with so much pain you could barely make out what was being said, your eyes closing as Tommy ran towards you.

Tommy looked at his brother before looking down at you in Joel’s arms.

“P-please help her..” he could barely make out his words, all kinds of thoughts and feelings running through him at once. Tommy could see the deep fear and exhaustion his brother had and quickly called for help, taking you from his arms he ran inside and had him follow.

Ellie quickly followed behind Joel as he entered the room you were taken to. In the short time she had spent with him she had never seen him like this. He watched as a man came rushing in quickly with equipment as you continued to moan in pain. He watched the man connect an IV to you before pulling out a needle.

“What are you giving her?” He quickly ran beside you as Tommy tried to push him back.

“It’s ok, Joel he’s a doctor” Tommy explained noticing the dark bags under Joel’s eyes.

“You should sit down, brother”

He didn’t say a word, simply shaking his head not taking his eyes off you. A belt being placed around your belly, Joel couldn’t believe all the equipment they had for you.

“Is the baby ok?” You winced trying not to cry. The doctor didn’t respond as he tried to move as fast as possible.

“Hey, she’s asking you a question” Joel spoke up defensively making the doctor look at him.

“Joel, maybe we should wait outside” Tommy suggested.

“I’m not leaving her” he responded as Ellie watched on.

“There it is” the doctor placed a wand against your stomach and the clear sound of a heartbeat could be heard. You breathed in relief looking at the screen.

“Your water hasn’t broken so I can give you something to stop the contractions. They should be easing up soon, if they haven’t already” you nodded in agreement calmly laying back on the bed. Joel looked down at you brushing your hair back as you looked up at him.

“I’ll be right outside if I’m needed” the doctor made his way out as Joel thanked him before looking over at Tommy.

Exhaustion taking over you, you sighed before realizing what Joel had said earlier.

“Did you say Tommy?” You asked in a sleepy voice as the medicine began to settle in. Never had you met his brother but you always heard about him.

“Yes” Joel cracked a smiled as he looked over at him. Ellie had no idea what was going on but slowly walked up to the other side of you.

“You ok?” Ellie asked softly making Joel look up, he could see the guilt in her eyes.

“It’s not your fault, kid.” Joel quickly responded as you eyes began to close, too tired to speak.

A couple hours went by and you woke up to the doctor checking you again. Joel anxiously beside you holding your hand as the doctor placed the wand against your belly again.

“Everything ok?” You whispered as Ellie stood by your feet.

“Everything is working great. Contractions stopped and baby’s kicking just fine” you smiled taking a deep breath.

“Would you like to know the sex?” The doctor suddenly asked making you look at Joel. He nodded with a wink as you quickly turned to the doctor with a look of approval.

“You’re having a baby girl” you looked at Joel in shock but your smile quickly disappeared as he seemed to have lost color in his face.

“Joel?” You whispered.

“Oh that’s awesome just what you wanted!” Ellie cheered excitedly before realizing how concerned you looked at Joel. His mind going to a distant place remembering the day Sarah was born…still something he was unable to share with you.

“Joel?” You whispered again snapping him out of it.

“Did you want a boy?” You asked a bit confused.

“No” he responded quickly letting out a breath, realizing he was in fact secretly hoping for a girl.

“We’re having a baby girl” a smile appeared with tears in his eyes as you sighed in relief. Tommy stood by the door silently hearing the news, he could tell his brother hadn’t told anyone about Sarah, but he knew he would when he was ready. Still, Tommy smiled seeing a bit of Joel heal in that very moment..

[carmenized-onions]

I Want To. | Wellness Check

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

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

portion; 4.7k+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You do the Wordle?”

“Oh, fuck you—”

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

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

“…I like Connections.”

“I fuckin' hate Connections.”

“Alright, damn!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want to.”

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

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

‘Gigi called in, can you reach?’

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

‘When's the shift?’

‘6:30 to 12:30’

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

‘yeah i can reach’

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

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

“You make your own bread.”

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

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

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

“Fuck is this?”

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

“How d’you know I use Irish Spring?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine?”

“I’m more of an Old Spice fan.”

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

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

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

“Courtesy of me.”

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

“You’re very good, Carmen.”

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

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

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

“Itinerary for today?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t have to—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

“Ey! That’s a face I remember.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right to the point with you.”

“I hate suspense.” You shrug.

“You liked Mikey.”

What the fuck?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know ‘em?”

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

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

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

“I dunno, Uncle J…”

Oh.

28 unread texts from Syd.

3 unread texts from an unknown number— Probably Carmen.

9 missed calls from Syd.

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

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

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

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

“That why you give me a 2016 Fisher?”

“I like to think ahead.”

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

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

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

“I remember what I'm told.”

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

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

“We’re acquainted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Syd what the—” “Code blue!”

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

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

“What?!”

“That’s what fucking code blue means!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Did—Can you hear me?”

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

“Yeah, I know.”

“Have you called an ambulance?”

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

Then from Carmen, “No coverage!”

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

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

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

“That’s what they all do.”

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

“…You a fuckin’ fed, Chip?”

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

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

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

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

“Alright— Relax—”

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

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

“Everyone shut the fuck up!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It looks tight.”

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

“It is.”

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

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

He nods. He takes a second but he nods.

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t— Fuck! —Need a paramedic!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

“She’s gonna hate me.”

“Who?”

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

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

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

“Not help—fu—ll.”

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

“Nat, your daughter wants to meet you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t— Move.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Condescending as fuck?”

“Yes, exactly, can you?”

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

“Why do I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Chef!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Chef.”

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

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

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

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

Next Part

[nishikiace]

in honour of the s1 OPLA success

sub! strawhats

[romance dawn crew, spoiler free]

Warnings: dom!reader, gn!reader, allusions to amab anatomy (can be read as strap)

p1 [p2]

[masterlist]

♂️

Luffy

(inexperience, overstimulation, grinding, thigh-humping, sloppy blowjobs)

this man is not experienced at all. you will absolutely have to take over and teach him how to use his body

he's so curious to learn though.. maybe a bit too much. his hands are everywhere on you - you have to guide him to wrap around you and press him down to stop him from wriggling

not shy at all. luffy will happily initiate and call you out even in public. he's not patient either

he's a man of instinct. he will instinctively grind down on your thigh while sucking on your tongue until he's shaking and whining and cumming all over your leg

doesn't really have a sense of when to stop and constantly overstimulates himself. always ends up with his face buried in your neck and eyes tearing up before you can even start fucking

hold him down and be real stern. he's a brat but only unintentionally because he's just so energetic and desperate to try more with you. set the pace slow when you fuck and he will sob into a pillow and writhe against you and demand more

SO loud. he cannot hold back his moans and squeaks at all - he's so new to these sensations you're wringing out of his body

avid eater. avid dick sucker. king of pirates but also king of sloppy blowjobs. he will absolutely moan as he gets his face fucked, spit running down his chin and smearing all over his cheeks. he WILL swallow

Zoro

(handjobs, nipple play, titfucking, breeding)

he's a bit shy in canon about this kind of stuff and you will have to initiate in private for him to agree. he gets too flushed and heated to have other people see him in that way

probably also quite inexperienced - his training and motivations don't leave much of his attention for sex. maybe experimented a little as a teen before joining the crew

give him a handjob or even just stroke his skin and he will turn away because he's too shy. blushes so easily

he's embarrassed by his body's reactions - his training is all about self discipline and stoicism, so sex with zoro is more about pushing him to let loose and give in to you

he hates being vocal and the only sign that he's turned on is deep panting and hitched breaths. but the more you touch him and suck his nipples and tease his cock, the more he will groan and whimper

listen we have all seen that 110cm breast measurement. please just shove him down and fuck his tits. they jiggle with every thrust and he is incredibly embarrassed and turned on to be used as a toy like this. he wants to be needed

and talking of being needed, there is something about the idea of breeding zoro and utterly claiming him that satisfies some feral possessive urge he has. lift up his hips and fuck him deep and slow and fill him up

he won't look you in the eye for a few days after some of this

Usopp

(solo masturbation, handjobs, begging, teasing, bathtub sex)

like zoro and luffy, I don't think usopp had many chances to experience other people in his village. he definitely experimented on himself though (country girls make do)

very nervous about sex with you and will babble and hype himself up until you shut him up with your tongue in his mouth. he will melt and shiver in your arms

lots of whimpers and nervous rambling, he is an overthinker and needs his thinking function fucked out

loves receiving handjobs and giving oral. he loves when you feel him up and make him fuck your fist - it's so much better than when he does it himself. he wants to please you so bad he will get down on his knees as thanks

please don't tease him, he might actually cry if its too much. or maybe do tease him just to hear his talking skills turn into begging you to just let him cum and stop because its too much and he feels like he's gonna die

I think fucking him slowly in the bathtub when he's too stressed and hearing him sob and choke in pleasure would be therapeutic for everyone involved

Sanji

(body worship, marking, rough sex)

as much as I wanna call this pathetic blonde man bitchless, where there's a will there's a way

he has definitely experienced some rough fondling on the baratie with passing customers in a hidden storage closet

so what he wants from you is trust and patience - take your time with him. he's a bit of a romantic; the pervert in him will only be brave enough later

body worship sanji like he deserves. lick and kiss down his collarbone and stomach and feel the muscles jerk under his skin as he tries to hold back his whimpers. suck and bite his powerful thighs and leave hickeys everywhere. mark this boy up, he's so sensitive and twitchy

sex with him really depends on his mood and how he perceives you. he wants to be slowly taken apart and ruined by you but he also wants his body bruised and your cock imprinted into his hole, hard. he wants you to consume him, mind and body, and he just really wants to be wanted 😔

flip him onto his stomach, shove his face into a pillow and fuck into him hard and fast. the stimulation of his cock rubbing into the bedsheets and his prostate being abused makes him go crazy, he will wail and moan like a whore

probably won't fuck in the kitchen because food and hygiene is sacred to him, but he'll let you fuck his mouth as compensation, if you can convince him

♀️

Nami

(making out, fingering, edging, cunnilingus, exhibitionism)

she is self aware and knows how to use her body to get what she wants. she will tease you with soft touches and a rising skirt and rile you up when she has an agenda

loves making out. the intimacy and build up of licking into your mouth and feeling her breath speed up and throbbing between her legs is addictive. she loves the chase and she loves getting what she wants

she's a little selfish when it comes to pleasure and doesn't have qualms about using you to get herself off. and everytime you deny her rubbing against you, she'll get more frustrated. bring that to the bedroom as well, by edging her for hours with your fingers, make her cry for you because fingers alone aren't enough

eat her out and when she comes, don't stop. fuck your tongue into her and suck her clit until she's bucking into your face and her thighs are spasming against your ears. if you can chain her orgasms, she will wail and grind into your face to ride it out longer

she can be loud but she's not ashamed. put one hand down her panties in a public alley and muffle her moans with the other. she gets so wet it will drip down her thighs. if she's wearing a skirt, you might have to clean it up so she can stumble back onto the ship

[farfromstrange]

Mismatched Bridesmaid | Matt Murdock x F!Reader

PART 2 of The Vault

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Deciding to go to your old college roommate's wedding turns into a bad idea when you suddenly have to function as a bridesmaid until you're paired with a very handsome groomsman.

Warnings: Fluff, attempt at humor, SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), oral f!receiving, use of "good girl", One-Night Stand, shameless flirting, kind of "horny at first sight", so cheesy it might make you hate cheese

Word Count: 4.3k

A/n: I was wondering why this didn't post until I saw that I hit "save draft" instead of schedule, so this may come on time for some and too late for others, but I'm still awake, so it counts as the 15th. Also, when I wrote this it was after hinting at it on here, and I was excited at first, but I'm not too happy with it now because it's just silly and falls a little flat, in my opinion. This is why I went back in and edited a hell of a lot, adding some things, etc. Nevertheless, I promised to clear out the vault for this event, so this is it. I got inspired by seeing the She-Hulk clips when the episode with Matty came out. It may or may not be noticeable. We're also working with the Nelson, Murdock & Page narrative. Enjoy!

You are not made for white-veil occasions. 

While weddings, in their essence, symbolize unity while covering different facets of romantic beauty, they are also inherently stressful for nearly everyone involved in the proceedings. Over the years of adulthood, you’ve found that weddings tend to end in disaster when you attend—and you are not particularly fond of engaging in drama.

When your old college roommate sent you an invitation to her wedding in June, you considered responding with no. You’ve been close for a few years, but then you graduated, found separate careers, and then never talked again. You weren’t sure why she would send you an invitation until you called the number on the back of the card and you began catching up. She told you that she wanted to invite you because you were a vital part of her early twenties, and it reminded you that you are both adults and you have both grown beyond what you thought possible, so you couldn’t find it in yourself to tell her that you couldn’t make it to her wedding. Instead, you told her that you wouldn’t miss it for the world. That answer though seemed to have turned destiny against you. 

You were excited when you arrived at the chapel this morning, but as soon as your foot touched the holy ground, everything went wrong. Maybe it is because you’re an atheist and God hates you, or maybe Karma just really fucking loves toying with you. Either way, when your friend’s maid of honor—also one of the few people you hung out with during your wild college days—came up to you, looking pale and panicked, you knew that the curse you always bring to weddings was only continuing to wreak havoc. 

She said to you, “One of the girls got into a car accident on her way here. Don’t worry, she’s not dead, just a broken wrist, but that means we are one bridesmaid short. I need someone to step in before Janet finds out and cuts off my head for ruining her wedding day,” and she was deadly serious about it, too.

You knew that it was a mistake to come to this wedding, especially without a date or a plus-one to fall back on. 

You were so focused on marveling at the beautiful white and golden decorations living the aisle, fantasizing about the day you might be walking down one of those that you didn’t think anything could go wrong since everything had been going so right. You should have known better than to trust that treacherous feeling of excitement that you made sure to nurture before breakfast so you could enjoy the ceremony and the party afterward without making it dependent on the open bar—although that fact did help.

Instead of dreaming about free drinks though, you’re being squeezed into a satin green dress with a low cut in the front, and someone you don’t know is slathering burgundy lipstick onto your lips. They are purposely trying to turn you into a copy of all the other bridesmaids, and you hate it. You hate it so much you get the sudden urge to scratch your eyes out and tear the skin off your lips. 

Janet, the maid of honor, comes back up to you. She’s aged at least ten years since you last saw her when she pulled you away from the aisle. You feel for her. The entire weight of this wedding rests on her shoulders. 

She eyes you, checking your outfit, before giving you a curt nod. “Thank God, you’re hot,” she mutters. You’re not sure if you were supposed to hear it. 

“Thank you?” you answer awkwardly. 

“Alright.” She fixes the corners of your lipstick. “We need to pair you with a different guy than Miss I-Don’t-Know-How-To-Drive was supposed to walk down the aisle with. Your looks don’t match. You’ll get Kathy’s partner,” she says. “And we need to line up, like, now because shit is happening in five minutes, not a second later. We can’t give Bridezilla the time to kill us all.”

With a frown, you ask, “Is she aware at all of what’s happening?” 

Janet shakes her head. “No, and it’s better this way. Trust me.”

You stop questioning her. She knows what she’s doing. 

When she guides you outside to line up, you’re not sure what to expect. You don’t know the groom, and you don’t know his friends. You’re here on your own, and now you’re part of a bridal party that you are also barely familiar with, wearing a dress that you were forced into for the sake of aesthetics. You hate when something is reduced to aesthetics because beauty has many facets, and you would have walked down that aisle with anyone as long as you could get it over with. 

Until you see him. Strikingly dark hair in a perfectly cut tuxedo that underlines the muscles hiding underneath the fabric. His eyes are hidden behind round, red glasses that reflect the sunlight coming in through the already stained glass of the chapel’s windows. In his hands, he’s holding a white cane, leaning his entire weight on it as he waits. And he waits for none other than you. 

Janet paired you with the most beautiful man on this planet, you can’t deny that. The way he stands there, his sharp jawline on full display—he looks ethereal. Just looking at him makes you sweat, and you’re starting to panic. What if she made a mistake? You can’t do this. You can’t—

“Matt,” she says and shoves you beside him into the line of bridesmaids and groomsmen. 

Janet introduces you, and then she’s gone. She pushes you into the cold water, forcing you to learn how to swim. 

He tilts his head in your direction. “Hi,” he says. The sound of his voice resembles the purr of a black cat as it reverberates, but his grin reminds you of the Devil himself. 

Fuck. Me. 

You either did something very wrong to land here, or you did everything right. 

“Hi,” you stammer. One look at him, and the blood rushes to your cheeks. Your face is burning. 

He offers you his hand. “I’m Matt,” he says as if Janet didn’t already expose that to you.

Still, you take his hand. It’s the polite thing to do. “And I’m not supposed to be here.” Mentally, you curse yourself for being so stupid.

Matt chuckles. Even his laugh sounds bittersweet. Like dark chocolate. “I, uh, gathered as much.”

“I’m sorry,” you bite your lip, “I’m not—this is really weird. I don’t even know what to say.” You pray for the ground to open up and swallow you whole, maybe that will make it less embarrassing.

His features soften. There is no judgment. You can’t see his eyes, but there is a certain softness about him that throws you off guard, but you no longer feel like you’re drowning. “If it helps, I’m only here because I helped the groom graduate law school by writing his essays, and he feels like he owes me, so…I also don’t want to be here,” he says, and he reaches up to adjust his glasses. You get a small glimpse of his eyes. They’re hazel. Beautiful. He has an aura that draws you in; it’s not just his physical beauty that strikes you.

This man—this magnetic force of a man called Matt—is a stranger. He’s a man you were paired with to walk down the aisle even though you were never meant to be a bridesmaid in this wedding in the first place. So many things are happening to and around you at once, and you can feel the flames starting to burn and sizzle away at your skin. 

You should pull yourself together. You shouldn’t stare at him. You shouldn’t listen to your heart which is hammering against your ribcage. But the emotions are already running high and you can’t possibly focus on anything else. He’s like a lifeline to you.

And God, you want him to put those calloused hands on your skin and take you to bed. But that’s not something to think about in a place of God. On the day of someone else’s wedding. Except that you can’t think of anyone else, and his proximity isn’t making the situation any better for you.

Another blush threatens to take over your features. “Oh, you’re a lawyer?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “I have a firm. Nelson, Murdock & Page.”

“Here in New York?”

“Hell’s Kitchen, yeah. Me and my associates just reopened our doors to the public after a rough year.”

“Oh, that’s...cool. I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you. And what do you do, if I may ask?”

His interest takes you off guard, but you don’t hesitate to answer his question. You tell him your profession, and how you met the bride, and he listens without another word. No man has ever paid you this much attention before.

Though Janet meant it when she said that you will have to start walking in exactly five minutes, not a second longer. She passed by everyone, handing out bouquets. Green with hints of red and gold. It fits the theme. They’re beautiful, but the flowers within the bouquet become a problem when she hands you your own set. 

“Janet,” you stop her from leaving. “I can’t take these.”

“The fuck you can’t,” she retorts. 

“Seriously, I can’t. I’m allergic to Jasmines. I’ll sneeze.”

She glares at you. “Then fucking hold it.”

There is no arguing with her, and she passes by you to continue putting everyone in their places. You stare down at the bouquet, your nose already starting to itch. The smell alone is enough to make you nauseous.

To your surprise, Matt reaches for the flowers. “May I?” he asks, but he has already grabbed a hold of them.

“Sure,” you answer, curious about where he’s going with this.

“Hold this.” He guides the top of his cane into your hand.

His fingers feel along the red ribbon. He takes a whiff. There are so many scents that would be overwhelming even to someone without heightened senses due to a lacking fifth one, so you’re even more surprised when he finds the Jasmines without a struggle. He traces the petals just to make sure, and he quickly pulls the flowers out of the bouquet, tightening the ribbon around the now smaller girth in the process.

Tossing them behind one of the pillars in the corridor, he hands them back to you. “Here,” he murmurs. “For you.”

Words elude you. 

“Are you allergic to anything else?” The question is valid, considering you’re still not making a move to take the bouquet from him. 

You exhale a shaky breath, reaching for the flowers, and answer without missing another beat, “Weddings.”

That elicits a giggle from him. The sound is enough to make your heart melt. Does he know what he’s doing to you?

Matt opens his mouth to respond, but the sound of heels clicking against the marble floors stops you both dead in your tracks.

Your entire body recoils when the bride’s voice rings out, echoing, “Who the fuck mismatched my bridesmaids?”

A hand rests on your bicep, and you don’t even have to look down to know that it is Matt’s. He’s the only one standing to your right, anyway. He squeezes as though to let you know that you won’t lose your head, but you’re not so sure now that your college roommate is glaring at you in a white dress that reminds you of a pastry, and her eyes are full of fury. He can’t see it, but he would cower in fear if he did.

Thankfully, Janet pulls her aside, explaining the situation to her. 

“She what?!” she screeches. “On my wedding day? Are you kidding me?”

“Yes, because car accidents respect timing when it comes to special occasions,” Janet counters.

You snort. Matt beside you digs his teeth into his bottom lip, but even he can’t hide his amusement.

“Oh, snap,” you mutter under your breath. 

“Shots have been fired,” he says.

“I think we’re witnessing a double homicide.”

“I’m not a very credible witness. I can only describe how it sounded, unfortunately.”

Your snort turns into a laugh. The bride’s head snaps around, and you go quiet. “Sorry. I’m sorry,” you choke out.

“If she decides to throw a punch at your pretty face,” Matt’s breath tickles your ear, “I can be your attorney and sue her ass.”

This time, you’re conscious enough to slap a hand in front of your mouth to stifle your reaction. “How do you know I’m pretty?” you whisper back between little giggles.

He shrugs with a smirk of his own. “I just know.”

He’s got you wrapped around his little finger, and you have no choice but to submit.

Janet manages to bring some calm back to her friend eventually, and then it’s showtime. Right on the second, it’s time for you to walk down the aisle, and you have never been happier about a strict schedule and someone adamant about keeping that schedule for the sake of all of your lives.

Your roommate has always been a very dominant personality, so you’re aware of the things she can do when she doesn’t get what she wants. 

An 80s pop ballad begins to play. You make sure to match your pace to everyone else but also make sure that you’re not running away from your partner.

You may have been a mismatched bridesmaid, but you can’t complain about the company. 

Against all odds, the service is beyond beautiful. It’s not often you get to stand so close when two people who seem to truly love each other make a vow to be there for each other for the rest of their lives. You can’t help but shed a tear. They complement each other perfectly. Is that ever in the cards for you? Will you ever be able to have what they have? Or will you always feel like you’re not worthy of this kind of unconditional love and endless devotion—of someone wanting to spend the rest of their life with you?

You look over at Matt. The hint of a cross necklace is starting to peek out underneath his dress shirt. Of course, he’s Catholic. 

He carries himself with such a grace that puts everyone else in this room to shame. Does he know that you’re staring at him? You hope not.

After the ceremony, you lose sight of Matt in the masses. He doesn’t owe you a goodbye, but you still feel a little disappointed when you return to the dressing room and finally peel the satin dress off of your very sweaty skin. 

At the party afterward, he’s still nowhere to be found. You give up. Not that you want to spend the evening with him anyway, but you kind of do. You drown your sorrows in a glass of vodka cranberry and a bowl of olives. They taste like rotten meat, but there are too many people by the buffet for your liking. The last thing you want to do is mingle and get asked stupid questions by people you don’t even know. So, you stay back, and you watch from afar as everyone is having the time of their lives not so far away from you, but far enough for you to breathe.

“And here I thought weddings were supposed to be a joyous occasion,” Matt pipes up beside you, and you twirl around in your chair to face him with wide eyes.

You didn’t expect to see him back here. “Hi!” you exclaim. “What’re you—I thought you left.”

“Nah,” he says. “I just had to take care of some things.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

He smirks. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yes, that’s why I asked.”

Folding his cane, Matt lowers himself down on one of the chairs beside you and orders himself a beer with the bartender. “Let’s just say that I have an important court case coming up and I had to make a call.”

You take another sip from your drink. “That sounds a lot more exciting than my life, to be honest.”

“You are sulking at a wedding. Thinking about an ex?”

“More like life in general.”

“Ah, yes, the eternal fear of dying alone.” He raises his bottle to yours. “I’ll drink to that.”

A laugh escapes you. “That was cynical,” you say.

“And you’re not?”

He beats you at your own damn game, and he finally gets that smile he has been vying for. 

“Are you smiling?” his voice is barely above a whisper. 

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. “Maybe.” But the smile is audible in your voice, giving you away.

Matt smirks, nodding his head. “Good girl.” 

The sharp vodka runs down the wrong pipe. You cough. Did he just—

He did.

He pats your back, and his hand lingers a lot longer than it should. He looks so smug. Pleased with himself. That part of him is stupidly attractive to you, even though you would usually hate such cockiness in any other man. But Matt isn’t like any other man.

You apologize for your reaction, but he should be the one apologizing to you for throwing you off your game. What is he doing? You can’t read him. You wish you could because that would make this so much easier, but that’s probably the point. He wants to tease you. He wants to mess with your head. He’s a dick. A fucking attractive dick that could tell you to do just about anything and you in your flustered state would go along with it without hesitations. That’s the kind of control he has over you, and you just met. It feels like a twisted form of destiny, but you can’t quite believe it. Yet.

“Do you always do that?” you dare to ask.

He frowns. “Do what?”

“Flirt with women who were forced to be bridesmaids even though they were only supposed to be guests?”

A playful smirk plays on his lips.  

“It’s been known to happen,” says Matt.

You poke your tongue against the soft tissue of your cheek. “Cheeky,” you murmur.

“That’s also been known to happen.”

“What, being cheeky with—”

“—with women who were forced to be bridesmaids even though they were only supposed to be guests? Yes.” He’s catching on quickly.

You laugh and nod. “Yeah, that.”

“I do have to say though,” he adds, and for a second you think he might ruin the joke instead of playing it out further, but Matt is full of surprises, “Out of all the mismatched bridesmaids I’ve met in my thirty-something years of, um, living, you’re my favorite so far.”

With your hand, you start fanning your face rather dramatically. “I feel honored,” you say. 

Again, he chuckles. “You should be.”

“Why, because you’re so irresistible?”

“I was going to say that I don’t like a lot of people because, you know, they’re dicks, but that works too.”

“Wow.” You take another sip. The liquor burns its way down your sore esophagus. “You have balls, man.”

“Is that a problem?” he counters with a question.

The answer comes naturally. “No,” you say. “I like it.”

“Good.” Hearing you clink the ice cubes against your empty glass by swirling it around, Matt concludes that you need a refill. “Can I get you another drink?” he asks.

The question sounds so innocent, but the look on his face renders you speechless. His hand inches dangerously close to yours on the counter, his knee brushing yours, and the heat shoots straight to your neglected cunt. 

Fuck this.

“You could do that, or we could skip that part and just…you know.”

One brush of your hand against his thigh, that’s all it takes for him to know. 

Pushing you through the door to his apartment a few minutes later, his lips are on you. The door falls shut with a loud bang, and he presses you against the wall of his hallway. 

His lips feel like a silky cloud of lewdness. The way he kisses you is utterly erotic. Your lips part in a delicious moan that he swallows with a grunt of his own. He swallows it all, shoving his tongue into the tight confines of your mouth, and exploring every inch he can reach. He tastes you. He consumes you. 

His hands desperately search for an ounce of bare skin. He’s tugging at your clothes, sliding and tearing them aside. Once his fingers finally brush over the bare skin of your stomach, he melts. 

You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Your leg hooks around his waist. You can’t wait. He has ignited a fire within you that no one has been able to light before. He’s touching you with a precision that puts your former lovers to shame. He’s paying attention to your every breath and heartbeat, and with every touch, he asks, “May I?” 

You don’t even make it to the bedroom. Once he has successfully removed the bottom half of your clothes, he falls to his knees. He is a sight to behold. The disarray of colors that shines into his apartment illuminates his face, bathing it in a selection of hues that bring out his best features. 

Matt has yet to take off his glasses, and you take the opportunity to tear them away from his face. You’re gentle though. You ask him, “May I?” mirror the question he has been asking you throughout the night, and after a thick swallow, he nods.

You caress his cheek as you remove his glasses, and when you finally see his hazel eyes in all of their glory, you have to bow down to capture his lips in a soft kiss. 

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper. “So fucking beautiful, Matt.”

He whimpers. You could have sworn to have imagined it, but when you stroke his cheek with such a gentleness it almost makes him recoil in anguish, you know that you didn’t imagine the sound from his lips. You kiss it away. You kiss all of his insecurities away. You want him to feel as good as he is making you feel. You don’t know him, but you want to get to know him, and if he’s ready to surrender himself to you, you are more than ready to do the same for him. He can feel that with every brush of your fingertips and every kiss you deliver to his plump lips that taste like heaven and hell in itself.

Your words don’t leave him cold. His cock is aching in his pants—you take note of his impressionable size, which only makes you more excited for what’s to come—but he refuses to take it out. Not until you’re fully satisfied. To be honest, you could come just from staring at him on his knees in front of you, looking like he would lay the world to your feet and kill everyone who has ever dared to hurt you, but that is not enough for him. 

He needs the experience. Feeling your skin, tasting you, and breathing in all facets of your natural scent mixed with the artificial one from your shampoo. He can’t get enough of it. Of you. Of everything about and within you. He’s as attracted to your body as he is consumed by your soul. You’ve got him in a deadlock, but he would never complain about that.

You gasp when Matt grabs your thigh and throws it over his shoulder. Your panties are gone within seconds, torn on the floor somewhere. You’re completely bare to him. 

You want to warn him that you didn’t shave, but he doesn’t care. 

Before you know it, he has flattened his tongue against your pussy, and he licks a long stripe from your hole to your clit. 

“Fuck!” you cry out, reaching for support on the wall behind you.

He flicks the sensitive bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue, testing the waters before he sucks it into his mouth. 

His grip on your thigh becomes bruising. Matt eats you out like he has been starving for years and you are his first and last meal. He sucks on your clit, and he fucks you with his tongue. Your pussy is the altar he worships at. Your arousal is his holy water. He dives deeper and deeper into the wetness between your thighs, and he moans loudly when you pull at his hair.

“Fuck, Matt–” You’re clawing at whatever you can find. It feels so good. You’re higher than you have ever been.

The sound of his mouth working your slick folds toward eternal bliss is obscene and utterly sinful. His stubble scratches against your inner thighs. The pain grounds you in the here and now, making you focus on the tidal wave that is about to crash into you and tear you to shreds. 

You can’t even warn him before your orgasm takes over, and it takes you into another dimension. You come with a shout of his name. It’s nothing short of explosive. The orgasm drags on through his mouth on your clit, relentlessly sucking until the nerves jump, and you’re begging him to stop. 

His face glistens. With every kiss up your body, Matt marks you. By the time he has reached your quivering lips, he still tastes like you.

“You did so well,” he whispers. “Such a good girl for me.”

You exhale. Without his shoulders to hold onto, you would probably lose your footing. “You’re crazy,” is all you can say. 

He smirks. “In a good way, I hope.”

“Yes. Fuck.”

“Regret coming home with me?”

“Absolutely not.”

That’s all he needed to hear. He lifts you with ease. “Then I’m going to make it worth your while.”

And when your back hits the soft mattress and silk sheets of his bed, you don’t doubt that he is going to make good on his promise. 

Matt Murdock Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama

[thebibliosphere]

I receive many wonderful and kind comments about Phangs in my inbox daily, but the ones that stick with me the most are always from fellow neurodivergent people, usually elated or crying because Phangs is the first book they've been able to read since their teens, sometimes even decades.

"I thought I'd lost the ability to read; I thought there was something wrong with me; I thought I was broken," over and over and over again.

I've talked about it before, but just in case you need to hear it: it's not just you; it's the publishing industry.

If you follow my Twitter, you may have seen the thread where I talked about what that was like, and how I was often handed the "problem" writers who struggled to conform to the industry standards. (The original thread is gone, but for context, it was about the lack of accessibility in publishing for people with ADHD) I didn't know it then because I wasn't yet diagnosed, but I understood the problems these writers were having because our brains functioned on the same wavelength.

I understood why they felt specific changes harmed the text, but I also understood that it was the cost of being published, and it was my job to help them with it. I went above and beyond to make it as painless for them as possible. All the while listening to my colleagues around the wine water cooler deride these writers as "pretentious" and "too thin-skinned for publishing."

I hated them. I still hate them, and I hate that the industry is the way it is because it's really not that difficult to accommodate.

Suppose an ADHD author tells you the changes you've made have made a sentence incomprehensible to them (and I cannot stress enough how distressing it is to have something you wrote be turned into something you cannot read). In that case, it's likely because you've removed certain critical elements for the sake of brevity. It might not look like vital elements to you, but for ND brains, longer sentences with additional qualifiers and descriptors can really help us latch onto the "rhythm" of a text, which can help us feel more immersed and hold our attention better*.

Filler words can help with this; it gives our brain time to process but also figure out which parts are essential and to hold onto. It's sort of like, uh, how people say "like" and "uh" a lot (😋). These act as both social cues that indicate that while we might be pausing in our speech, we are not done talking yet, but also help keep our brains jogging along via the act of vocal stimulation. (If I can find the study I read on this, I'll come back and post the link.)

Regarding "superfluous" adjectives and "weak" adverbs, they often function to provide emphasis and context we might otherwise miss. Sure, you can go overboard with them, and they can lose all meaning if you do, but the general writing advice that "adverbs NEVER be used" is not only lousy in general but also means those of us who struggle with social cues and emotional context can be left feeling out of the loop.

I can't tell you the number of times I've had to go back and verify that a character is experiencing an Emotion because it wasn't emphasized, or the author tried to make it into a gut punch by using "sharp, punchy" language (but all they use is "sharp, punchy" language!), and my brain glossed over it because, well, if it's not part of the greater sentence structure, it's irrelevant.

And this shit is my job! I'm being paid to notice these things! It's just not how my brain works naturally, and forcing it to do so long-term is not only exhausting but distressing. Why would I keep trying to read something that causes me exhaustion and makes me feel stupid because I'm struggling to understand it?

Now, obviously, there will be times when a text needs sprucing up. Everyone has their "comfort" style of writing, and while repetition can be soothing to read, it can also make the text hard to engage with. Same with run-on sentences. Sometimes you need those one-word gut punches. Or everyone's favorite, the italicized "oh."

The trick is finding a happy medium between the two that retains your personal voice and writing style. A good editor will work with you to make this possible. A bad one will hack everything to pieces and tell you, "that's just how it's meant to be."

I was lucky with my editors. Sometimes, I had to tell them that the proposed changes wouldn't work and were causing me distress because I couldn't read them. And I knew. I knew if I couldn't follow the sentence structure, a good chunk of my prospective readers wouldn't be able to either. They weren't doing anything wrong. They were doing their jobs and ensuring my book had as much mainstream readability appeal as possible. However, the problem is that "mainstream readability," as we've already established, isn't accessible to a large chunk of the population. So we found ways to work around it. We made it work.

As is evident in the messages I get in my inbox daily.

Every single day, someone else tells me their friend recommended Phangs to them, and they were skeptical because they haven't been able to read a published book in years. And every single day, someone new tells me they loved Phangs, but the biggest thing they loved about it, was that they were even able to read it at all.

So thank you for the greatest compliment you can give me. A lot of work went into ensuring Phangs would be accessible to as many people as possible.

Also, sorry the industry is like *gestures* this.

----

*This is a generality and not true for everyone. People are not monoliths. I am merely speaking from my personal experiences from the things I have observed in the industry as an editor, a writer, and a lifelong reader who also now struggles to read the current style favored by the mainstream industry.

[earthtooz]

𝟐:𝟎𝟑 𝐀𝐌

fluff, hints at a fight that happened so minimal hurt/comfort, sooo much swearing, ooc rin bc he's so hard to write wtf he has a personality of an apple but i love him &lt;3

it’s 2 am.

it’s 2 am and someone is knocking on your door like a madman.

you were simply trying to catch some shut eye, exhausted from a day of grieving and almost breaking down into tears on several occasions. the accumulation of a shitty day, a stressful deadline, and the massive fight you had with your boyfriend, itoshi rin, two days ago, really committed to keeping your day melancholic at best. sleep was everything you needed right now, both for its regenerative and escapist purposes.

yet again, you really cannot catch a break from the spite of the universe because it is out of rage that you find yourself walking towards your front door; an anger that dissipates when you see who it is on the other side.

1/3 of the reason why your day sucked. your painfully beautiful boyfriend.

the argument you had with rin was left open-ended on whether the relationship should continue or not. to you, it seemed as though both parties were at different opinions, with you wanting to maintain what you had. after two days of not responding to your texts, you suppose that that had been a short way of answering the ambiguity.

willingly, although reluctantly, you open the door, preparing to end something that you were not ready to let go.

he’s sweaty and he’s panting. did he run up the stairs or something, why is he so puffed? how is he so pretty despite that?

“hey,” you begin, feeling small in his presence. rin bores through you with his teal eyes, not saying anything. you cringe at the silence.

“i appreciate the effort but y’know, if you wanted to make our breakup official couldn’t you have done it at a reasonable hour, rin?”

his eyes narrow at that statement, betraying his usually stoic expression with furrowed brows and an agape mouth. confused. he’s confused, but you don’t see any of it because you find the floor more interesting than your boyfriend (?).

with a deep inhale, you just decide to go for it. if he’s not going to declare it, then you will. “look, rin, maybe you’re right, if this relationship is holding you back then maybe it is best we-“

“-the olive theory.”

“excuse me?”

the first words this man utters to you after two days… is the olive theory?

the dark-haired continues. “the olive theory, we’re- we’re supposed to be compatible.”

you are way over your head right now. did you even wake up? is this a dream? why is your, usually all-straight-talk, boyfriend talking to you about the olive theory at 2am, stammering whilst doing so? what kind of hallucination is this?

“rin, what?”

“i like olives, you hate them, we’re meant to work, and i don’t think i can continue on like this.”

you blink once, twice, three times before pointing at him. “you’re telling me that we’re compatible, yet in the same sentence, telling me that we should break up?”

"i didn’t want to break up?”

“but you just said you can’t continue on like this, what else do you mean?” your voice is at a hushed whisper at best, and although you wanted to raise it louder, you fear that your neighbours would not be happy.

“i meant that i can’t continue on without you!”

silence.

“i’ve become so co-dependent on you that i fucking hate it. i can’t fucking function without you, even that fuckhead isagi knows that i’m off and it’s all because of you. it’s only been two fucking days and i’m not landing 60% of my goals, i’m not receiving 20% of my passes correctly, and i keep tripping over myself, you’re ruining me, y/n.”

the flurry of emotions within you triples, and you’re so flabbergasted that no words can escape your mouth. truthfully, you can't think straight, but if you could, the words would fizzle out in your throat before they even saw the light of day.

“if i have to suffer any more of this stupid silence between us then i might kill a bitch. that bitch being the antennae freak.”

even more silence, and rin is practically begging you with his gaze to say something. funnily enough, the next thing you murmur is out of reflex: “don’t say that about shidou.”

he groans. “if i didn’t love you, i would choke you right now.” wow, itoshi rin has a way with words.

the threat causes you to crack a smile. “well, good thing you love me,” you mutter whilst grabbing him by the wrists to pull him inside your apartment. “and it’s a good thing i love you too.”

“well no shit, we’ve been in a relationship for-“

“-shut up and kiss me, you smooth talker.”

the soccer player smirks in amusement before leaning forward, closing the physical and metaphorical space between you, soothing the heartache with gentle touches and a fervent need to love one another.

༊* BONUS:

“why are you here at 2 am? i thought you, of all people, would be fast asleep.”

“tried to, can’t sleep without you- you’re a real pain in my ass, you know that?”

you smile fondly as he hooks an arm around you waist, collapsing into you as a way of saying that he doesn’t mean his rough words. “so i’m just another bedwarmer?” you ask teasingly.

he grumbles a ‘tch’, digging his nose into your nape. “you’re an idiot.”

“thank you, love. speaking of bedwarming, can we go to sleep?” perfectly paired with a yawn, rin looks at you with slight guilt in his eyes before dragging you down the memorised path to your bedroom.

once there, he wastes little time in dragging you into the sanctuary of your bed, and you let out a sigh of content when rin turns off the lights and pulls the covers up. instinctively, your hands retreat to his hair, carding through them.

he’s holding you close, hands resting protectively around your waist.

“we have a lot to talk about in the morning, but did you not get any of my texts?”

“you texted?”

“…yeah?”

“oh yeah, i remember now that i blocked you after our fight.”

you mercilessly smother him with your pillow.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Can I ask why you don’t like Vil much? If you haven’t answered that already?

For me, I also didn’t like him at first but loving Rook has turned me into a Vil lover 😭.

[Referencing this tier list!]

A significant part of it is no fault of Vil's own, it's just... I have a very strong aversion to celebrity characters. This dislike scales up the more famous that celebrity character is + how much attention is brought to their status, and well... Y'all know perfectly well how famous Vil is 🤡 This is why I also dislike his father to some degree, though it's to a lesser extent because I at least appreciate Eric being involved in his son’s life + find Eric to be friendly.

Celebrity characters tend to make me feel deeply uncomfortable chiefly because their careers put them in a position where they're ripe for parasocialism (which is when one party, ie their fans, extends emotional energy, interest and time, and the other party, the persona, ie the object of their affection, is completely unaware of the other's existence). Parasocialism in of itself is not a negative thing by default; it can, in fact, be a powerful motivator to improve oneself or can significantly lift one's mood. Some sectors entirely rely on parasocialism to function (such as the "influencing" industry).

Where it starts to get iffy for me is when we veer into the most parasocial of fans who will take extreme actions to support and/or hate on an individual. These are your stalkers, your sasaeng fans, etc. While I'm aware that these are the vocal minority of a celebrity's fanbases, the kinds of things these extremely parasocial fans pull off deeply unnerves me. Like Vil, the celebrities involved are by no means at fault—but they’re always “tainted” in my mind by the association due to the sheer magnitude of what their most crazed fans do in their name 💀 So when I think of that celebrity… I also think of the insane stuff they have to deal with from their fans and that stresses me out.

I find the whole “celebrity worship” culture in of itself very odd. It’s difficult for me to form an attachment to a real person that doesn’t or cannot reciprocate. By extension, it’s hard for me to wrap my mind around activities like following the celebrity’s life closely, supporting any and all projects due to their involvement alone, and collecting merch/signatures. Thinking of Vil’s fans doing this… (or, as seen in the Tapis Rouge event, getting emotional/shrieking for him, begging for a glance, fainting, etc.) it invokes those feelings of discomfort again.

Finally (regarding the celebrity thing), Vil and other famous people tend to be in the spotlight. I don’t really like this sort of a presentation; it calls too much attention to them. This runs counter to the types of characters I tend to gun for: the schemers who operate from the shadows, typically appearing innocuous or humble at first glance. These characters stay out of the spotlight and prefer it that way, as it allows them more freedoms to enact their plots. Celebrities’ positions don’t really allow for that. Even if their off-camera persona is completely different than their on-camera one, the attention they’re showered with never seems to fade.

I also find Vil’s entire presence way too intense (even when he’s lined up next to arguably much more physically imposing students like the 180 cm+ squad or any muscular character). This is why I can tolerate Neige but dislike Vil; Neige comes off as innocent and approachable—so much so that I don’t even register him as an idol or a celebrity in my mind. He’s just a cute boy-next-door type inviting me to dance and sing with him and his friends!

Vil’s hair, makeup, tall heels, the need for perfection, his sternness. It’s a LOT to take in. I can admire the confidence and the tenacity with which Vil pursues beauty, but at the same time… it can come off as super overwhelming. I don’t think I could comfortably breathe in the same space as him without feeling like I’ve offended his sensibilities 😅 Sometimes I get a little anxious just reading him scolding others; it feels like he’s reaching through the screen and scolding me too. I get the overwhelming vibes even through the things Vil creates or commissions; the composition and choreography of Absolutely Beautiful was so oppressive and centered on winning that I disassociated from my own school’s team 💀

Some other minor, miscellaneous gripes I have with Vil:

I don’t generally have a problem with Vil’s leadership or how he guides/teaches others. (His behavior is very similar to what I’ve experienced within my own culture’s upbringing.) However, I do not approve of all of his methods and I do think he does “too much” at times + oversteps, making me feel uneasy.

His tastes don’t really match mine! It’s a little too “glam”, especially the ensembles with heavy smoky eyes.

What’s with him dying the ends of his hair that color… It makes me think of him dunking his head in grape Kool-aid as a dye 😭/j

There we are ^^ I hope that explanation was sufficient!! I tried to explain my… admittedly complex feelings behind my dislike of Vil as neatly as I could. Nothing against the guy, how he is written, or his fans (both in-universe and irl), of course!! This is just my opinion.

[drdemonprince]

Austim question from an autistic person: I am definitely a person that experiences the black-and-white thinking part of autism. i experience a lot of anxiety about rule-following (this is partly trauma-related) and what's legal and what's not. i've made a lot of progress in fighting what i call my inner cop, and i definitely have a lot of control over how it impacts my external actions, but it still causes me a lot of stress internally. i don't think we should have cops!!! so i don't want one in my head!!!!!!! i'm pretty good at not caring about laws and regulations and rules that i morally disagree with, but it's still very-much an ongoing process (as is life, i suppose). i've been reading your writings since 2019 and they've often been very helpful in challenging the rigidity in my head (so thank you!!) do you have any advice for rule-oriented autistics in overcoming our internal cops?

It sounds like you have honestly come a very long way. And it also sounds like you can distinguish between the cop in your head and your actual beliefs, and not let the cop influence your real-world behavior. You may hate hearing this but... consider that this is the farthest it will ever go! You have already conquered the cop in all functional ways! It doesn't rule your life and you don't equate the cop with yourself, it just exists in the back of your brain, annoying you. I think a lot of Autistic people will always have a ruminative, anxious, annoying voice in their heads like that. Maybe removing them isn't the point. Maybe making some degree of peace with the fact that they'll always be there but that you don't let them take the wheel is all that you need.

I've tried quieting my anxieties and resolving my neuroses in all kinds of ways, but I think ultimately I've had to do enough Shadow Work (non sexy version) to acknowledge that it's a core part of my experience on this earth, and that's okay. I'll always have some insane man in my head saying unhinged shit and making up totally fake rules. That's okay. I can have a worthwhile life with them there.

[queenofmistresses]

subby velvette… she’s getting ready, or trying to, and gets really frustrated n just hates everything she tries on until she’s crying and worked up so reader comforts her and coddles her… then absolutely brutally fucks the thoughts out of her head til she’s dumb and ditzy n no longer caring about her outfit please please please n lots of dumbification cause it’s cute <333

Late night writing with no previous thoughts about it? Would you have it any other way babes? Hope you like it 😚 i tried to be mean but it’s not my strength

A/n everything they do has previous been established as okay in the relationship and everything is completely consensual. That being said- warnings: dumbification, reader slaps velvette, umm that’s all I can really think of. Not proofread!

Watching Velvette do this incessant routine every morning was honestly exhausting. Every morning she spends an hour deciding what to wear and always thinks she looks awful in all of them. She doesn’t. She looks fucking hot in all of them. And then eventually she settles on something and gets on with her work.

For some reason though, it seems to be taking a lot longer to get to that last step than usual. Her entire wardrobe is on the floor, and that’s impressive considering the size of her wardrobe. I watch her rip the last dress off and collapse on the floor as choked sobs suddenly come out of her.

I sigh and walk over to her softly, sitting on the floor next to her and pulling her onto my lap with ease. Her entire body curls into me, like she wants to be as close as she possibly can. I hold her close by the waist and stroke her hair with my other hand, letting her sob into my shoulder. It’s unusual for Vel to break down like this, this has obviously been building up for a while, with all of the stress Vox has been causing with Alastor back and Val being his usual dick self I can’t say I’m that surprised.

“Why do I look so fucking awful in everything I wear?” As she says it I realise exactly what she needs to get over this. I tug on her hair slightly, getting her to sit back slightly to look at me.

“You want my complete honesty here sweetheart?” I ask as kindly as I can. Seeing her stare up at me and nod, I smile. “You don’t look awful, you look gorgeous. But you have too much going on right now, and you’re far too dumb to handle all of it! So your stupid little brain is telling you that you look bad to try and avoid leaving to do your work.” Yes some of that is bullshit, she’s a fucking genius, but where’s the fun in that? I much prefer her dumb and stupid for me.

She sniffs and then blinks, the crying seems to have taken it out of her a bit. “You think?” She asks, and there’s an almost innocence in the way she does and it only spurs me on further.

“I know.” I correct, “You do a great job of pretending to be smart but we both know it’s not the truth. You can’t function on your own, I mean look at you! You can’t even get dressed without needing me to dry your tears.” I stroke her cheek gently before holding her chin to make sure she’s looking at me. “Quite frankly it’s pathetic how much you need me, fucking co-dependent. You’re lucky I’m so good to you.”

Apparently I made the right call, because the next thing I know she’s sat up and straddling me, her arms wrapped around my shoulders with an excited look on her face. “Uh huh you’re right mommy, I need you so fucking bad-”

I press my thumb against her lip, effectively shutting her up, and she opens her mouth, letting my thumb press against her tongue as she sucks on it. “Uh uh,” I chastise, “No more swearing for you.” She nods frantically as I press my thumb further into her mouth, watching as she practically drools over it.

I slowly pull my thumb out letting her talk again- though she doesn’t seem too pleased at the lack of something in her mouth. “Please mommy, I want you to take care of me please, I can’t do it anymore. Just want to let you take over.”

I know that a part of her actually means it, it’s not just an in the moment thing for her anymore, she really can’t handle it for much longer. And if what she wants is for me to take over her life for her, then I’m more than happy to, but that’s a discussion for another time.

“Don’t you worry my little princess, mommy’s gonna take care of everything from now on. All you need to worry about is being dumb and pretty, and letting mommy use you, okay?” She nods again, “Words baby.”

“Yes mommy, please.” She’s grinding on my lap now, her beautiful tits bouncing in my face from where she’s just wearing a bra and panties. It’s such a pretty sight, but it can only get better. I reach behind her with one hand and unclasp her bra, pulling it off her and watching her tits bounce even more. She lets out a sigh and just grinds against me even more, I know it won’t be long until she gets tired of this and needs me to take over, but it’s so pretty I let her keep trying to get herself off on me.

When I feel her slowing down, I stand up and take her with me, her legs quickly wrapping around me as she stops moving, “I didn’t say you could stop.” I look at her, raising my eyebrows as I can practically see her cheeks heat up as she nods and attempts to keep grinding against me. I can tell how humiliating it must be, especially as I can see her struggling, but I can also see how much she’s enjoying being humiliated like this. I carry her to the bedroom and lie her down on the bed, but she stays gripping onto me, desperately trying to get off on me. It’s cute. I pull her off me despite her whines of protest and begin to strip down, and get my strap on. She stops complaining once she sees that.

“You’re such a fucking whore princess aren’t you?” I tease as I bring myself onto the bed and play with her nipples, making her moan as she nods just barely. “Enjoying me telling you how fucking stupid you are? I know how much you love it when mommy takes control but this is pitiful. You’re such a needy bitch.” She practically groans at this.

I lie her down beneath me, pressing a hard kiss against her lips before trailing down to her neck. I slowly bring my hand down her body, making sure to pay attention to every part of her before my hand reaches her core. I slowly start teasing her clit, letting her close her eyes as her head leans back against the mattress, and I start to go faster.

She’s so needy it doesn’t take long to bring her close to the edge. “You better fucking ask before you cum you slut.” I practically spit at her, slowing down my assault on her swollen clit.

“Please, mommy please.” She tries but I don’t let her get away with it.

I slap her, not hard enough to leave anything permanent but the bright mark on her face is definitely hot. “That was pathetic, you ask properly or I leave you here to deal with yourself alone, is that what you want bitch?”

She starts to shake her head but quickly catches herself, “No mommy I-I don’t.” She swallows, “Please can I cum mommy? Please?” When I don’t immediately respond she quickly starts begging more, “Please mommy I’ll do anything, just wanna cum please, I’ve been so good.”

“Aw I suppose you have, haven’t you?” I rub my fingers faster against her clit watch her lose all trail of thought as she gets to the brink again and just as I can see she’s about to topple over I stop completely. “But I want you to cum on my cock baby.”

She pleads in desperation, a series of ‘please mommy’ and ‘was so close mommy’ chants leaving her pretty mouth. As she keeps talking I slide in 2 of my fingers to her mouth and watch as she starts to suck on them dutifully without a thought. I could watch that show for a very long time, but I’m in the middle of something.

I grab the lube from our side table and lather it on, making sure she won’t get actually hurt. Then I line my cock up with her pretty hole, watching it clench around nothing before I push myself inside with ease. Once I’ve given her a moment to get used to it, I pull out almost completely and slam back into her as she groans against my fingers.

As I set a fast rhythm in and out of her, I keep reminding her just how much of a slut she looks like, just how pathetic it is that she lets me do this to her.

This time when she gets to the edge I do let her cum, and fuck does she cum. When I pull out her legs are shaking and she looks so spaced out that I’d be surprised if she could form a sentence.

I clean her up with a towel and smile as she giggles at the feeling, then I lie down next to her and pull her into me, covering us in blankets and pressing a kiss to her as she dozes off

[joels-golf-club]

Exhaustion

A/n: So this turned out way more angsty than I originally planned it to be but whatever. I also kinda hate it but I just wanted to write a little bit to get back into the swing of things.

All my work is 18+ MDI

Word count: 1.7K

Warnings: Lowkey angsty but fluff at the end, kinda established relationship, reader doesn't know how to cope, miscommunication, implied traumatic past, mention of nightmares, post outbreak! Joel, no use of Y/n, swearing, self harm in the form of sleep deprivation if that's a thing. Please don't read if any of this is triggering to you.

When you were out on the road it was easy to avoid your nightmares. You would barely sleep in between watches with Joel, and when you did it was a light enough sleep that you wouldn't ever dream.

But in Jackson it was different. It took a few months to get adjusted to the new way of life, the somewhat normal life in the commune. Once you, Ellie and Joel had gotten used to the new town you had quickly fallen into a routine. Ellie would go to school while you and Joel took patrols with each other before coming back home to share a bed. For a while you would still sleep light enough that your dreams, or rather nightmares couldn't reach you in Joel's strong embrace, but eventually you got comfortable and your past crawled it's way into your subconscious.

On more than one occasion you had jolted awake in a panic not knowing where you were while Joel was forced to calm you down. It was these moments that filled you with guilt and shame. Joel had been through just as much, if not more than you had and he didn't need you ruining what little sleep he got just because you couldn't handle something that you had escaped from over a year ago. It was then that you decided to push through and suck it up. If Joel could handle a little trauma, then so could you.

So as the days went on you forced yourself to sleep as little as possible. Sure it made you a little jumpier on patrol but so far Joel hadn't noticed and you hoped he would just chalk the bags under your eyes up to long patrols nights and 'waking up' earlier than usual. You had made it almost a month sleeping just enough to keep you functioning, which meant about an hour or two a night, before Joel decided to corner you during patrol.

"So you gonna tell me what's going on with you?" He spoke one day while you were hiking up to a abandoned hunting cabin that had been shaped into a patrol outpost you two occasionally spent a weekend on patrol at.

His words caused you to momentarily freeze up during which he sent a glance over his shoulder at you, eyeing your reaction. "What do you mean?" The words left your mouth carefully with no emotion as you tried to focus on anything other than your pounding headache and the way Joel kept glancing back at you. Just another mile and then you would avoid Joel at the cabin. You've held off this conversation for a month, you could do it for another 30 minutes.

Joel, however, seem to think otherwise. He scoffed at your response and stopped walking, causing you to pause for a moment before walking past him towards the cabin. Just a little more...

"Don't bullshit me, darlin'. You're shaking and sweating right now just walking when you can usually do this hike without breaking a sweat. You're pale and you've had bags under your eyes for the past month. So tell me what the fuck is going on and why you won't talk to me."

Shit.

He noticed. Those weeks you had gone laying in bed awake while we slept at your back and you tried to play it off hadn't gone unseen like you had hoped. Now he was mad at you and you were just causing him more stress, the opposite of what you hoped your efforts would do. "It's nothing Joel. Just drop it, alright?" you kept walking and ignored the ever growing headache pulsing behind your eyes as the exhaustion caught up to you after not getting a wink of sleep the past three days and then hiking with this conversation thrown at you. Joel called out your name angrily and stormed up to you forcing you to stop walking and face him. The cabin was only a quarter mile up now.

"I'm trying to have a serious conversation here!"

"Yeah, and I'm trying to avoid it!" You regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth because they only confirmed that something was wrong.

"And why's that, huh? What aren't you telling me?" His expression changed then and he dropped his gaze down to his hands for a moment. "Did I do something wrong? Is that why you won't talk to me?" His fears broke through you just a bit and you could feel your throat tighten up against the tears building up. When you spoke your voice came out thick and brittle.

"Jesus, Joel, no it isn't you. Shit. You didn't do anything wrong, it's just me, okay? It's just something I have to handle." Joel met your eyes again then and stared into your glazed over gaze. He only nodded then and started walking again. Thank fucking God, he was dropping it.

It wasn't until you thought Joel was fast asleep that your exhaustion truly hit you. You knew that if you slept now you would be out hard and it would be impossible to avoid the memories of unwanted grasps against your skin and cries of pain as you were struck would reach you. So instead of laying in bed with Joel where you knew you would be out in seconds if you stayed any longer you slowly climbed off the dusty bed and downstairs to sit by the fire place where a few glowing coals remained from your earlier tense dinner.

You sat there for what could've been hours or minutes just rubbing your temples with shaking hands, trying to physically force away your pounding migraine. You hadn't even noticed Joel appearing in the doorway until his voice caused you to all but jump out of your skin.

"This is you handling it then?" His voice was raspy with still and you couldn't help but be jealous at the precious hours he had to sleep in peace. "Jesus christ darlin, when's the last time you slept?"

His words immediately brought tears to your eyes and the walls you had spent weeks building high came crashing down. You crumbled as the first sob tore through your body, your entire being shook and you brought your hands up to cover your face as shame and pain ripped into you.

Joel was upon you in seconds and wrapped you up in his strong embrace as he slowly rocked you back and forth, trying to calm you down. "Breath, darlin', just breath. Listen to me okay? In...and out," when you only continued to shake and sob in his arms he lifted one hand to your face and used the other the grab your own hand and place it against his chest, forcing you to feel his deep breaths. "Come on you gotta work with me here. You feel my breaths? Yeah, you do, just match my breathing, I know you can do it. In, and out. Yeah, just like that, good job." When your breathing had finally evened out and all that remained was a few sniffles you began to speak.

"I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to, uh, I didn't mean to wake you up. You can go back to bed." Joel just grabbed the back of your head and pressed you into his chest while shaking his head.

"Don't do that. Don't apologize, you did nothing wrong. I just need to know what happened so I can help you, alright?"

You shook your head and mumbed against him, "I don't wanna tell you." When you looked at his face he had a deep frown and concern etched across his features.

"Why not, darlin'. You know I'm here to help you, that's how this thing works." He gently pulled you away from his chest and made you look at his face while he spoke.

"I don't want you to think I'm weak..." You avoided eye contact when you saw his face crumble and realization flood his gaze. He had finally figured it out.

"It's your nightmares isn't it?" You just barely nodded and continued staring at the ground you sat on. "You've been forcing yourself to stay awake? Sweetheart, you can't do that, it'll get you killed out here if you aren't able to function properly. Why didn't you just come to me?" His words were spoken quietly but still firm in your ear.

"I didn't want to be a burden. You've been through so much as well and you don't wake up screaming every night. You're so strong. I didn't want to make you see how weak I am, so I figured if I just didn't sleep then they wouldn't be able to hurt me again." You shook your head in disbelief at yourself and scratched at your arms anxiously. "God I spent so long getting out of there and trying to heal and I'm still just the dumb little slave. Nothing's changed." Joel grabbed your arms and forced your scratching to stop and looked you in the eye with anger behind his eyes.

"Hey. Don't say that shit. What you went through is unspeakable and it doesn't make you weak to be affected by it." You opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off before you could get any words out. "No, I'm talking right now. You are so incredibly strong, darlin'. You've been through so much and you still manage to push forward and live. So don't you dare call yourself weak because that is absolute bullshit and we've promised not to lie to each other. How about we go upstairs and get you some sleep, and if you have a nightmare you wake me up, I don't care how often or what time it is and you tell me what you need me to do, okay?"

You nodded your head and leaned forward to press a soft, barely there kiss to his lips that he immediately reciprocated. "Thank you. For everything."

"You don't have to thank me for anything, darlin. This is what I'm here for. Please don't ever feel like you can't tell me stuff like this, alright." You just nodded again and allowed him to help you back upstairs into bed where you fell asleep in his strong embrace within seconds of your head hitting the pillow.

[monalogs]

Relax | Nyon

➷ Paring - Nyon x Fem!Reader [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]

➷ CWs - Drug use (weed), grinding, use of Russian words (translations provided at the end), making out, just Nyon being sweet :)

a/n - pumped this out in a few hours, i got too excited LOL. apologies for any mistakes. p.s can you tell i haven't smoked in literal years

You huff, finally completing cleaning the kitchen. It had been a long day in the Ivory household, well, for you at least. A bulk of the chores tended to fall on you and with the antics the house seemed to get into, they piled up quickly.

It was annoying for sure, you rarely got any help. Nyen was the type to add dishes to the sink while you were washing them, Luther was always busy with other things, Randal made most of the messes, and even and Sebastian barely took notice of your effort. You couldn't catch a break.

Well, except Nyon.

The quiet catman actually did assist you most days, much to your relief. You never asked him to, he just did. You really appreciated the silent connection you both had.

With all the personality between these walls, when it came down to it, you both kept the most level heads. You're sure the house wouldn't function the same without that.

Which is why you are so frustrated today. You haven’t seen Nyon all day. Again, he wasn't obligated to help you per say, but he lived in this house just as much as you did. So why are you doing all the work?

Your back and feet ached terribly, and you still needed to do laundry. Groaning, you turn a corner when you bump into someone– Nyon, coincidentally.

Usually, you smile and try to small-talk him (despite his standoff behavior) but today, you are so irked you scoff and put down the full laundry basket on the ground. “Your clothes are in here, y’know.” Nyon watches you cross your arms.

His face is stoic, as usual. He stares at you while you stare back at him. It's awkward, and you realize how stupid it is to expect some response from him. You go to pick the basket up again when you feel him grab your shoulder. Looking up, you expect another stare, but he's sheepishly looking off to the side before muttering, “Come.”

Before you can ask, he's walking off, making you follow him. You realize you've walked into his room, where he shuts the door behind him. “Okay… what is it? I still have things to do, Nyon.”

You're still giving him that attitude and Nyon hates that. He didn't mean to be out all day, he wanted to surprise you with something. He knows how stressed you’ve been.

He motions you to sit on the messy bed with him, and despite your tone, you listen. “ Мне жаль, I know you are tired.” His accent is low and smooth, giving a weird butterfly feeling in your stomach you weren't used to. He didn't talk much, but was his voice always so… enticing?

Suddenly, all the peeves you had with him were gone. You shift on the bed as he continues, “I got us this.” He pulls out a zipped baggie and reaches in to reveal… a joint.

It’s silent for a second before you let out a laugh. “Really? You got us a joint?” You giggle as he rubs his neck, “We don’t need to do it if you don’t wish–” Cutting him off, you lean forward close to him, “Oh, no, we are. I fucking need this, light it.”

Nyon gulps to himself, when did it get warm in here? He quickly lights it per your request, making sure it's ready as he passes it to you.

With a big inhale, the smoke fills your lungs– and you immediately cough it all out. Now, it's Nyon’s turn to let out a chuckle. It’s small, but it's enough to make you giggle too. You push his shoulder in a playful way, “Hey, it's been a while for me!”

He takes the lit joint from your hand while you still recover from the burn in your lungs. Swiftly, he takes a massive puff from the joint, and expertly keeps it down before he releases the smoke. Your jaw hangs, “So you do this often?” Nyon shows a small smirk, “Eh, time to time.”

Time passes and before long, the joint has been passed between you two enough for you to really start to feel it.

Finally, you tap out and lay on the bed, satisfied with the fuzzy feeling going up and down your body. Nyon takes the joint, setting it aside on an ashtray.

You motion him to lay beside you, and he hesitates for a second before he does. A couple inches separate you both, in the low lighting you can see his glossy eyes gaze back at you. You don’t know what you are thinking before you inch closer to him, placing a hand on his face. “Don’t be nervous, relax.”

Nyon’s eyelids hang low, “Do you feel good?” You hum, “Yeah, really good.” Nyon’s chest is noticeably moving in and out as sweat builds on his temples.

“Remember, this is to relax.” You try to remind him when he suddenly lets out a curse in Russian you don't understand. “It's hard– it's hard to. You're so close. I want you closer, любимая.” He speaks quickly and without a thought you pull him into a deep kiss.

After you both separate, you roll on top of him. Straddling his hips, you lean down and kiss him more. He seems to have found some confidence, placing his hands on your hips as your tongues interlock.

When you pull away, you see his half lidded eyes and flushed face. Slowly, you start to grind against his hardness, the hazy feeling in your head becomes stronger when you feel the warmth between your legs.

“родная, take off our clothes, yes?” You nod and he follows suit, both tugging at each other’s clothes in between kisses.

Finally, you lay exposed on the bed with him hovering over you. Everything moves quickly, feeling Nyon’s warm length rubbing against you.

Your hands trace the firmness of his body, you hadn't realized how attractive the catman really was. Maybe it was the THC talking, but you can't help but wrap your legs around him and pitch.

“Please, Nyon–” He hushes you, grinding against your slick warmth, his breaths heavy as you feel his heart beat through his chest, “Relax, любимая.”

You whine and pull him closer, “Don’t tease!” You're sure he can see the desire in your red eyes, pleading with him to just sink in. He pushes himself closer to you and aligns himself, kissing your neck before he murmurs, “Okay, okay.” How could he ever deny you?

He finally thrusts in, slowly, inch by inch before he completely fills you. Both of you have a groan escape your mouths. Nyon almost feels like he's about to burst right then, the sensation is so clear and strong.

You feel heavenly, better than he ever used to imagine. He keeps himself from thrusting too hard, instead choosing to pace himself so he can savor this moment with you. You sound so beautiful, look so beautiful, staring at him with those glossy lidded eyes. He wants to make sure you feel every inch of him.

“So sweet, (Y/N). So sweet and perfect, только для меня” His kisses trail down your neck, meeting your collar bone, leaving hickies.

Your moans fill the room, not even realizing how loud you are being, fully focusing on the heat consuming your body. “Cute sounds.” Nyon says through passionate huffs. He appreciates his silence typically; himself barely letting out any noises, but he wants to hear it all from you, every whine and moan.

It isn't long before your moans turn into whines, reaching your tipping point when Nyon hits that spot that makes you tighten around him over and over again. “You want to come?” You nod and wrap around him closer, “Yes, yes– Don’t stop!”

Nyon listens, pistoning in and out with such intensity you swear you see stars. Finally, you cross your legs behind Nyon’s back, arching your back as you come undone around him.

Soon, Nyon can’t keep himself together when the sensation of your tightness becomes too much. “Ебать–” He pulls himself out and shoots white all over your heaving stomach. It’s a lot , how long has he been holding this in? He slouches over you, observing your sweaty face, “Sorry, mess.”

You shush him, pulling him to lay next to you once again. “No, no, don't worry. It was amazing.” You giggle, still feeling the high linger on your body. It’s less intense, now you just feel tired.

Nyon shows you a small smile as you wrap your arms across his waist, big spooning him.

“I like you.” Nyon admits, letting go of a weight on his chest he had been holding for a while now. He feels like he's about to melt, it's like he didn't just fuck you, instead it's as if he’s a school girl confessing under a cherry tree.

He slowly turns his head to look at you, meeting your gaze. It's silent for a second, then you kiss his nose, “I do too.”

…

“I am hard again.”

Мне жаль - I'm sorry

любимая - darling

родная - dear

только для меня - only for me

Ебать - fuck

I apologize if anything is inaccurate! I used google translate. If anyone who knows Russian sees any mistakes, please tell me and I will fix them :)