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heathermason6060 · 1 month

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Daryl Dixon x f!Reader Smut: Missing Matchmaker Merle

Warnings: Smut, degradation, minor alcohol consumption, unprotected p in v, NO use of (Y/N)

Summary: You and Daryl distract each other from missing Merle.

Notes: Wanted to try the idea of Daryl thinking he wants super rough sex, but he finds out he doesn't really like it that much when you indulge in it. GIF found from Pinterest from user vallie

Taking a hot shower was something you used to take for granted. But after arriving at the CDC and having the chance to not only clean, but sanitize yourself, you made every second count. You even fucking shaved.

When you heard Jenner would also be serving dinner, you could've thrown up in excitement.

“C'mon, quit actin’ like a pussy and drink.”

You rolled your eyes at the redneck's words, but shrugged and waved him forward anyway. He grinned in success and filled a cup with red wine, nearly spilling it on your chest with the way he shoved it towards you.

The shift in the atmosphere the last few hours had been remarkable. Not too long ago you were in the first stages of accepting your possible demise, standing behind Shane and Daryl as they fought to get Rick away from the doors. Now here you sat between Carol and Daryl, drinking some of the best wine you'd ever tasted, enough food on your plate to fill your stomach the way it was meant to be.

You barely heard Daryl whisper beside you over the happy chatter of your group. “Watch, he's gonna turn all red, Koreans all got an allergy to alcohol.”

You couldn't help but break into a grin at that, shaking your head in amusement. He looked too excited for you to correct him so you just chuckled, and tried not to fall from your chair when he playfully elbowed you in your side.

The sight of Lori and Shane in the little library foiled your plans to read before bed. You only watched for a second, it looked like they were arguing, trying to keep their voices down despite their frustration.

You rolled your eyes and turned on your heels, annoyed you'd have to settle on something in the rec room.

As soon as you turned the corner to walk down the hall, you bumped into a chest so hard you lost your balance. Their hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, and when you heard that teasing southern accent you immediately felt your mood lifting.

“That wine make you blind? You Korean too?” He snickered as he helped you right yourself.

It was incredibly refreshing to see Daryl in that light. He was in a great mood, not drunk but buzzed enough to keep a grin on his face.

“Fucking Shane and Lori's in there.” You grumbled playfully, crossing your arms in exaggerated annoyance.

“Huh, what're they doin’?” His voice lowered to a nosey whisper and he nudged you back to peek around the corner. He immediately pulled back, bumping into you again, a look of disgust on his face. “Fuckin’ white trash. Actin’ like Rick ain't right down the hall.”

That had you turning into a nosey busybody and you went to see what he was talking about, but he had already nudged your shoulder in the other direction to the bedroom halls.

“C'mon, let's go do somethin’.” He didn't wait for an answer as he continued using his body to guide you down the hallway, reminding you of a sheepdog, which amused you to no end.

“Like what?” You smirked as he shouldered you into one of the rec rooms. There were a few loveseats, bean bag chairs, a long couch and endless shelves of things. Board games, card games, sketch books and those really expensive high quality colored pencils, markers, you name it. You could spend the rest of your life in this room and die happy.

“Hell, I don't know.” He shrugged and went to look through the shelves. You watched him in the doorway, your lip tightening at the side when you realized he was desperate to take his mind off Merle. Shit, you were too. You missed the fuck out of Merle Dixon. You'd grown extremely close to him, he wordlessly accepted your vulnerability of being the black sheep and Daryl related to it. They treated you like some weird adopted family member that one playfully flirted with and the other jerked off to.

“Wanna play uno? I'm suspiciously good at it.” You finally shut the door and walked over to him with crossed arms, aware of the way he tensed when you got closer.

“Uno? The fuck? Hell no.” He scoffed and aggressively flipped through the games on the shelf. “This is like some fucked up retirement center.”

“What'd you expect? An Xbox full of two player games?” You watched as he pretended to read the back of a card game box.

“Psh. I don't know. Let's go fuck with Glenn -”

You grabbed his wrist before he could rush past you and laughed. “Leave the poor kid alone. He's gonna be so fucking sick tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I guess. Threw up on my couch.” He muttered, remembering the way he'd had to drag Glenn to the couch in his temporary bedroom.

“Course he did. You kept pouring wine down the kids' throat.”

You had a few minutes of friendly banter, suggested uno again, he suggested strip poker, you suggested skipping the poker, and soon you were grinding against his knee behind some of the book shelves.

“I want it dirty. Want it raw.” He huffed as he feverishly unbuckled his belt. “F-fuck, you're so hot.”

You grinned and leaned in to bite his bottom lip, earning a delicious whimper from him. You dug your teeth down harder and pulled back, feeling his dick twitch obscenely against your hip.

“Want it dirty, yeah?” You drawled and kissed down his neck, switching between biting and biting hard.

“Yeah.” He breathed and fucked his hand, clutching onto your hair with his other. “You think,” he faltered as you bit down on his nipple, his words spilling into various curses and slang you couldn't understand. “Shhh-fuck” His voice cracked in a way that was absolutely fucking adorable to you. “Y’think, you could, on top-”

“Yeah, I can do that.” You made your way back up to his neck, reaching to unbutton the rest of his shirt, but he stopped you. You didn't question it, you just sat him down on one of the loveseats and climbed in his lap.

You looked over your shoulder at the door, even though it was shut anyone could just walk in, but Daryl grabbed your chin and forced you back against his mouth.

You fucking loved the way he kissed. It was so hot and sloppy, his tongue diving everywhere in your mouth, licking every spot he could reach. When you pulled back to breathe, the skin around your lips felt wet, just another thing to make your pussy wetter. Daryl Dixon being so messy and dirty drove you insane.

“I like the way you kiss me,” you slurred, your hands sliding up your pajama shirt to grope your own breasts. “Who would've thought you were such a needy whore.”

“Can you blame me, woman? Shit.” He thrusted up against you as he admired your form over him, your lips parted and your hair in your face, you looked hotter than every single pornstar he'd ever seen. He came harder to you than Sasha Grey.

You maneuvered out of your pajama pants and slipped back in his lap, sliding your pussy against his throbbing cock.

“Fuckin’ goddamnit.” He sputtered and grabbed hold of your hips for dear life. He rolled up in sync with you, nearly cumming when he saw the way his head would push through your folds each time your hips slid back.

It was easier to get him inside you with you on top, you didn't need to worry about him slamming into you like last time. You took your time, enjoying the way he curled his upper lip in frustration, his eyes locked on the way his dick disappeared up inside you.

“Fuck.” You drew your word out as you finally sat down on him, his dick sticking you like a skewer.

You opened your eyes when you felt him grabbing your right wrist. He brought it up to his throat with no hesitation, a new boldness filling him that you didn't expect.

You scoffed and laughed, the sound making his hips jerk roughly up into you. You obliged though, grabbing hold of his thick throat and squeezing.

The situation you found yourself in was something you could easily get used to. You leaned back, keeping yourself upright with your grip on his neck. You rolled your hips in a way that served you, using Daryl's dick to get off. The way you fucked him was completely foreign to him, he'd never seen anything like this in the tapes he'd steal from Merle.

You moaned when he bucked into you, and you had to take a moment to steady yourself. You released his neck and grabbed his chin, your thumb slipping between his teeth, holding him like a hooked fish. He looked up at you through his lashes and bit down gently, his hips rolling slower now.

“You're a fucking mess.” You hissed with a smirk, looking down at your work proudly. Now he was the one who needed to be in a filthy magazine. His cheeks and lips red, his eyes half lidded and dark, his teeth bared and biting on your thumb. He was sweating like crazy and you were impressed he hadn't come yet, must've been the wine. “God I missed your dick.”

You weren't sure how it happened but soon you were pressed against the wall, your thighs wrapped around his back and his dick rearranging your insides. You couldn't moan even if you wanted, he was so rough and fast that all you could do was gasp in each breath, your eyes rolled back and your mouth hanging open.

His thrusts slowed and he pulled back from biting your neck to nip the side of your jaw, making your eyes roll back to focus.

“Slap me.”

Your words didn't register to him for a second. He lifted his head and furrowed his brows in confusion, although his rough thrusts didn't even budge.

“C'mon, you wanted it dirty, didn't you?” You sneered, and a book fell from the shelf next to you when your head thudded back against the wall after a deep thrust.

He went to speak, but he only let out a long breath, and that's when his thrusts started to slow. “The hell you want that for?”

You were caught off guard by the look on his face. He looked equally confused and almost… insulted? Hurt?

“Cause it feels really fucking good. Hey, you don't have to, alright?” Your breathing came back under your control when his thrusts stopped altogether.

You could tell you upset him. You slid your legs from his waist until your toes touched the floor, and his dick slipped out of you.

“Hey, it's okay, alright?” You reached to touch his chin but he tilted his head away, no longer looking confused, moreso disappointed.

You bit your bottom lip and thought. He was in no state to make any further moves so you made it for him. You pulled your clothes back on and took him to his bedroom, making sure to close and lock the door. You turned the lights off and laid him down on the bed before climbing on top of him.

“I just wanna make you feel good, can I do that?” You murmured softly, sitting on his lap and stroking his cheek.

That seemed to get to him and he gave in, nodding once without meeting your gaze.

“Just tell me to stop and I will.” You promised and kissed down his cheek, deciding against being rough with him the way you were before.

“Never gonna hear me say that.” He snorted and intertwined his fingers in your hair, gentle, something you hadn't experienced with him. It was like a switch was flipped and he was a completely different man.

Daryl melted under you as you worked him over with soft touches and kisses. You took your bottoms back off and took his dick back out, giving him a few strokes to get him hard again. You wasted no time in slipping him inside you, thankful there was little resistance with how wet you had become.

You settled down on him, placing your hands on his chest to balance yourself, your fingers pinching the buttons on his shirt as a way to ground yourself. His dick sent you to other places.

You fucked him slow, taking the time to feel and appreciate each time his tip rubbed against your sweet spot. He breathed noisily under you, giving the occasional grunt or quiet whine, his hands resting on your hips.

Flipping your hair to one side over your shoulder, you leaned down and kissed him. You led this time, just moving your lips against his, slow and deep and without the use of your teeth, no matter how badly you wished to hear him whimper.

He sat up and wrapped his arms around your back to turn you over, somehow managing to keep his lips on yours the entire time.

You felt your muscles sigh in relief when he laid you on your back in the soft bed. You let out a soft happy breath when he slid his hands up your sides, content in just stroking your skin. He wasn't fucking you then, it was something different. If you were stupid you'd call it making love. He thrusted deep and slow, his hips moving on their own accord. Each time he plunged back in he'd exhale deeply through his nose, tickling the skin of your upper lip.

Daryl was the one to break the kiss, he leaned back on his heels to look down at you.

“So damn pretty.” He mumbled, his eyelids struggling to stay open. If he wasn't drunk on the wine he was drunk on you and this new way of having you, a way he never even considered. This was it, he thought, this is how he wanted to have sex for the rest of his life. Swallowing each other whole, touching and caressing every inch of skin.

His eyelids didn't feel so heavy when he saw you suck in a deep breath. Your eyes closed and you grabbed at your hair and breast, your head lolling to the side, your mouth hanging open, your face all twisted up-

You came hard around him, shuddering and gasping and whimpering as you enjoyed your sweet orgasm. It was so different, so drastically different from the last one he gave you. You didn't feel like you were on fire, clawing at your skin with your throat raw, you felt like you were being slipped into the warm black lake that was Daryl Dixon.

“Daryl, oh my god Daryl.” Your words slurred in your mouth and he leaned down to kiss you. He wanted to swallow every little noise you made. Wanted to swallow your breaths, wanted to swallow you.

“Ss-shh-fuck.” He bubbled against your lips as he came, forgetting to pull out again. He didn't give a shit anymore. He moaned then, such a beautiful noise that it nearly shattered your heart. So shameless, he didn't hold back at all, letting you hear all of it, all that you earned from him.

He ground his hips into you well after you both finished, making sure every last drop of his cum filled you up. He buried his face in your neck and rolled his hips, his rough pubes grinding against your throbbing clit. You'd never come that way before, not without at least a little outside stimulation, the fact he made you cum from penetration alone changed your life for good.

It was hard to bite back any further words. You moaned softly at the feeling of his dick still dragging against your walls, nudging against you each time in a way that was nearly too much to bear.

You looked at him with admiration. He looked beautiful. You reached up and ran your hand over his short hair, wiping the sweat from his brows. He looked at you, something he needed great courage to do, and sighed.

He couldn't think of anything to say. He felt ashamed, embarrassed, he'd been so deeply vulnerable that it physically hurt him. He swore he'd blow his goddamn brains out if you laughed or made fun of him.

But you didn't, you just smiled up at him with that dangerous look on your face that had his heart racing. It should've relaxed him, but it didn't, it made the muscles in his shoulders tense.

“Do you want me to leave?” You whispered as you stroked his cheek, fully prepared for him to go back to the same old Daryl Dixon you knew and tolerated.

“Do whatcha want.” He breathed, finally pulling his soft dick from you.

“Good. Then I'll stay.” You leaned up on your elbows and kissed his jaw before slipping into the bathroom.

When you climbed back in bed he was pretending to be asleep. You scoffed quietly in amusement and pulled a thin sheet over the two of you, curling up behind him. You decided that wouldn't suit you so you turned over and wrapped your arm around his waist, nuzzling your face in the back of his neck.

You kissed the skin there once before pressing your forehead against the same spot, closing your eyes when you felt comfortable.

Daryl stared at the wall in front of him as he felt your fingers softly fidget with the buttons of his shirt. They soon stilled and your breathing slowed to a point where he could barely hear it anymore. Only then did he close his eyes, and secretly enjoy the way you held him.

The next morning was awkward when you woke up and saw Glenn still passed out on the couch.

@ophelialaufey @carlgrimesgfofficial @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfish-daydreams

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megalony · 8 months

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Protect His Girls

This is an Evan Buckley imagine, I am hoping to turn this into a series if anybody is interested. Feedback is always lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @topguncultleader @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts

911 Masterlist

Summary: Both Evan's wife and daughter have a lot of allergies between them. So Evan does everything he can to look after them and keep them safe.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Alright, and I am-" Evan turned on his heels, a tender smile on his face that faded into a gruesome grimace when something bashed into his chest the moment he spun round. His arms lifted in the air and his chest tightened and sucked in but it didn't make a difference. The carton of milk in Chimney's hands was no well and truly soaked into Evan's shirt and trousers. "-Out."

He muttered defeatedly under his breath, lowering his arms to his sides before he tipped his head back and let a groan break past his lips.

"Fuck,"

"Sorry Buck," Chimney scrunched his nose and pursed his lips as he looked up at his friend with guilt in his eyes.

"This will be my third shower of the day." Evan pulled his plain grey shirt away from his chest but it didn't help. He could feel the milk soaking into his shirt and sending shivers down his legs that were now cold and drenched. Just as he was about to head home. Perfect.

"Why, just go get changed." Ravi pointed over his shoulder towards the stairs, trying to indicate to the locker room downstairs. There was no point going for another shower if he had a change of clothes in his locker he could get into and just head home.

"No, I need to shower."

"Oh, is, is this your cleanliness thing?"

Chimney looked across at Ravi and shook his head. This was not a conversation he should start and it wasn't the right time to get into that either. He could see the grimace on Evan's face at the mention of it. But Ravi noticed the same as everyone else that Evan showered as soon as he got to the station and then again before he left after shift. And Ravi had seen the way Evan would thoroughly wash his hands after touching certain things like they were contagious.

"Didn't you hear?" A colleague Ravi knew to be called Adam passed by Evan, giving him a rather dirty look as if he wanted to rile him up before he wandered over to the table Ravi was sitting at. "Buck's little wife is allergic to everything. Even him."

Adam scoffed around his coffee cup, seemingly unaware that now he had Chimney, Hen and Eddie all furiously glaring at him like he had shot someone right in front of them. Not everyone in the team knew about Evan's home situation and Adam had overheard and put a few pieces together, badly.

"What the fuck did you just say?"

Evan let go of his shirt and turned round on his heels, blazing fury burning deep within his blue eyes when he stared at the person he thankfully never had the pleasure of working with. Adam was rotated on most of Evan's opposite shifts and they never had to work closely when they were out on a big call.

"It's the truth, isn't it? You keep her wrapped up in a little bubble of protection because she's a hypocondriac."

"Why don't you come and say that to my face?"

Evan clenched his hands into fists at his sides and took three daring steps closer to Adam who was taking small sips of his coffee with one hand casually leant against the table, propping himself up at an angle. One step closer and he would be within reach to smash his fist into Adam's face and enjoy the burning pain it would cause them both. Evan hadn't been in many fights in his life but he was no stranger to throwing punches and he could start a brawl right here in the station kitchen if he wanted to.

Adam didn't look like he would be much of an opponent to beat in a fight and after what he just said, Evan was ready to let loose on him.

How dare he stand there and spout rumours that weren't true and talk as if he knew (Y/n). Adam had never met her before, the only one of the team who had met (Y/n) was Chimney and that was only because he had come round to Evan's house with Maddie. Bobby knew about (Y/n) but he had never met her before. Adam knew nothing about her and Evan and yet here he was, stood making jibes and accusations.

Before anyone could stop him, Evan stepped forward and scrunched Adam's shirt up in his fists, yanking him off the table and pulling him closer until they were so close their noses were almost touching. Evan's upper lip curled into a snarl and his eyes darkened when Adam visibly paled in front of him but stayed silent.

Maybe he didn't think Evan would try and start a brawl right here in front of everyone.

"Go on, say it again."

"Alright that's enough!" Reaching over, Hen curled her hands around Evan's bicep as Eddie did the same to his other arm and they both wrenched him back. They pulled him five feet back towards the balcony so he couldn't throw the first punch and be suspended for fighting. That wasn't what anybody needed. And none of them wanted Bobby to come up and find out what was going on between them.

"He's not worth it," Eddie whispered quietly as he patted Evan's shoulder and gave him a certain, knowing look.

"Go get a shower and go home," Hen pointed towards the stairs and gave him a stern look. She was too tired to play referee to a fight this afternoon. But when she turned to look at Adam, her calm expression turned sour. "And you better disappear before you say something that'll get you suspended."

No one was going to give Adam any leeway or slack when he had just insulted Evan's wife in front of them all. He was aiming to rattle Evan's cage and cause an argument, he always was and Evan's family was the one thing that would always provoke him.

Evan jerked his arms out of Hen's grasp when she tried to turn him in the direction of the stairs. He held his hands out and huffed, sending one last glare over at Adam before he marched down the stairs for another shower. And Adam walked to the other side of the annex towards the sofa, seeing he clearly wasn't wanted around the kitchen unless he was willing to sit with the cold shoulder and silent treatment.

Evan slammed his locker open, revelling in the way it smashed into Eddie's locker and left a small dint in the metal. He shrugged off his shirt and tossed it down to the floor before he rummaged in his locker for a towel. He knew better than to try and touch the clean set of clothes in his locker before he'd had a wash. That would risk contaminating his new clothes with the milk that was slowly soaking into him and making him feel sticky and uncomfortable.

"What do you want, probie?" His head tilted back as he threw his towel over his shoulder. Evan didn't need to turn around to know the presence he felt behind him was Ravi, lurking sheepishly in the doorway.

When he turned around, he shut his locker and slumped his shoulders back against the locker, arching his back so his spine clicked into place. His arms folded over his chest, puffing out his arms and his bare chest as he raised a brow and waited impatiently for a response.

"I- I just wanted to uh, apologise. I didn't mean to cause an argument back there."

"Why? You didn't insult my wife." Evan pushed off the locker and looked down at his hands that started to grab and mess with the frayed end of the towel on his shoulder. "And just for the record, she isn't allergic to everything."

He wasn't sure why he was explaining himself. There was nothing Evan had to say to Ravi or anyone else, he didn't have to explain his situation. Bobby was the only one Evan told at first because he was Captain and he had a right to know why Evan could get so tetchy and pent up. But once he got close to the rest of the team, he eventually told them too. Hen was his friend, he confided in her. Chimney was practically his brother in law now that he was with Maddie and Eddie was his best friend. They were his family.

It was the rest of the station that Evan didn't trust. He didn't talk to them all as closely as the little group they had within their team and not everyone was kind. Some people were snarky, like Adam.

"Oh… yeah, I'm sure she isn't." Ravi held his hands together behind his back before he took a daring step into the locker room. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just great. Someone who's never even met my wife has just insulted her to my face. Do you know what it's like for us?" Evan knew his pain was talking for him. A lot of the team understood even if they couldn't fully associate with what he and (Y/n) had to go through.

"What do you mean?"

"(Y/n)'s allergic to a lot of things, if I get my gear messed up I take it home to wash. I washed my clothes here on my second day at the station, and when I went home to hug my wife, we ended up in the emergency room. She was allergic to the detergent we use here."

That had been a bad day. Evan had gone home with the intention of telling (Y/n) how strange and full on his first two days at the station had been. But when he wrapped his arms around her, suddenly she couldn't breathe. Her skin came out in a rash, her throat swelled and they had to go to the hospital for three hours because she had a bad reaction to whatever Evan washed his clothes with at the station.

"Most creams and sprays bring her out in a rash, I don't wear aftershave anymore because she can't breathe around me if I do. I wash when I come on shift and before I leave so I don't take any substances of creams or dust home that might affect (Y/n). We leave the house with two EpiPens for emergencies that always happen and you wouldn't believe the food she can't have."

Evan had never met someone with so many allergies as (Y/n). He used to be so nervous going out on dates but his first date with (Y/n) had gone amazingly well, right until he kissed her. His aftershave made her breathless and started her off coughing. So far he had only found two very faint sprays that didn't affect (Y/n).

A lot of food she couldn't have like fish, nuts and eggs.

She used the same creams and body wash and cleaning soaps that didn't give her a reaction. That meant if she or Evan bought new clothes, they went straight in the wash when they got home before they were worn.

(Y/n)'s life was made up of risks and calculations in case she got ill and Evan had to take the same precautions because he loved the bones of his wife and didn't want to risk her health.

"Like milk?"

A small smile tugged at Evan's lips and he looked down at his damp trousers and shook his head.

"Actually, no. (Y/n) isn't allergic to milk, but somehow my daughter is. My house is the equivelant of a clean room to protect my girls."

Evan had been more than relieved when their numerous hospital trips showed that Bella wasn't allergic to everything like (Y/n) was. She had taken after Evan, he had given her some of his immunity which he thanked God for. But Bella had some allergies of her own, she hadn't fully escaped (Y/n)'s curse.

Bella reacted badly to detergents, lavender, plasters and was highly allergic to milk.

To look after his family, Evan had to scrub himself clean after each shift and he couldn't get into the jeep without making sure he'd had a shower first because his family often went in the jeep with him. He couldn't risk taking any allergens home with him and setting one of his girls off. It wasn't worth the risk.

He took every precaution he could to protect his girls.

***

(Y/n) paused wih her fingers dragging halfway through her damp hair when she heard the bathroom door open. Her head turned to look over her shoulder and she strained to try and hear the footsteps in the bathroom to decipher whether it was her husband or her daughter that had walked in.

A shiver rattled down her spine and sent goosebumps rising up on her skin when the shower door opened and Evan poked his head round the door.

"What are you doing?" (Y/n) took a step closer to the wall and pressed her lips together tightly to smother her laugh when he walked in to join her. She was relieved when he shut the door so the draft finally stopped and the water created another aroma of steam to circle around them.

She let her hand drop from her hair and her eyes closed automatically when his arms circled around her waist.

"Joining you." Evan tucked his face into (Y/n)'s neck and pressed his lips against her wet, burning skin. He felt the water drip down and flatten his curls and when it traced down the bridge of his nose and fell onto (Y/n)'s shoulder, he felt her shiver against him.

"Where's Bella?" (Y/n) opened her eyes and looked down when she felt Evan's hands curve round from her hips to grab and squeeze at her waist. His thumb brushed up and down her skin against the water cascading down around them and (Y/n) took a sharp breath when he suddenly bit down on her neck like a vampire.

"Organising the trucks in her room, she's happy."

He had just left Bella's room where she was sat on the floor, lining up, moving and re-organising all her toy fire trucks. Ever since Evan joined the station and told Bella what he did for his job, she had become infatuated and now the trucks were her favourite thing to play with. She would be more than happy and content for a little while if Evan snook away to find out where (Y/n) had got to.

He caught a glimpse of (Y/n)'s dazzling yet shy smile before she turned her head and buried her nose in his hair so she could kiss his damp forehead. The touch made Evan smile against her skin that he was still kissing and nipping at like he was doing his best to create bruises all along her neck.

Taking care to be slow, (Y/n) turned around so she was facing him and dragged her fingertips up his biceps and over his shoulders until she could cup the back of his neck. Her thumbs smoothed across the side of his jaw but she gasped as Evan's hands dug into her hips and he moved her back until she was pressed against the tiles.

They were like ice cubes sticking to her burning skin and the mix of hot and cold made her shake until Evan tilted his head down so their foreheads were pressed together. Most of the water from the shower trickled down the back of Evan's neck but the leftover droplets fell down his forehead and jumped onto (Y/n)'s skin.

She liked the way the water dripped down from his pale pink lips and jumped free from his chin. Each droplet made (Y/n)'s chest tighten until she pushed her hands against his neck and pulled him down to her level. Her fingertips stayed pressed into his skin as she connected his lips down to hers.

She sucked his lower lip between her teeth and gave a little bite until Evan growled and pulled her chest up against his.

His hands moved so he had one arm wrapped around her waist and the other moved to grip the underside of her thigh. (Y/n) could feel his fingertip pinching into her skin so he had a good grip and she squeaked when he hoisted her up. He kept her shoulders pressed against the tiles and pulled her leg until she took the hint and wrapped both legs around his hips so she was sitting on his torso.

"Evan…" She muttered his name against his lips and he seemed to swallow up her moans with deep kisses and a smirk that spread across his face.

"Don't you wanna christen the new bathroom?" His voice was deeper than before and his eyes were hooded and each drop of water that fell from his lashes mesmerised (Y/n). She could feel his chest vibrating with a mix between a growl and a laugh when all she could do was groan against his lips.

They had been in their new house all of a week and Evan was making it his mission to 'christen' each room in the house. The bathroom was next on his list.

"You're insatiable."

Glancing over her shoulder, (Y/n) grinned across at Evan who had his back to her and quickly grabbed his shirt he'd left on the floor. She pulled it over her head and moved to tie her hair up in a loose bobble since it was still dripping wet from their combined shower.

"I believe that's mine."

Adrenaline sparked in (Y/n)'s stomach and she gasped when Evan reeled his free arm out and coiled it around her waist, wrenching her into his chest causing her to stumble over her feet. Her fingers latched around his arm and she leaned her head back on his bare shoulder, smiling innocently up at him.

He looked rather comical, stood in front of the sink with only a towel wrapped around his waist and shaving cream smeared across his chin, upper lip and down his neck.

Evan dropped his other hand into the sink, dipping the razor in the water and he couldn't resist leaning down to kiss her when she smiled up at him like that. His fingers danced across her stomach and he rubbed his nose against hers, smearing the shaving cream across her lips and down her chin as she squirmed in his arm and wiggled against his chest.

"Evan," (Y/n) groaned and glared up at him, wriggling her bum into his crotch to irritate him before she shimmied from his hold and reached out for the hand towel. She knew he was only teasing and it wasn't as if his shaving cream was something she was allergic to. Evan's shower gel, shampoo and shaving foam were all non-fragrance and he got the basic sensitive ones so (Y/n) wouldn't have a reaction to any of them.

She swiped the cream from her face just as Evan hooked two fingers into the back of her leggings just above her bum and reeled her close again.

"You've already christened the shower, what are you aiming for next? The sink?"

"Wouldn't be the first time. Care to recall Maddie's thirtieth birthday party?" Evan teased as he began dragging the razor along his neck and up over his chin while he dipped his right hand into her leggings.

"I remember bumping into your mother on the way out that bathroom." (Y/n) scowled up at her husband when a cheesy grin appeared behind the shaving foam he was shaving away. That had been a good party, one of the best they had thrown and (Y/n) could barely remember most of that night.

But she did remember opening the bathroom door and walking straight into Evan's mother. With her hair skewed and coming loose from her bun, bite marks up and down her neck and Evan creeping up behind her to pull down her dress that was scrunched up around her thighs.

(Y/n) was never going through that kind of embarrassment again. She would much rather have an allergic reaction in front of Evan's parents than be caught in the act like that.

Whatever Evan was about to quip back with vanished when they both heard the doorbell ring.

"Door!"

"No, Bella don't open the door!" Evan hollered back as he dropped his razor in the sink and turned around as if he was about to go out and answer the front door himself. It seemed to dawn on him that he wasn't dressed yet, but it wouldn't be the first time he had gone to the front door like this.

He didn't want Bella answering the door. She was only four and it could be anyone at the door.

"I'll go," (Y/n) pecked Evan's bare shoulder and patted her hand against his bum before she unlocked the door and headed out the bathroom. She was the only one who was dressed.

She picked up the pace and hurried down the hall to catch up with her daughter who was hurrying down the hall with one of her miniature fire trucks in her hand. When she got within reach, (Y/n) swooped down and picked Bella up, setting her down on her left hip before she reached the front door.

(Y/n) couldn't think who it would be.

Evan said he wanted to introduce her and Bella to the team, but he was waiting until next week to do that when Bobby was throwing a barbeque. So it couldn't be any of the team coming round to introduce themselves. The only person who knew where they had moved to was Maddie since they had only just moved in this week.

(Y/n) plastered a smile on her face and opened the door a little apprehensively, tightening her arm around Bella when she realised she had no idea who was stood on her porch.

"Hello,"

"Hi neighbour. I'm Mark, I love two doors down and thought I'd come over and introduce myself."

(Y/n)'s lips parted but she stayed silent and a little shocked when the man took a few steps forward and walked inside without even being asked in. He had a plump but sincere smile that creased his eyes that looked rather uncertain and uneasy.

A small 'oh' left (Y/n)'s lips when Mark reached out and took (Y/n)'s free hand to give her a handshake, but he wasn't really looking at (Y/n). He was taking in the decore. They had been relieved when they moved in that the house didn't need much decorating. They painted Bella's room a mix of white and red as she requested, and Evan went round putting up shelves and pictures and hanging frames like they had in their old apartment.

In less than a week it already felt homely and cosy.

"I- I'm (Y/n), and this is Bella." Leaning over, (Y/n) gently placed Bella down to her feet and closed the front door when she realised Mark clearly wanted a conversation before he left.

"She's a sweetie. I've made a fresh batch of cookies, do you want one?" Mark showed the film-wrapped plate in his hand and motioned the plate towards Bella. Her eyes widened and she leaned up on her tiptoes to see what cookies were on the plate.

"That's very kind but she- oh, no she can't have those."

Pushing forward, (Y/n) reached her hand out and tried to gently nudge Mark's hand away when he offered a cookie out to Bella. She was only four and she didn't grasp the concept of not being able to eat certain things. Especially when (Y/n) and Evan got her special sweets and biscuits and cakes made without milk.

Bella presumed every food handed to her was automatically safe because she was being given it.

"Is it just you two?"

"No, my husband's here somewhere," (Y/n) glanced over her shoulder while Bella silently trotted over to the living room to sit down. She hoped Evan would hurry up and get dressed and come out to save her from this conversation. (Y/n) wasn't great with new neighbours. She never knew what to say or how to act. Evan was the boysterous, outgoing one. He fitted in with any crowd and could start up a conversation about anything.

Evan was the outgoing one, (Y/n) was the indoor, introverted one who hid behind his broad frame for safety and security.

Her hands fiddled together in front of her waist when she noticed how close Mark was standing to her. He was about her height, not nearly as tall as Evan who towered over her like a sky scraper.

Moving her hand to her mouth, (Y/n) pretended to rub her nose and did her best to take a deep breath. He was wearing some strong aftershave. Whatever aftershave he had on was one that was making it harder for (Y/n) to take a proper breath when it was flooding up her nose and tightening her chest.

Her eyes widened when she glanced down at her hand. He must have used hand sanitiser before he came round. The whole of (Y/n)'s palm was starting to swell and blotch. Hand sanitiser brought (Y/n) out in a rash, the rubbing alcohol usually made her skin burn and it wasn't good when it was the new social norm with Covid in the air.

"Evan… I'll just go find him."

"Are you okay? Oh, your hand. Let me-"

"No, no I'm… Evan,"

Panic jolted through (Y/n)'s stomach as she took a step back and kept both her arms coiled up against her chest. She couldn't stay standing this close when he was making it harder to breathe in a very, very bad way.

She could feel her panic crumbling into relief when her sights set on Evan walking down the hall. Without making up her excuses, (Y/n) headed to meet Evan halfway, bumping her nose into his chest with how fast she hurried to him.

His hands automatically moved to clamp down on her hips and he smiled as he pressed his lips against her temple, keeping her as close to his bare chest as he could. He'd grabbed a pair of pants and trousers to wear but since (Y/n) had stolen his shirt, he hadn't found another one yet. But his smile faltered against her temple and he leaned his head to the side when his eyes clocked on someone in the living room.

"Who's here?"

"New neighbour, I um… God, he's setting my allergies off." Tilting her head back, (Y/n) pressed her lips together and held her hand up for Evan to inspect. She watched the way his eyes scrutinised her palm and his hand came up to clamp down on her wrist, bringing her hand in for closer inspection.

"Oh baby. I'll get rid of him."

(Y/n) shivered when Evan brought her hand closer and kissed her palm before he turned her round to switch places, keeping her behind him so he could head into the hall and kindly show their guest the door.

"Hi, my wife said- oh, hey no no don't give her that!" Pushing forward, Evan leaned over the back of the sofa that pressed deeply into his abdomen and crunched his belt into his stomach.

As quick as anything, Evan swiped the cookie from Bella's hand just as the man handed it to her. Evan tossed it back on the plate that was on the coffee table before he reached over and gently held Ella by her sides. He effortlessly lifted her up and hoisted her over the back of the sofa so he could cuddle her into his chest. He didn't want her thinking he was mad at her because he wasn't, they were still trying to teach her what allergies meant and show her the foods and items she couldn't have or touch.

Evan kissed her temple and rubbed his hand up and down her back before he looked at the new neighbour who looked a mix between annoyed and perplexed.

"Thank you, but please don't give her anything. Bella's allergic to milk and most cookies are made with butter."

He leaned his cheek against the top of Bella's head but Evan couldn't fight off the unease in his chest when he looked over at the new neighbour. As if he would just come round and try to hand out food to someone else's child. A stranger no less. He had no idea what allergies Bella may or may not have or if certain foods might upset her or make her ill.

It was a nice gesture to bring food round to get to know them, but not to hand food out to their daughter when their backs were turned.

"Is your wife alright?" He seemed to completely miss the point and talk around the subject but Evan didn't have the energy to try and argue. He needed to keep civil because they were new and it wouldn't do them any favours to make enemies in their first week.

They weren't going to be going round to other neighbour's houses anyway, not with (Y/n) and Bella's allergies. The girls barely left the house which was how (Y/n) preferred things.

"I think your aftershave might be setting off her allergies, but she's okay. Thanks for dropping by." Evan tried to be as polite as he could manage but standing three feet away from this man didn't help Evan's own sense of smell. He could understand why (Y/n) could scarcely breathe around this man.

For the last six years Evan had stopped wearing all but one kind of aftershave and even then, he didn't use much of it to be safe. They used the same air freshner and laundry detergents and cleaning products that Evan had gone nose blind to them all. Now he had someone in his home who smelt like a perfume factory and with their home being like a scientific clean room, Evan wasn't too happy to have someone come in and set off his wife's allergies.

She should be able to breathe and be safe in her own home without any reactions.

Evan followed a few feet behind the new neighbour and walked him out, happy to shut the door behind him and sigh in relief. He turned his head to pepper a flurry of kisses against Bella's forehead until she squealed and shimmied around in his arms. She brought her hands up and cupped Evan's face so she could brush their noses together.

"So baby girl, what are we doing today?"

#evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #imagine #911 imagine #evan buckley imagine #buck x reader #buck imagine #maddie buckley

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akyonceyar · 6 days

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Damian: What? Tim: I said 'Barf'. I can't deal with your bragging anymore. Damian: How is that bragging? I said 'I speak a little' when I'm actually fluent. Tim: Ugh. Shut up! Damian: Look, if you're so angry with me, why are you even here? Tim: Because Kon convinced me that if you die, I'd never hear the end of it from Bruce. Kon: That's not exactly how I phrased it. Damian: Look, I get it. You're jealous. I'd be jealous too if someone was better than me at everything their whole life. Kon: Oh no. Tim: *scoffs* Not everything. I have more allergies than you. Kon: Not the best brag. Damian: I have so many allergies, I just found out I'm allergic to chia seeds. Kon: But apparently effective. Tim: I'm allergic to chia and acai berries. Damian: Yeah? My throat gets scratchy when I eat stone fruit. Tim: Oh yeah? I'm also a better dancer than you. *starts ugly dancing* Kon: Rob, you have badly misjudged your own abilities. Damian: You think you're better than me? *ugly dances back* Kon: Oh damn... He's got a shot.

#tim drake #kon el #damian wayne al ghul #timkon #red robin #kon el superboy #damian wayne robin #dc

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mysumeow · 3 months

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HEAT 2/3 ✦﹐

BEFORE YOU READ! This is a continuation to this smut.

Warnings: reader is referred to with you/your, afab genitalia and breasts mentioned. PWP (plot what plot), threesome, piv unprotected sex.

Summary: The seasonal allergy is killing you, and the cart containing your medicine was destroyed by a group of hilichurls! Luckily, your dear friend Albedo can help you with that, but because of a mistake on his part, you end up taking the wrong medicine. Word count: 1.3k.

a/n: I kind of rushed this because today is my bday and ill be hanging out with my friends TvT we only see each other like twice a year so JKFDHSLKJFSH but i also didnt want to keep my readers waiting for an update so here it is. this smutfic is also super indulgent because tighnari and albedo are my favs from genshin so yeah :p i do have a third part in mind for this!

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ 🌷 . . MASTERLIST | PREV

“You’re late.”

Tighnari’s mouth, which was agape a few seconds ago, closed as he shot Albedo an annoyed look.

“What do you mean I’m late?”

“Had you noticed sooner the scent, you would’ve helped to soothe that condition. You very well know which one I’m talking about,” Albedo was teasing the Forest Ranger, who didn’t seem all that joyous about. “However, the heat hasn’t subsided yet. Look,”

The alchemist shifted aside to give Tighnari an unrestricted view of your still dripping arousal. Tighnari’s ears perked up, despite his attempt at keeping his flushed face calm.

Under normal circumstances, he would’ve taken a more rational solution, either by simply walking away and letting Albedo solve it himself or by giving you a suppressant—although its efficiency would be dubious, considering that you’re supposed to take it before the heat starts and the fact that you’re not an actual foxkin.

And yet he closed the door behind his back, his body sensitive to the alluring warmth yours emitted. Your body’s call for someone to breed, the scent…it was too much for him. It shattered the neglected primitive side’s fragile enclosure he had always supressed. To this point.

Albedo sat and rested his back against the bed’s headrest, telling you to hold on to his shoulders as his hands went to your hips. When did he flip your positions? You couldn’t recall, but it’s not like you were about to complain.

Tighnari’s touch through his gloves was hot on your body, and if not for Albedo’s hands holding you up, you would’ve lost your balance when Tighnari laved up your drenched pussy. He licked up your lips, both hands placed on either side of your thighs to spread you open. He repeated the motion several times before covering the expanse of your hole with his mouth, tongue delving deeper inside of you.

“F-Fuck,” Tighnari sighed, enjoying the slick coating his tongue. It was as if he became addicted to your body, only desiring more from you after every suck and lick he delivered.

Albedo shifted your attention back to him and made you face him with his hand on your chin, his lips back on yours to swallow your moans and gasps.

You tried to speak, tried to warn Tighnari of your imminent orgasm, but you could not concentrate enough to form a coherent word—other than a broken, cut-off wait—

Tighnari groaned as you came hard, tightening around his tongue as your whole body trembled.

“I can’t wait any longer.” Did Tighnari whine? Or was that your imagination? You heard the rustle of clothes behind you, and soon, his hands were on your hips again.

You felt the tip tease your aching cunt before he eased in with a swift, effortless motion. Albedo’s hands wandered down to your wrists to keep you in place the moment Tighnari thrust with desperation, going fast from the get-go. Albedo’s hungry mouth swallowed your pleasured sounds, not giving you a single moment to relax your racing heart.

“You feel so good,” Tighnari moaned. His hands went up to your tits, and he squeezed your nipples. His face and chest pressed against your back, his weight about to make you collapse if not for using Albedo’s shoulders to stabilize yourself from the sheer need of his pounding. “And your smell’s driving me crazy. I don’t—I don’t think I’ll last more.”

“Fast. You’re going too fast,” You managed to gasp through heaved breaths. Despite you blurting that out, you found yourself moving your hips to meet his, close to the peak as well. “I-I’m going to cum.” You cried.

Albedo shifted closer so his hand could stimulate your clit, albeit with little precision thanks to Tighnari's rapid paced thrusts. That bit of help was, however, enough for you to dig your fingernails into the alchemist’s skin as the waves of your release snapped from within. You heard the forest ranger groan from the pleasure and came deep inside of you, the snaps of his hips not stopping as he filled you up.

“That should suffice for your heat, perhaps. How are you feeling now?” Albedo asked while your mind was still spinning around. “Hey, are you listening?”

Your arms lost whatever strength they had, and you couldn’t hold yourself up anymore. Your body gave out, your face rested against the alchemist’s warm abdomen.

“I’m sorry, I’m still hard,” Tighnari complained; his hands massaged your thighs as if in apology. “You don’t mind if we do it again, do you?”

“I think it’d be appropriate for you to allow some margin of recuperation,” Albedo caressed your head. His touch comforted you…

For a moment, you felt like you had fallen asleep… or maybe you did, because when you opened your eyes, Albedo’s arms were around your waist. Not a single sight of Tighnari, though?

You sat up, followed by a headache, which made you want to lie down again.

“Oh, you’re up already,” Albedo cranked an eye open; his fingers traced your hand. “Are you looking for something?”

“Ti-Tighnari. Where’s he?”

“Hm?” He sat alongside you. “What’s the matter? Are you still in heat and need me to help you?”

“No, I mean…” You stopped for a moment in contemplation. “Did I dream that?”

That piqued the alchemist’s curiosity. “What did you dream?”

You opened your mouth to answer, and you closed it back the instance you realized it was far too embarrassing to tell.

“Could it be that you had a wet dream with the forest ranger? You fell asleep almost right after I had brought you to an orgasm,” Albedo didn’t even give you a chance to defend yourself; he smiled rather amusedly. “I was aware that heat can make certain animal kins insatiable, but didn’t know to what extent. If you’re in dire need of another round, I can assist you again.”

“Please stop talking,” You covered your face with your hands. “For the love of the seven archons, please don’t ever mention this to Tighnari.”

Albedo fixed his attention on you. “You have my word.”

Alright, at least that was settled. You felt a bit more at ease.

“Nonetheless, I don’t take kindly to the fact that you dreamt of someone else. Especially in the sexual nature of said dream,” Out of the blue, he pushed you against the mattress as he got on top of you. “I consider a…disciplinary correction to be most appropriate now.”

“Huh?!”

“I jest, I jest,” He pulled away from you with a faint smile. “You seemed troubled, and I wanted to lighten the mood up.”

“Jokes are meant to be funny, not to give you a heart attack!”

He softly laughed. “Let’s get ready before Tighnari notices you aren’t in your room, yes?”

#genshin smut #genshin impact x reader #albedo x reader #tighnari x reader #albedo smut #tighnari smut

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mirrology · 4 months

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hello, aventurine with a teen!reader who has a similar past like his?

ノ Oblivion .ᐟ ʚɞ

୨୧ Oblivion: (adjective) a state of unawareness of what’s going on around you. "It's hard to understand, 'Cause when you're running by yourself, It's hard to find someone to hold your hand." — grimes

aventurine & gender neutral reader. platonic | wc: 1.3k

tags/warnings: teen reader, reader works for the IPC and under aventurine, they wear gloves, said glove(s) and go missing unexpectedly, readers hair is long enough to cover their neck, reader is a lil fucked up, they really care what aventurine thinks of them. hurt/comfort.

notes: I really love this idea, the second I saw it. IMMEDIATE BRAIN ROT. IM SO SORRY THAT THIS TOOK SO LONG, i was busy with finals and I got sick with allergies T_T. Also trying new layout once more. Other than that, thank you for requesting and hope you enjoy ^^

Your breath picked up as you looked all over your room for your gloves that were nowhere to be seen. They were given to you by your caretaker, they were special, the first gift from him. You had promised that you would take care of them, yet here you were. The missing feeling of the soft cloth around your forearms made you anxious, incomplete, Beads of sweat trickled down your face as you stood in the middle of your room and still donned your night clothes, all while processing your current situation.

The palms of your hands grew increasingly clammy and it was uncomfortable to even stand, no, you couldn't go out like this. You wouldn't go out like this, you slid down to your knees, not short after you landed on your legs with a light thump that resonated within the emptiness of your room. You brought a shaky hand up to the back side of your neck, right where a serial number was forever embedded into your skin.

A constant reminder of the past you oh so wanted to let go of. The racing beat of your heart was prominent in your ears, your chest felt tight and it was getting hard to breathe.

Yes, you could wear long sleeves but they would not cover the rest of your hands. They are ugly, almost mutilated by the years of torture that you had to endure. Everytime you moved your hand, the scars on your wrists seemingly burned, ached. They stretched across your skin, they stood out from the rest of you, they didn't belong. Salty tears trickled at the corners of your eyes in utter frustration.

How could you show your face to Aventurine now? What would he think of you once he found out that you lost his most precious gift?

The deprecating thoughts raced through your mind. Your hands moved to your shoulders, hugging yourself tightly in an attempt to bring some comfort to yourself. You squeezed your eyes shut, your eyebrows furrowed. As you were lost in your mind, a series of knocks on your bedroom door brought you back to reality.

Four fast taps, a small pause then two more followed. It was a special sequence that you came up with your caretaker. Whenever he wanted to enter your room or talk to you, he just had to knock in that order.

Your head shot up in a quick motion and your eyes widened as you registered the sound resonating from your door. You knew it was Aventurine, but he wasn't supposed to be here yet, not until later. You stayed still, staring at your door silently, hoping that he would leave as you didn't want him to see you in this state.

“(Name)?” Aventurine's voice resonated from behind the door. “Are you there?” He asked as a slight shuffling sounded out. You jumped, thinking that he was going to open the door right then and there. You quickly stumbled up to your feet and reached up to your head, smoothing out your bed head in an attempt to make yourself more presentable.

“I-im on my way! Please wait!” You called out to the man behind the door as you almost tripped on your own feet towards him. You stopped in front of the door, your hand hovering over the knob. You’re hesitating, recalling how your hands felt bare and vulnerable to the world. Clenching your fist, you took a deep breath in and out.

You slowly swung the door open, a nervous smile plastered on your face. As soon as Aventurine saw you in the doorway his face lit up, he was donned in his usual attire with his iconic fedora and rose colored sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose. “There you are! I was sure that you were still sleeping” he teased, a playful smirk on his face. You sweatdropped at his eccentric behavior this particular morning, “My apologies, Sir Aventurine” You bowed your head towards him, eyes closed. His demeanor dampened at your action, he put a hand on his hip and raised an eyebrow.

“You don't have to use sir when referring to me, ya know?” Aventurine's tone was soft and encouraging, your eyes shot open in embarrassment at the correction but they stayed glued to the floor in front of you. Your face flushed hot and you nodded your head, not trusting your voice enough to stay normal. Aventurine opened his mouth to speak once more but stopped when he noticed tear streaks on your cheeks, his eyes narrowed as he noticed more details that were off about you.

Your eyes were slightly red as well as puffy, clear signs of crying, as if the tears on your cheeks didn’t give that away. The long sleeve of your sleep wear was balled in your fist, essentially dragging the cloth down to cover your hand, one that was littered in scars. The other hand was clutched against the bottom side of your pajamas as your hand shook.

Aventurine brought a gloved hand up to your cheek, hovering right over it. You tensed up, your head slowly tilted up to meet his eyes. They were hard to read behind his glasses yet you could make out concern in his dual colored eyes. When you didn't flinch away from his hand, Aventurine pressed his thumb underneath your eye, right where a tear was slipping down.

He flicked the tear away but didn’t retract his hand, it rested your cheek, the glove that covered his hand was surprisingly warm.

“Are you alright?” He asked, his voice quiet and gentle as if you would run away just like a startled bunny. You stayed still, tensed up from the unfamiliar touch.

Your eyes flickered to the side, wanting to shy away from Aventurine’s gaze that was focused on your face, a little too intensely.

You bit the inside of your cheek, the one that he wasn't holding. “I lost.. my gloves, I'm sorry” You sighed, your eyebrows furrowed in distress, awaiting his response and expecting a bad one at that. He blinked, seemingly in a dazed manner as his mind was processing your words one by one. A bemused smile crossed his face, “That's what you're so worried about?” Aventurine tittered, the back of his other hand coming up to his mouth to cover up his laugh.

You let out a confused “eh?” as you managed to look him in the eyes. They were filled with amusement and understandment. This wasn't the reaction that you were expecting.

He chuckled, he moved that hand that was once holding your cheek to rest on top of your head. “It's okay to lose things'' Aventurine's hand started stroking your hair “Material things like that can be replaced, and they were getting old anyway.” He shrugged, a laid back smile now on his face.

Tears sprung up once more, his words were understanding, you don't know what you had been so afraid of.

“but…” You muttered, one of your hands coming up to wipe away the incoming waterworks. “But those were special, right?” Aventurine tilted his head, his thoughts aligned with yours as if he was reading your mind. You gave a small “mhm” and nodded your head.

“Hmm, how about this..” He removed his gloved hand from the top of your head and moved it to cupping his chin. “I'll have your new ones custom made, a replica of your old ones. To preserve the memory.” Aventurine gave you a closed eye smile, hand resting on his hip.

Your eyes widened a small fraction, “You would do that for me?” You meekly replied and clutched your fists, your eyes glossy. Aventurine raised his eyebrows in surprise “Why wouldn't I? You mean a lot to me” He reassured you, that same warm smile still present on his face. Your bottom lip quivered and in one quick motion you tackled him into a tight hug.

Aventurine tensed for just a second, then melted into your embrace, wrapping his arms around you to hug you back.

“Thank you…” Your voice muffled from where you buried your face in his shirt.

“Anytime” He patted your back as the both of you relished in each other's embrace.

#honkai star rail #platonic relationships #reader insert #x reader #gender neutral reader #hsr platonic #hsr x reader #hsr x reader platonic #hsr #aventurine honkai star rail #aventurine x reader platonic #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine #hsr spoilers #spoliers #platonic hsr x reader #platonic aventurine x reader #platonic #platonic hsr

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morganbritton132 · 2 years

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Eddie goes live on Tiktok looking like absolute shit which is good because that’s what he feels like. He’s got a runny nose, a fever, a couch, and he’s got the camera held at a weird angle because he doesn’t even have his eyes open. He croaks out, “No one fucking tells you that if you breathe in all the toxic air in the hell dimension you spent spring break in than you shouldn’t marry a teacher who spends all day with germ-infested gremlins because you’ll catch every fucking upper respiratory infection in town.”

You can hear Steve, who sounds just as awful, tell Eddie to shut up and get off his phone before Eddie’s phone is shoved out of his hand and onto the floor. From the floor, you can only see part of the bedding and Eddie’s messy nightstand but you can hear Eddie say, “Oh-ho, does Steve Harrington have something to say? Does Steve ‘I don’t need a flu shot, this is just allergies’ Harrington wanna say something? Do you still have a fever? Yeah, then don’t-“

“Shut the fuck up or I’ll smother you in your sleep.”

“I’d like to see you gather the strength, big boy.”

They don’t talk much after that but Eddie never ends his live so for an hour and a half, you could listen to Steve and Eddie toss and turn, sneeze and cough, and gripe at each other about hogging the blankets until they fall asleep. Eventually Nancy picks up the phone, wearing two masks and protective goggles. She squints at the screen, rolls her eyes, and then ends the live.

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#Steve and Eddie always get sick together because Steve will catch something from work and Eddie won’t stay away from him so he gets sick too #It’s Eddie’s god given right to be dramatic and he will…once he can stand without feeling like he’s going to throw up #eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson tiktok saga #steddie

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chronically-ghosted · 10 months

Text

i crawl home to her

rating: 18+ explicit

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 8.2K

summary: you bring dieter home to meet your family over the holidays.

warnings/tags: discussions of food, mentions of weight gain, brief biphobia, bad family dynamics, hiding parts of yourself to make yourself more palatable, dom!Dieter when his type-A girlfriend needs him to, smut in places it shouldn’t be, a family can be two people, bad jokes, mentions of marriage and kids, one light booty smack, peep the super obvious bob's burgers reference, minimal edited, you can pry the image of dieter in ugg's from my cold dead hands

a/n: i've caved and finally added to the evergrowing pile of "Pedro boy fucks you in your childhood home". @sp00kymulderr i told you i'd get it out today -- it might be tomorrow for you, but it's not yet midnight! i present to you part 2 of merry thanksgiving nonsense2023!

🤍Masterlist

You nearly miss the exit off the gray-slushy highway because you’re trying to remember Aunt Gayle’s food allergies.

And Uncle Rick’s preferred way of taking his coffee in the morning.

And the right detergent to use when washing your niece’s clothes, or else your sister will come after you with a hatchet.

“Baby, you’re gnawing your fingernails bloody.”

You blink, surprised to find your hand anywhere near your mouth, the other white-knuckling the steering wheel, and to your enormous embarrassment, he was right – you’d pulled up several hangnails, leaving tiny pink gouges, right under your immaculate holiday nails you got for the express purpose of looking presentable in all the inevitable Insta photos your sister demands every year.

“Fuck,” you mutter and curl your fingers into your fist as if to hide temptation. From the passenger’s seat, Dieter frowns.

“Twizzler to make it better?” He spins the red, bendy candy enticingly. Your mind suddenly flashes back to the time you both got way too high on his new bong and he made the exact same motions with his dick. You had never laughed so hard in your life.

The red candy whipping around in a circle, you groan into the steering wheel.

“I’m turning around. This was a terrible idea.”

“What are you so nervous about?” Dieter half-way laughs. He pulls his Ugg-stuffed feet off the dashboard and sits up. Crumbs from the Starbucks Christmas sugar cookie spill off his “Kris Kingle My Jingle” sweater and onto the seat, but it’s those fucking earnest, curious eyes that always seem to rock your world. You occasionally don’t like to be touched when you’re stressed, so out of the corner of your eye, you see his hand waver before falling back in his lap. “It’s just dinner.”

“Yeah, but it’s holiday dinner with my family. They’re all so judgy and mean and every time I come home for more than twenty-four hours, I’m reminded exactly why I fucked off to California.”

“Maybe they’re jealous you’re a hot shot director,” Dieter suggests. “Or that you have a ruggedly handsome movie star boyfriend.” Eyebrow raised, he twirls the Twizzler again and manages to bite it out of the air. You half-way expected it to smack him in the face. “They know I’m coming, right?”

You bite your lip, the last phone call with your mother still achingly heavy in your chest.

“You know what she asked when I told her I was bringing home the one and only Dieter Bravo as my boyfriend to meet my family?” You don’t need to look at him to see the furrow in his brow, the slight curve in his shoulders. You prop your elbow up against the window, rubbing your forehead with your fingers. “She asked if it was a career move. If I was dating you to get ahead in the industry . . . like I’m trying to sleep my way to the top.”

There’s a fraught silence. You listen to the wheels churn dirty black snow so you don’t have to look at him.

“Then why in the world would you start with my dumb ass?”

Despite yourself and despite what’s coming, you smile. But you fight it, wrapping your lip up between your teeth. So he continues:

“If you really want to make it big, you gotta date someone at least forty years older than you. So, what? We’re talking seventy. But, wow, think of the money. Bet he has his dick dripped in gold just to keep it hard–,”

“Dieter!” You swat at him, smile too big to contain, and he grins, grabbing you by the wrist. “That’s terrible!”

“But I made you laugh, didn’t I?”

You smirk. “Barely. More like ha ha than a big chuckle.”

He nips your palm, the rough hair on his chin scraping the soft skin.

By some minor miracle and a forcible act of God, your mother is allowing you two to share a bedroom. Not out of respect for your relationship, of course, but there is simply not enough room to spare. You watch those perfect lips imprint themselves in the cup of your hand and you’ve never been more thrilled to have to share a double bed. God, you cannot be this wet before you have to look your mother in the eye. You retract your hand with a breathy exhale.

“We don’t have to stay long,” Dieter says, a weight to his gaze that proves he hasn’t completely blown off your concern. He twists his body in the seat and crosses his arms, his shoulder pressed into the seat. He watches you with his head against the headrest. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“I’m already on thin ice because we’re just staying two days.” You shake your head. “My sister and her family have already been there since Monday and plan to stay the rest of the week.” You inhale, hold, and exhale until you can feel your shoulders drop. “It’s just . . . I’ve worked so hard to make something of my life, to be someone I can be proud of, and it just doesn’t matter to them. They want me to marry a banker or something, and quit my job to do cutesy family blogging on Instagram. They’ve never, ever liked the real me.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see something come over Dieter’s face. Not annoyance, or irritation, but as if someone kick started his brain. But it passes and he brushes the back of your hand resting over the gearshift with his fingers.

“I like the real you,” he says quietly. “In fact, I really, really, really like the real you. I gotta keep you around. Who else is gonna remember the name of the best Chinese food place when I’m high?”

Dieter is sweet, knows the wonders his smile can accomplish, with a twinkle in his eyes. A bit crude, a little distractible, but ultimately, well-meaning. However, he seemed physically incapable of maintaining sincerity. Which in the beginning, was also cute, but now, in a moment of crisis, it was boyish in a way that made you worried. A little scared. Like too much pressure and he’d break.

Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on?

History says no.

So, maybe you’d just carry everything.

You smile at him and return your hand to the steering wheel.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The car squeals as it stops in the driveway, wheels crunching the cold ice. You look up at your childhood home with the same unease and trepidation that’s been there since childhood.

“Go let ‘em know we’re here,” Dieter says as he unbuckles his belt. There’s still crumbs in the knit of his sweater. At least his sweatpants are clean. But there’s nothing you can do about those Uggs right now–

His hand squeezes yours, centering the universe that’s spinning like the inside of a martini shaker. You can feel the weight of his gaze press into your chest – heavy, warm, forgiving. He smiles, then slides into a smirk.

“Chillax, bro. Your vibes are not gnarly.”

You huff, trying to offer a smile that’s not a grimace. This was such a bad idea. Maybe it’s not too late to go pay for one of those mail-order boyfriends and keep Dieter in his nice California, hippie plastic wrap.

You hear your name being called from the porch and that smile fully plummets into a grimace. Gathering from that reserve of confidence that makes you look at male writers, directors, and (yes) actors and tell them they’re idiots and get the fuck off your set, you open the door and head around the corner to the front of the house.

Yeah, in the face of your mother, that reserve is basically a trickle.

She’s waiting for you on the porch, red dish towel in hand.

“I thought that might be you, darling! I’d recognize that squeak from that rust bucket anywhere.” She smiles, arms wide, as you bend down to give her a hug. You've had to bend down to hug your mother for years now and you still feel about two feet tall. “How are you? You’ve been good? You look pale, but you’ve definitely been eating, haven’t you?”

She pinches your cheek as if to show you all the extra fat you have on your face.

“Where’s Dad?” You try not to look like you’re tearing your face out of her grip and glance into the surprisingly quiet house over her shoulder. “Aren’t Emma and Dan supposed to be here?”

“Your father is out finishing his latest woodworking piece. He’s been at it for days, no matter how much I beg him to help with the food or the house. It’s all on me again to save the holidays.”

As it is every year.

“Your sister and her family went out to get more sweet potatoes. They eat sweet potatoes in California, don’t they?”

Here it comes.

“Yes, Mom, they eat sweet potatoes.”

“Oh good, I thought it’d be considered a carb.” She frowns, hands on her hips as if you’re about to get a proper scolding. “Now you told me you’re going to be bringing your fancy actor boyfriend. Damian Bravado, right? I cooked for exactly seven people, darling, a single empty chair will throw the whole thing off!”

“Yes, Mom, my boyfriend, Dieter Bravo, is here. He’s just in the–,”

Someone, distinctly not your boyfriend, or at least not the boyfriend you left in the car, waltzes up the front steps.

Rings gone.

Earring gone.

Gloves that would make Ryan Gosling seethe with envy covering the tattoo on his hand.

His hair slicked back and curling deliciously around his ears, his dark jeans cover the laces of maroon Timberland boots. His black turtleneck clings to his wide chest, the leather jacket broken in enough to be soft, but not so used there’s tears in the seams. And, to top it all off, his cream-colored scarf curled around his throat looks like it came out of a Hallmark movie.

Maybe you are in a Hallmark movie. Maybe on the way up the porch, you slipped and banged your head and all of this is a bizarre, weirdly-erotic dream. Maybe someone actually did call in a mail-order boyfriend who looks exactly like Dieter and the real one is hog-tied in the trunk of your car. Maybe –

You’d heard of quick costume changes, but this is ridiculous.

“Debbie!” He calls out, like they’ve been best friends for twenty years. He flourishes a wrapped bouquet of flowers, bright red against the white snow, and hands them to her after bouncing up the steps. His cheeks are tinged pink, as if he’d run the block, but without a drip of sweat on him, he’s simply glowing with what could be presumed as the holiday spirit.

To your never-ending and horrific surprise, your mother squeals as she takes the flowers.

“Poinsettias! My –,”

“Favorite, I know.” You stumble out of the way when he leans down and kisses her on her cheek. “And they’re fake, so you can reuse them next year. But you’d never know it at $300 a pop.”

Okay, yes, this is a clone of your boyfriend, a walking holiday Ken doll – Dieter never, ever brags about money.

“I’m not a banker or anything, but I like to spoil my girls.”

The bastard winks at you.

Your mother has turned to gooey, drippy putty in his hands. She’s redder than the hand towel and the poinsettias combined. She flounces, flutters, eyes springing back and forth between the ruby-red flowers in her hands and Dieter’s achingly handsome face – one that hasn’t dimmed that thousand gigawatt smile since he first arrived.

“Oh, oh my goodness – well, this is just lovely – it’s so nice to finally meet you – I can’t believe she’s been hiding you from us all this time – please, please come in, you must be freezing!”

She backs into the house, still staring at the flowers, then as if she hadn’t been living here for the past fifteen years of her life, she bounces towards the dining room, then on a quick turn, heads for the kitchen, then turns again to the hallway closet.

“Oh gracious – where did I put – it must be – come in and shut the door behind you – you know where your room is, darling, I’ll be back in just a second, I just have to – ah, these are spectacular –”

A door down the hallway finally swings shut and muffles your mother’s insane rambling.

So dazed, you don’t see him move until he’s pressed you up against the glass etching of the door, his hand palming your hip and the other diving to cup the back of your neck. He tugs you down into his mouth before you have time to blink.

Jesus Christ, mint? His breath smells like mint??

God, he even fucking kisses like a Hallmark Prince. His mouth pulls you into him and your brain whites out – careless of the little whimper you make, careless of the fact that literally any one of your family members could walk in right now, careless that you’re teetering into him as if on string. Your breath flutters down his throat and he huffs through his nose. The tips of his fingers are chilly enough that you shiver at his touch.

He edges the bottom of your lip with his tongue before pulling back and tightening his grip in your hair.

And there’s that Dieter smirk you are all too intimately familiar with.

“How’m I doing?” He mutters. His gaze flickers between your eyes, your nose, and your kissed-pink lips. “I’d say I got Mama Bear on my side.”

Maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t always like this. Between the fresh breath scent in his mouth, the fragrance of his much-too expensive cologne permeating your senses, and his thick thigh shoved under your groin, you are embarrassingly boneless in his arms. You pluck your fingers over the soft leather collar at the back of his neck, just as much to inspect the jacket, as much as to release more of that delicious smell.

“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” You mutter, smirking, as you wind your fingers into his curls. “Spoil my girls, what the fuck was that?”

“Ah, ha, ha, ha,” he gloats as he lowers his head to your neck. You expect a warm kiss in the length of skin you’ve exposed to him, but instead his teeth lightly tease your throat above your pulse point and you feel your knees buckle as your face warms. “I can be very charming when I want to be.” He squeezes your ass as if to make a point.

You hold back a moan, flattening it to a shudder in your chest. You can feel his grin in your neck and he shifts you, pulls you closer and compresses you deeper into the wooden door. You can feel your conscious thought melting through your fingers so you blink, lick your lips, try to wiggle out from under his teeth.

“This isn’t a Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. This is Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” You gasp his name into the foyer of your childhood home when he licks you from the curve of your shoulder up under the soft place below your ear. Your hips jerk unconsciously, baser instincts seeking out the friction of his jeans, and you push against his biceps. “Dieter, she’ll be back any minute. She can’t – can’t see us like this.”

You’ve never heard him chuckle like the way he does, so darkly pleased with himself.

“Once I’m done schmoozing her, your father, your sister and her – what did you call him – cardboard husband, we’ll fuck in front of them and they won’t say a word.”

“Dieter!” You shove him just as your mother returns from the kitchen.

She frowns and you feel the scolding coming, the scent of Dieter so obviously entangled in you. You might as well be wearing a sign that reads, hi, yes, I’ve been recently groped why do you ask?

“Did you forget where your room is? Honestly, what would you do without me? Now, follow me and I’ll remind you.”

Schmooze he did.

From the same magical bag of weirdly specific and perfect gifts, Dieter presents a bottle of Buffalo Trace bourbon and two very illegal, but very Cuban cigars. Your father forgets to scowl in the face of some of the most expensive bourbon in the world.

For your sister, he somehow senses that material objects won’t go as far, so he endears himself to your niece first. Asking her questions about her doll, about her school, what she likes to play with her friends and how crazy it is that hopscotch is his favorite game too.

In twenty minutes, he’s on his hands and knees, black sleeves pulled up over his immaculate forearms, and etching out a hopscotch board with pink chalk. He nods and interjects while your niece runs around him, demanding a dragon in the corner, or a crown in another, and suddenly your biological clock starts blaring like an air-raid siren.

“He’s so good with kids,” your sister mutters to you from the door to the garage. A single glance tells you she’s under the same effect of watching a hot man play with a child. You’re so aroused and confused you can’t even eye her with jealousy.

“Mhmm hmm.”

“When are you going to have some of your own?”

And you’re back inside before you can see the look on his face as he lifts his head.

It would be insulting to call it eerie.

It’s not like he’s physically incapable of smelling clean, or dressing nice, or even combing his hair. You’ve seen him do it time and time again for galas and interviews. Hell, that time he took you on a date to get sushi in the tallest building in Toronto, he didn’t look that much different from how he does right now . . . and yet . . .

You feel your face scrunch in suspicion when he remembers your aunt’s food allergies, how your Uncle Rick likes his after-dinner coffee.

Dieter might forget to put on pants, but he’s never forgotten the important dates of your relationship. He remembers what you were wearing the first night you kissed, but can’t remember to take out the pizza before it burns in the oven.

This, this Dieter, feels wrong.

You watch him laugh with your father and uncle by the fireplace with brandy in his hands as you work with your mother and sister to unwrap a dozen saran-wrapped pies. He comes by later and takes the stack of plates from your mother’s hands and assures her he’ll do the dishes, as thanks for such a wonderful meal.

This Dieter Bravo needs a smoking jacket and uses words like “wonderful meal”.

Initial surprise at his near magical transformation from the car this morning long gone, you sit with this uncomfortable feeling, as everyone around you eats pie and laughs and looks all the part of a fucking Hallmark card for “joyful festivities”, long enough to finally understand it for what it is:

Anger.

Shame. Guilt.

Hot embarrassment.

You look at the man who’s invaded your boyfriend’s body as he charms the pants off your mother and father, and ugly, heavy embarrassment boils over in your chest. Washing the knife in your throat down with your fourth glass of wine all night, you excuse yourself with the last bit of breath in your lungs before ducking upstairs, then stumbling to your childhood bathroom you once shared, and share again, with your sister.

You lock the door forcefully in lieu of slamming it shut and sit down on the tile, your head against your knees. Rationally, there’s a part of you that knows this shouldn’t affect you like it is. Women would kill for a boyfriend like this – your sister very nearly jumped him in the garage.

But that’s just the thing – this isn’t your boyfriend. This isn’t the man you spend your days and nights with and this isn’t the man you fell in love with. This isn’t the Dieter you want to show the world.

A soft knock comes from the other side of the door and it breaks you out of your self-deprecating spiral.

“Just a second,” you call out as you stand. You flush the empty toilet (this night is filled with ruses after all) and twitch the faucet on for two seconds. But when you open the door, you’re immediately cowed back in.

“Dieter, what are you–,”

“Are you okay?” Beneath the veneer of the Million Dollar Man, his eyes are soft, coaxing the anxiety out of you. “You looked pale when you left.” He tucks an escaped strand of hair over your ear, watching how his fingers brush up against your skin. He gently tangles his fingers in your hair as he pulls back. He smirks. “Mom’s dressing wasn’t that bad.”

White-hot shame blooms again and you turn your head from him, tugging your hair out of his reach. You catch his hurt expression out of the corner of your eye.

“I’m fine. Just needed some air.”

“You’re not a good liar. I’ve told you that.” His voice is clipped. Not irritated, but not interested in lengthy bouts of misdirection either.

“Well, I don’t feel like bearing my problems to Mr. Perfect.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He crosses his arms, shoulders swelling in the space of the tiny bathroom, and he leans on the sink.

“It means you’re a better liar than me so I guess you’ll have to do it for the both of us.”

You know it’s ridiculous to try and move around him – but maybe this Dieter wouldn’t care if you left angry. Even sober, he could manhandle you without a second thought, but between the heat of the drink in your throat and he’s blurred at the edges, you know you’re fighting a losing battle.

“Dieter, please, just –,”

He stands his ground, effectively blocking the door, and you huff, pushing up against his waist with your hands, your teeth bared behind your lips. He steps back, you think you’ve won a mile, but then his hands grasp so firmly around your elbows, your entire consciousness is pulled into where his fingers curl against your skin.

He gently, but seriously, shakes you slightly.

“Stop fighting me. You tell me what I did wrong and we’ll talk about this.”

The past two weeks of dread, and fear, and worry, and shame – shame that this is your family, this is how you go to pieces around them, this is all you can offer him – slam into your chest and your breathing hitches. The fingers at his chest dig into his shirt. The fourth glass of wine makes your eyes hot and tight.

“This isn’t you.”

You grimace in the bright light of the bathroom and your confession. But beyond your closed eyes, his demeanor hasn’t changed.

“What’s not me?”

A tear slips out the moment you open your mouth, your throat closing and gagging on your words. You swallow and try again, eyes peeling open to stare at the curve of his shoulder.

“You’re Dieter Bravo. You dry-clean your favorite pajamas to preserve the material. You do astrology charts of people who piss you off to find out how to best get back at them. You paint until four in the morning and sleep in our bed until I wake you up–,”

Your heart thrusts its way into your airways and cuts off your ability to speak. You know you’re not making a lot of sense, but all you can think of right now is how much you want to peel this fucking black, Steve Jobs-esque, goddamn ugly-ass turtleneck apart with your bare hands. Like freeing a mermaid from a net. He squeezes your waist, his broad palm settled in the curve of your lower back.

“Darling, I don’t see why this has you so sad –,”

“They won’t fall in love with you like I did.” You lift your watery gaze to him, unable to stop the spilling of tears. You always got teary when you drank a bit too much, but fuck, if you didn’t love him so much, you wouldn’t be so mad . . . at yourself. “I hate that you feel like you have to do this to be accepted by my family. I hate that they can’t see what makes you so special to me. I hate . . . I hate that they don’t see the real you.”

And out of nowhere, he smiles.

Never one to shy away from bodily fluids, Dieter kisses your tear-soaked cheeks, his hands rising up your back, taking their time to press into the curve of your hips, the bones of your ribs, the high arch of your spine, before settling on your cheeks. He kisses your wet mouth, thumbs against the corners of your lips like a soft leather bridle. He holds you, just like that, until your heart eases, stops racing in your chest, and you lean more into the kiss, chasing instead of hiding. You wrap your fingers around his wrists as he pulls away.

“With all due respect, this is just another gig for me.” His gentle smile hides no bitterness, no anger. No disgust. “I know what people like this are like, how they think, what they want. What they value.” He smears away the cold tears from your skin with his thumbs. “It’s fun, in a way, to infiltrate their little circles. It’s all fake, it’s all bullshit, and fortunately I’m fantastic at bullshit.”

You let out a watery laugh and he reaches behind you for some toilet paper to dry your tears. He blots your eyes for you before you can even take the tissue.

“You’re not forcing me to do anything, baby,” he murmurs. “My family was exactly the same way, so I know how the game is played.”

“Yeah, and you don’t talk to them anymore. I just wish I had your bravery to cut them out of my life like you did.”

Dieter’s mouth twitches. “Well, that had more to do with the fact that I like to occasionally make out with boys, than dysfunctional family dynamics.”

You squeeze his forearm as he continues to clean your face, trying to catch his eyes but they’d gone hard where a moment ago they were soft. He thinks, using the silence to carefully fix your make up with his thick thumb under your eyelashes to lift off the smeared mascara.

He didn’t talk much about his life before Hollywood, but when he did, you understood why he was so closed off about it.

“Let’s put it this way: they did the cutting off, not me. And even if we have to be completely different people, your family still talks to you. I’m not saying that to guilt you, or compare trauma scars, but . . . most times we can’t pick who we love, but sometimes we have to.”

You nod, a sense of ease washing over you. His small, I don’t know if I should say this but I’m gonna smile widens across his mouth.

“It’s okay if they don’t see the real me, because I know you do.” He finally pulls away the tissue, his mouth pulled up in sweet earnest. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

A physical string connected between your ribs and his could not have tugged you faster. Tripping into his wide, warm chest, you drop your head onto his collarbone as you wrap your arms around his torso tighter than his own rib cage.

“Just . . .”

His bulky arms pull you into his chest, the bristles of his beard scratching at your temple. It’s not until you sink away from your own thoughts, into the silence in the bathroom, that you realize your breathing is synced with his.

That realization hits you particularly hard, that without trying, without meaning to, you become one with him – you turn and bury your face into the pulse of his neck. If you can get to his heartbeat, maybe that’ll calm you too. Dig through the crust of the earth and end up in China. You shift in his arms, and he does too. Dieter cups the back of your head, thumb rubbing the arch of your skull. His entire arm circles your back.

“What do you need, hm, baby? What can I give you, huh?”

You know he doesn’t mean it like that, but the girth, the weight of his voice has your toes curling in your shoes. His rasp is so often used to light that first spark.

“Dieter –,” the moment shifts and so do you. You squirm, itching for his face in your hands, his mouth over yours, but he holds you steady. Holds you firm. So firm, you can feel he’s half-hard in his jeans.

Oh.

Maybe he did mean it like that.

You press your tongue against his pulse point, your fingers splayed across the back of his rib cage, and he shudders. You’re about to bite down, when his hands peel your fingers from his back and pinch your wrists in one single, meaty grip. Heart suddenly thundering in your chest, he steps back to allow for just enough room to turn you – barely any at all – and pushes you face down on the sink counter, your wrists clasped over your ass behind you.

Cold marble pressing up against your tits, your face turned towards the window and the towel bar where you used to hang your Barbie swimsuits when you were seven, you feel his other massive palm dip under your sweater and press flat against the ridges of your spine. He hums when you let out a small whine. Flexes his fingers when you wiggle your ass against him. You seek out the marble with your cheek, heat rising under your skin, arousal suddenly burning hot in your low belly.

“This is what you need, hm, baby? Need me to touch you? To feel you?” He murmurs. Dieter always did like playing with his food. You nod helplessly, cheek sticky against the marble. He shifts his hips into the crack of your ass, with just enough pressure to have you bucking back against him, but not enough to find relief from the stirring between your legs.

He strokes your hair away from your neck, fingers brushing over your collarbone, gaze languid and slow. Like he can see where he needs to pluck to unravel you.

“Why is my baby so tense?” He muses quietly, patronizing. His hand maps your spine in a single palm, edging slowly up your back until, with two fingers, he pinches your bra open. You feel the snap of the release and you rub your nose against the edge of the counter, whimpering. “Don’t I take care of you?”

You gulp. “Y-y-yes, you treat– treat me so good. I want it.”

He has you pressed too tightly against the counter to slip his hand down your front, the edge pinching your hips. So, instead, with your hands still pinned against your tailbone, he palms your ass and rubs a thick finger down between your legs and up over the seam of your jeans. The whine building in your throat breaks into an open moan when he presses your zipper teeth into your clit.

“Want what? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

“F-fingers – tongue – fuck – y-your cock. Anything inside me.”

The surprised, breathless chuckle that reverberates down to the button of his jeans seared against your ass has you bending, stretching, just for a glimpse of his face in the mirror.

His mouth open, tongue curling back and forth over his bottom lip, he’s hungry. Wants so much. Can’t satiate this need without something between his teeth. Grinning around a mouthful of incisors. Patience has never been Dieter’s strong suit.

With a firm jerk around your wrists, your back arches up off the counter, shoulders pinched, hands caught low near his groin. You know he wants you to watch him touch you in the mirror – he’s stopped before when you close your eyes – but it’s hard to look at the woman reflected back at you, with her bleary eyes, mussed hair, heaving chest, and exposed belly button where his hand hovers between the waistband and a green sweater, and recognize yourself.

“No one can take you from me. Do you understand?” He dips his head, arched nose dragging up the curve of your neck, breathing hot through his teeth against the lines where your hair and your skin meet. You can’t help but arch up into his waiting mouth. “Not your family. Not mine. You’re so greedy for me – who else is gonna make you feel this good?”

“N-no one, Dieter, no one can.”

His hand rising under your sweater, thumb first at your belly button, then up between the spread of your ribs, and finally, it catches under the wire of your bra and he tugs it down. The material rubs against your sensitive nipples – it almost stings, your body pulled taught like a bowstring – the straps falling low off your shoulders, but your sweater keeps it from falling off completely and he goes no further. You whine, eager for something other than the scratch of the bra – something warmer – and push your sensitive tits into his soft hands, but his hand drops, fingering the waistline of your jeans instead. He ignores what you want to show you what you need.

This is a thing he did. He watched you wind yourself up with deadlines and scheduling and meetings and arguments on set and and doubt and worry and fear and then he took it upon himself to tire you out enough that all of it shattered – crashed and consumed under the white noise in your head. Dieter liked to play however you needed it.

You can feel the seam of his jeans hover just beyond your fingertips, as though his hips swing unconsciously forward while he nips and sucks on your neck. God, you’d give anything to have the weight of him between your palms.

When he speaks again, you realize at some point you squeezed your eyes shut, forgoing sight to chase the sensation that sparks across your skin every time he touched a new bare patch of skin on you. He pulls his head up from fixating a tender purple blush just below where your sweater covers your shoulder to catch your gaze in the mirror. Panthers do not watch with such hungry eyes.

“Arms up.” It’s not a command, a request, but the words drip from his mouth, rich and sweet. He lets go of your wrists and your arms flutter above you, his fingers already rolling up the edge of your sweater. He drags it up, snagging your loose bra with it, and peeling them both off you. The immediate heat of his chest on your bare back is so hot, it burns cold.

“Dieter,” you cry, nipples hardening in the cold air, goosebumps spiraling out along your skin. He’s there for you in an instant.

He bites the soft, invisible hairs at your jaw, thick paws coming up to clutch your breasts, the sudden swap in temperature making your head swim. He pulls you against his chest, a new outer skin that breathes and moans and gasps, one that has a steady heartbeat your own has synced to.

With his eyes fixated on you in the mirror, he molds your breast to his palm, rounding your nipples with his thumbs before sliding down between the curves of them. He licks the back of your neck.

“Face down, baby,” he says.

“But it’s cold,” you huff, pouting. You smooth your hands over his, his angular wrists, his broad thick forearms entombed in long back sleeves, then settle with your fingers in his hair. His height over you has your torso stretched, your tits bare and ripe, and he palms your stomach to the top of your ribs in two hands. He grunts when you twist his curls, keeping his head still so every bruise and wet spot on your shoulders and throat are all too visible. “Don’t you want to see all your good work?”

He blinks, slow and purposeful, his eyelids heavy, mouth parting. You can’t be sure of his decision, of what he wants, what he’s going to give, when his hands arch up the cradle of your arms, soft enough to tickle below your elbows, then around your wrists. He’s done this enough for you to know he wants you to let go.

You do.

Fast as venom moves from fangs to flesh, he plants your hands on the counter, forcibly gripping the edge. This is how you hold on.

He steps up against you again, iron-hot cock pressing without hesitancy between your ass cheeks, and unbuckles your pants without preamble.

“I’d rather just show you.”

Broad hand bending your shoulders forward, fingers pressed flat over your shoulder, you gasp when your tits make contact with the cold counter, and an instant later, he’s filling your open mouth with his fingers. He wets them against the slip of your tongue and grabs your jaw.

Your mind fracturing like cracking ice, you don’t hear the zip of his jeans, the groan as he takes himself out – barely feel the rub along your wet slit, the arranging of his fingers around your bare hip, the widening of your stance with his ankle.

But you do feel it when he’s suddenly hilt-deep inside of you.

You lurch forward with the weight of it, whining as though scalded at the sudden blinding pressure of pleasure and pain, and you slap a palm against the mirror to keep yourself from shattering through it. Behind you, Dieter looks like someone dislocated his kneecaps.

“You good, baby?” He pants, drawing his hand out of your mouth, wet spit between his fingers as he cups your hanging breast. The sensation bleeds hot, then cold. Unable to help himself, he nuzzles your shoulder blades.

You nod, eyes shut, the magnetic north sense of you spinning wildly off-kilter as you try to gulp in as much air as you can. You know you’re about to lose it anyway. He stands upright, not so much as inching out of you, when he plants his feet and nestles your ass against his hip bones, hands wiggling you further down his cock.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

It’s said with such wonder, a breathless reverence, that you think he might not have realized he said it out loud. You glance over your shoulder, turning your head instead of finding him in the mirror.

The facade of the Brooklyn banker is gone. Your Dieter stares, awe-struck, at the body he’s got impaled on his cock like it’s the first time he’s seen a naked woman. Soft, pliant, eager to please, your Dieter lets you collar him, peg him, and give it to you exactly as you ask.

“How do you want it?” The phrase is so familiar, so intimate when spoken from his pink lips, you shudder, a Pavlovian response that’s got you drooling somewhere else than your mouth. He lifts his gaze and finds you staring.

There is no one else in that moment. Not a single living soul besides you and him in this white-tiled bathroom. You can almost hear the absence of people ringing in your ears. His open, hot mouth draws your eyes away from his and you want every bit of him as stuffed up inside you as you can handle. Twisted around, you lick his bottom lip over your shoulder before offering your tongue for him to suck.

He groans, and you breathe in intimacy you’ve never experienced before. A flushed ache rises from your chest, a precursor to the aches he’ll leave you with by morning.

You tip your head back and thumb the bristly skin against his chin.

“Hard, baby. Please.”

For all his faults, for all his forgetting, Dieter switches brain waves as fast as you do, tethered together like the gravitational spin of space rocks in the wake of a gleaming comet.

“Okay.”

He distracts you from the pain of that first rough thrust by biting down on your shoulder.

His motions are short, targeted, and right up into the cradle of your cervix, the pace driven, unrelenting and hard. You shake with the force of them, as fragile as silverware on a table near the drop of an atom bomb.

“Oh – fuck, Dieter–,”

He pins your arm that had touched his chin to your chest, then his chest to your back, sealing your damp skin to his shirt. The curl of that wretched black turtleneck scratches deliciously against your low back.

Grunting in low, short bursts, Dieter sabotages his own breathing by crushing you so tight to his chest. He sucks on your neck as if to draw the oxygen straight from your blood. The fingers on your hip steady you, just for his cock wrecks your insides.

“You wan-na – ngh – you wanna know why it doesn’t bother me?”

Each word is spat out from between his teeth. He’s giving you your requested punishment as much as he is sprinting after his own release.

“Tell me. Tell me please.” Your voice is scraped raw, breathless and gooey at the same time.

“Because when you’re my wife, they won’t be able to do a fucking thing about it.”

Around him, your cunt squeezes, his words sending shocks through your nerves. You whine as if he’d smacked your ass.

“I fucking felt that. You like that. You want that. You want my fucking cock every day.”

Again, he plants your hands on the cold counter.

“Push back against me, baby.” You anchor yourself, ass out, elbows and knees locked. “That’s it, that’s my fucking good girl.”

He lifts his body up right, off your sweaty neck and back, and with both hands pinching your waist, he yanks you up and down on his cock in long, rough thrusts, knees bending with enough force to send you onto your toes.

“Gonna have to take it. Just – fucking – take – it –,”

His leaking cock drives up against that spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll back and body tense again and again, but yanks back before that hot feeling swells. It’s so close you’re dizzy from it.

You want to fuck yourself on his cock but you can’t time your aching hips right, so you stop trying and bend forward more, exposing more of your cunt to him.

“Dieter, please –,”

“Baby, you gotta be quiet. I know you feel good, but you can’t let them hear us.”

The words are out of your mouth, breaking through the thick, drowning fog and through the hindbrain barrier.

“Fuck them. Let them hear.”

Dieter’s hips slow, punch not as deeply, as if he’s curious what you’re going to say next.

“Take off your shirt. I wanna feel your skin.”

He listens immediately, a very good boy at heart, and the first press of his soft chest against you nearly has you coming then.

“Harder again, please.”

Again, without a second’s hesitation, he kisses your ear before grappling your shoulder with one hand and your hip with the other and he takes up his position as owner and keeper of your sloppy cunt.

You cry out, high and wrecked, some semblance of sanity knowing you’re being far too loud, and he bucks the words out of you.

“I wanna suck on your earring, Dieter.” He grunts as he doubles over as if trying to yank back an unrestrained and early release. He rubs his damp forehead in the patch of soft skin by your shoulder blade.

“Say it again.”

With every rock of his hips, you swing up higher, and higher, your thighs tensing, nails scraping the counter.

“Wanna put it between my lips and suck until you’re cherry red. I wanna choke on your rings. So far down my throat I gag. Wanna – wanna – lick your tattoos – all of them – ‘til the ink blurs from my spit. I –,”

The noise he makes is pained, weak, a man at the end of his rope.

He pops your ass. “Shut up. You’re gonna come now.”

His sweaty palms slip against the soft skin of your hips, and he keeps slipping with no leverage.

“Stand on your toes.” You do and for an absurd second, you think he’s going to pick you up in a bear hug. He wraps his arms around your rib cage, his face nestled into the hot, sticky curve of your neck, in the flipped image of when he takes you after your legs get sore from riding him. Your tits spilling over his forearms, he keeps the ludicrous bend in your spine as well as the short, rough pace. You reach your fingers around the back of his head and hold on for dear life.

The change in angle has stars blowing across your eyes, has you whimpering strings of pleas, veneration, and curses all threaded together. His own thighs shaking, he rubs the pads of three of his fingers across your clit and you’re over the edge.

“Oh – oh, shit –,”

The electrical storm that’s been building one wiry shock at a time finally bursts and you go rigid from head to toe, turning to marble, to steel, bright and sharp. You can feel your own release dribble down your thigh, Dieter stuttering behind you.

“Wait – fuck,”

He tries to speed up, or press harder, but he’s coming so hard you feel it expand your cunt and ends up just making a leaking mess. The sensation shivers you through another minor wave. The crest goes high, then crashes, and you slump forward, cold nips be damned, and he follows you down a second later.

The heated weight at your back and hard, cool marble squishing your tits is too much for your dazed brain to handle. Any looser and you might slip off the edge of the earth.

Dieter seems to be in a similar state. He not so much pulls out of you as he goes weak-kneed to the floor. A single tug on your hip has you stumbling down with him.

Despite the garland around the stairs, despite the smell of cranberries in the air, despite the veneer of perfect holiday wholesomeness, it’s the slick layer of sweat, grime, and cum over your skin that has you finally smiling.

You recognize you have been gone far too long – there’s not enough spiked hot cider in the world to ignore two missing bodies and a locked door. Dieter puts his barefoot preemptively up against the door frame and you giggle into his shoulder.

“Oh, there’s the sound I’ve been missing!” He nuzzles you, a blissful smile breaking open his face, sunlight over storm clouds. He wiggles beneath you, trying to tug you on top of him, but with your jeans constricting your thighs, and his barely below his hips, all it really accomplishes is the two of you rolling around on the bathroom floor.

In a heap of limbs, slick skin, his knee catching the button of your jeans, you bump your nose against his chin, there’s something bright building in your chest – it’s twisting your mouth, pinching your cheeks – his fingers grab your elbow, his eyes lock into yours –

And you’re laughing.

You’re laughing too loud, all pretense gone. You can’t honestly care what they’re thinking downstairs.

He manages to get you under him, his damp hair clinging to his temples and tangling down in frizzy strands.

“I’m gonna say this and I need you to actually hear me.”

You nod, grinning up at him and lightly tracing his clavicle.

He swats at your hand and holds it to your chest.

“Don’t wait until it’s that bad, okay?” You chuckle and he bites the tip of your nose. “Listen to me, you little goblin, I’m trying to be serious for a second.”

You settle under him, fingers intertwining with his over your chest. Sincere Dieter is a beautiful thing to look at.

“This holiday bullshit can be a lot. Spent a lot of them either in coke up to my eyeballs, or in the bathroom the next day. It fucking sucks that these are the people we can from, but we can’t change that. What’s important is the family we build right now–,”

Your mouth drops open, his words suddenly illuminating a future that had always seemed so blurry and distant.

“Dieter, I –,”

“I’m gonna marry you someday, so let’s start with us.” He kisses the back of your hand. “We carry each other, okay?”

You nod, the white light of that future searing a hole in your chest, exposing your heart to the open air, and bringing tears to your eyes. You nod, more assured, before kissing him on his bottom lip.

“Okay.”

The next few minutes play out just like they would if you were at home: cleaning each other up, trying on clothes only to realize he grabbed your sweater instead, and bumping affectionate kisses wherever they could reach.

At the top of the stairs, you don’t know what awaits you in the living room. What exactly you’ll be returning to. Who will catch you and who won’t.

But it doesn’t matter. His hand is around yours and he’s grinning petulantly against all the world.

Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on?

Your heart says yes.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x oc #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #the bubble fanfic #the bubble #pedro pascal #merry thanksgiving nonsense 2023

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readsaboutreid · 2 months

Note

Aaaa!!! Lavender roses is so fucking sweet!!!

Absolutely adorable!

If I could request something where the reader works at the BAU, but in like the last week the reader has cone in with allergy symptoms, red itchy eyes and nose. And she's just feeling terrible, eventually Gideon or Hotch dismisses her fot a couple days, and Spencer's been worried as hell and goes to check up on her but it turns out she was given a cat by her friend, (the cat got dumped and the friend caught take care of it) but the reader is allergic but doesn't wanna give up the cat, sorta "I'll get used to it, it sucks nie but he's just a baby!!!" Vibes?

tysm! and Absolutely! I've lived this scenario out myself in slightly different settings so I can easily put myself into the situation lol I think one may be a bit shorter though if that's oki?

contains: fluff, concerned Spencer, kitties!, bau!reader

"Achoo!" Spencer heard the sneeze from the desk adjacent to his, the sixth sneeze he's heard in the past half hour. He looked over to (Y/N), who was sitting at her desk with a box of tissues she had opened just that morning, already now half empty.

"You, uh, you feeling okay, (Y/N)?" He tentatively asked her, his inner germaphobe screaming at the proximity he shared with her. Sure, she was very good about covering her nose and mouth each time she sneezed but the anxiety still raced through his veins, exacerbated by his concern for his friend's wellbeing.

"I'm fine, Spencer, nothing to worry about!" She attempted to sound chipper, but instead just sounded congested.

"You've sneezed 6 times in 28 minutes, 36 seconds! I'd say that's a little less than 'fine', if you ask me," he retorted, raising his eyebrows as he spoke.

"Well, it's a good thing you asked me, then, and not the other way around, isn't it?" She shot back with a light (but still congested) tone.

"Well if you ask me," interrupted the voice of Derek Morgan, loudly, "you're sick and you need to go home before we all end up sick."

"I'm not sick, it's just allergies, I swear—,"

"That's what people say in movies before big deadly disease outbreaks occur!" Penelope Garcia piped in from her spot leaning up against Morgan's desk.

"Well it's a good thing this is real life and not a movie, isn't it?" (Y/N) quipped before quickly reaching for a tissue before her next sneeze.

"Go home, (Y/L/N)," everyone's head turned as Hotch walked out of his office and called down to them. "You're sick and I don't need the entire team coming down with it. That's an order."

Defeated, (Y/N) sighed and gathered her things and left the bullpen.

Spencer walked out of the pharmacy with bags full of cold medicine, water bottles, Gatorade and Powerade (just in case she preferred one to the other), and underneath it all a container of warm chicken soup that he had made (he wasn't sure if it was any good, but he followed the recipe exactly as it was written so he hoped it was okay, at the very least). He knocked on (Y/N)'s door and nervously waited. He hoped he wasn't overstepping, it wasn't like they were dating or anything (although the two had been on one date about a month ago, the job getting in the way every time they'd try to arrange a second date, much to his chagrin).

The sound of the door unlocking pulled him out of his head and the door opened enough for (Y/N) to poke her head out, as if trying to keep him from seeing inside. "Oh, hey, Spencer! No, you little demon, shoo!"

"O-oh! Sorry," he began, "I was just gonna bring you some medicine and food but I can go if you're not feeling up to having anyone—"

"Oh god, no! I wasn't talking about you! I'm so sorry!" Her eyes widened in panic before she said, "here, why don't you come in and you'll see."

She opened the door a little wider and stepped back as he slid inside. And was immediately greeted with two small pairs of yellow eyes. "I, uh, I had a friend who found two kittens but couldn't afford to take them in." Her eyes were red and watery and she sniffled slightly. "Turns out I'm allergic to cats!"

"Oh! Do you need help finding someone to take them?" Spencer asked, recalling something Emily had said about maybe getting a cat. "Because Emily recently—"

"What?" She asked quickly. "Never! Why would I give them up?"

"Because you're clearly suffering?" He reasoned, a smile tugging at his lips at her (admittedly adorable) pout.

"I have an appointment with a doctor about allergy shots," she argued, "come on, you can't say you don't already love them!" She whined.

As they both began rubbing up against his legs he couldn't deny that maybe she had a point.

#criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x bau!reader #bau!reader

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chaosandmarigolds · 2 months

Text

“Coco having a thing for older men doesn’t make your quirky it means you have-“

shut up and let me tell you on how amazing of a husband John Price is

now in my head you can either A: be high school sweet hearts

which would entail-

John picking you up in his dad’s 79’ thunderbird for school every morning, never letting you open the door and always having a thermos of coffee, tea, for you

— a habit he kept through 40 or so years of marriage, picks you up for a date night in whatever car he has, never lets you touch a car door

John who takes you to the theater on Friday nights not only because he has a buddy that can get you in for free but also because he works all Saturday and Sunday- but he never forgets to make time for you

—- another habit he tries to keep, Friday nights are date nights, even if they happen once a month he makes it a point to do them

John who stared at you with wide, terrified eyes when he told you he was joining the army. It had been the middle of the night, your father got so scared by the dog barking he had grabbed the gun and almost shot the poor boy-

“When…how long?”

“Not sure.”

“You said…you said you were going to go to Oxford with me. Mean to lie, isn’t it?”

“I wish I could, love. I do.”

John who had written you letters just about every day, so about once a week you would get a total of 50,000 words to read, which he would also receive in neat cursive writing.

And the other option is the…somewhat problematic one, age-gap. Which is a fine line and I do take it seriously, so hypocritically reader is early-mid twenties (22-27) and he’s early fifties late forties

John, who hated himself when he would look at you longer than ten seconds after you finished your report- you worked hard for your role, your were admirable- and too sweet for your own good

“Sir? We’re getting dinner would you care to join?” “I’m fine here.” ”oh…well, I’ll bring you something back, yeah? Any allergies?”

John who assigned extra men to any mission you would go on because he refused to let you see any wound in the field

John would rather die than admit his feelings because you should go Johnny, or Kyle or even Simon before you would even dare try for him

John who would let the entire world burn for one touch of yours

it was pathetic, really and he knew this, utterly obsessed and it was disgusting to even himself. Yet he couldn’t help it. He was yours, even if you didn’t know it.

(ok ok my yap sesh is over :) )

#john price #captain john price #cod john price #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain price #captain johnathan price #john price cod #john price x you #cod mw2 #cod x reader

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spencerreiddddd · 3 months

Text

Unfit, or fit?

I actually love this recommendation so much, hope you love it @ilovethepipecleaner !💋

Gist: Spencer and you had never really thought about having kids because you both grew up in broken homes, so what happens when you find out your expecting a little one.

You felt hands running up and down your stomach as you groggily opened your eyes.

A smile crept onto your face as you realized you were in your husbands embrace.

“Good morning Dr.” you said teasingly as you shifted onto your back to look at Spence who was staring at you hair askew and mess.

“Good morning Mrs. Reid.” He said as he bent down to give you a kiss, Spencer and you had been married for almost a year now and he still loved calling you by your new last name.

“We gotta get ready for work.” He said getting up from the bed and walking over to your shared closet. His statement causing you to groan, you wanted a few more minutes to stay in bed with Spencer but you knew serial killers don’t wait.

“Im coming” you said as you got up from bed joining Spencer in the closet.

You walked out the elevator hand in hand with Spencer as you made a disgusted face at the comment Spencer had made in the elevator talking about how many micro-organisms were currently on your face.

“You couldn’t give me any other statistic Spence?” You say with a disgusted face causing Reid to chuckle.

“OHHHH, if it isn’t my favorite married couple.” You heard a familiar cheery voice say from the hallway causing Spencer and you to look up with smiles in both of your face’s already knowing who the voice belonged to.

“Pen!” You said letting go of Reid’s hand to embrace your shot of sunlight. “My sweet girl!” She said hugging you so tight you thought you’d throw up your breakfast….but the thought made your stomach queasy and when Penelope let you go you lifted your hand up to your mouth gagging a bit as you felt your saliva and mouth get hot. Clear indicators you were going to throw up, quickly realizing this you ran over to the large trash can in the hallway and hurled your insides out.

Spencer and Pen were quick to reach your side as Spencer grabbed your hair into a makeshift pony tail and pen rubbed circles on your back.

“Y/N ? Are you alright?” Spencer said as you got up wiping your mouth. You nodded “yeah I am.” You said a little confused on what caused you to throw up.

“Maybe it was something you ate for breakfast?” Pen offered a conclusion and you nodded in agreement.

Spencer seemed a little iffy but all of you agreed for that to be the case. “Ima go wash up I’ll meet you at the briefing.” You say to both of them as you walk towards the bathroom.

It was odd lately your body had been feeling different, you had been feeling more nauseous lately but you had always made rational conclusions for it, like a stomach bug or an allergy you didn’t know you had. Your breast had been sore lately but you always concluded it to Spencer and his tight grips during sex.

Spitting the sink water out your mouth you looked at your reflection in the mirror, a thought suddenly dawned on you.

Pregnant…

The word flashed into your mind causing you to look at your stomach. There was no way right? You were on the pill because you and Spencer agreed you both weren’t ready to discuss having kids yet.

However

The pill didn’t mean you were 100% free from getting pregnant. Unvoluntarily you moved your hand to your stomach feeling for something??

No you couldn’t be a mom, how could you be a mom? You didn’t have a mom growing up your mom had always been absent. She was always out in clubs, drinking and partying, and when she was home she was sleeping her hangover away and waking up just in time to go to her Waffle House night shift. Leaving you alone to take the bus to school, coming home to an empty home, not just physically but emotionally too. Your mother seemed to want to be around everyone else but you, only once had you heard I love you fall from your mothers lips towards you, and she was in her drunken state. It had been a late night after the club and she walked into your room reeking of alcohol as you read a book. She walked over falling to her knees and begging you to forgive her and she spat out I love you’s.

Yet the next morning it was like the night never happened and she didn’t even remember. Your father had died when you were 4 so you didn’t remember much of him at all. How could you be a mom if you never had one to teach you how to be one?

“Y/N?” A voice came from the bathroom door snapping you out of your thoughts. JJ stood at the door a confused expression on her face “you okay?” She asked as you walked over to her. “Yeah of course why do you ask?” You responded with plastering a smile on your face. She eyed you up and down analyzing if you were being truthful “nothing, just came to get you because were about to start the briefing.” She said as you both walked out the bathroom and towards the glass doors.

“Oh okay thank you.” You said smiling at her as she sent you a warm motherly smile.

JJ was a mom she was an excellent mom, always boasting about her kids expressing how proud she was, how much she loved them. You’d want to be like JJ if you’d ever were a mom, sometimes you’d think how lucky Henry and Michael were to have such a loving and caring mom like JJ. You’d seen how JJ would give her life up for her children how her children would be her first priority edite anything else.

“Okay since we’re all here let’s start.” Pen said as you and JJ took a seat in the round table as Pen described the case.

The case had taken a turn for the worst, the unsub was more unpredictable than any of you thought. He managed to escape from the house when Morgan broke down the door which brought you to where you were now, chasing after him in a car. Morgan drove as you rode shot gun shot gun and being his extra set of eyes. The rest of the team were in different cars taking different roads to be able to find a way to surround the unsub.

“He took a right at blíndale street!” You shouted at Morgan as he quickly turned the car right. Turning to look at the dashboard Morgan was hitting 85mph to keep up with the unsub.

“I lost him!” Morgan yelled as you looked back up to the street scanning for the blue minivan. Infront of tow cars you spotted it again as the unsub was wrong way driving. “I see him he’s over there!” You said pointing to the mini van as Morgan spotted him. Morgan turned sharply as cars began braking and beeping.

You turned your attention to the oncoming traffic spotting a 18 wheeler coming straight towards you. Your eyes widened “Morgan watch out!” You screamed as the truck got closer and you closed your eyes waiting for impact. “Hold on Y/N!” Morgan yelled putting his hand over your body like a seat belt as the 18 wheeler came tumbling towards y’all.

The strength of the hit caused the car to flip over 5 times landing on the side. Air bags hit your face and the seatbelt felt like the tightest thing around your body burning your chest with its grip. You whimpered in pain as the car stopped rolling and came to a stop. The smell of oil filling your lungs and the ringing in your ears louder than anything you’ve ever heard before. Your eyelids heavy and head throbbing you blacked out.

The coldness hit your skin as you felt goosebumps form on your arms. You felt pain shot onto your chest causing you to groan and scrunch you face, immediately there was a presence hovering over you and a voice “Honey? Honey? Can you hear me?” Spencer’s quiet voice sounded so beautiful to your ears as you slowly blinked your eyes open. The bright white fluorescent lights blinds you temporarily, you shifted your aching neck at Spencer. His eyebrows furrowed his eyes sad and desperate, his hands gripping onto yours as if he were to let go you would disappear.

“Spence?” You murmured out

“Yeah baby I’m here.” He said moving a strand of hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear.

“What happened?” Was all you could say trying to remember anything.

“There was an accident you got hit by a 18 wheeler.” He said caressing your cheek.

Memories flooded back into your mind gasping as you remembered Morgan.

“Oh my God is Morgan okay?!” You asked trying to sit up and groaning in pain. Quickly Spencer positioned you back down “hey no no no, stay still Morgan’s okay he has a broken arm but other than that he’s doing okay.” Spencer assured you causing you to relax.

“He broke his arm because of me.” You say looking at Spencer remembering how Morgan’s first instinct was to protect you.

“Because he loves you, he chose to willingly protect you. It’s not your fault.” Spencer said looking down at your chest.

Your eyes following his as you say your hospital gown had blood around your chest. Curious you pulled down the gown from your shoulders revealing a rash across your chest.

“The seatbelt caused that.” Spencer’s voice rang out.

“The seat belt saved you.” Spencer said quietly as if he was telling himself those words.

“Mr. & Mrs. Reid?” A woman’s voice came from the room door, it was a doctor.

“Yes that’s us.” Spencer said getting up from his seat as the doctor walked in to stand by your bed a smile on her face.

“I have purely good news!” The small blonde doctor beamed with a smile on her face as she opened her clipboard.

“The rash will heal in about 2 months time and we will be providing ointment for the itchiness it may cause.” She said as Spencer and you smiled.

“And no internal damage was cause to you or your baby.” She finished off as she closed her clipboard looking between you and Spencer.

The room was quiet.

Did she just say baby?

No?

Did she?

No?

You were hallucinating, you had to be… right?

“Excuse me baby?” Spencer’s voice cracked as he stared at the doctor.

“Yes… I’m sorry did you not know you were pregnant Mrs?” The blonde turned to look at you puzzled.

“N-no.” You say quickly

“You’re 8 weeks pregnant, your baby’s organs are beginning to form.” She says opening her clipboard again and looking at her medical charts for you.

“I will take my leave now, call me if you need anything.” The blonde says giving a polite smile and walking out of the room leaving you and Spencer in silence.

It was deafening quite, Spencer was frozen in place his eyes a mixture of emotions as he stared into space.

Your eyes began to swell up with tears. Memory’s of your childhood flooding your head, you couldn’t be a mom you didn’t know how to be a mom. This would end badly, what if you were like your own mom or worse? Tears ran down your cheeks like water flow.

“I’m so sorry Spencer.” You cracked out, you knew Spencer wasn’t jumping at the opportunity to have kids he had told you before he never had a dad so he wouldn’t know how to be one. Spencer loved his mom but she wasn’t a role model or 100% there all the time like she should have been.

“I’m so so sorry.” You said again bringing your hand to cover your mouth.

Spencer turned his head towards you taking in your crying face.

“Baby…shhh shhh shh.” He said sitting back down and wiping your fallen tears.

“I know you don’t want to be a dad.” You said holding his hand the rested on your cheek.

“What makes you think that?” He said his eyes pained

“You said before you didn’t have a dad so you wouldn’t want to put your own child through what you’ve been through.” You said your voice weak.

“I know baby but i know I won’t be the man my father was, because I have you. Because we’re doing this together.” He said kissing your eyelids.

“What if I’m like her.” You said looking up at Spencer.

He knew who you were talking about and he hated that you thought that about yourself.

“Baby you won’t be like her, because you aren’t her… you’ve already proven that because you show love and support to your friends, because you are able to show your love and affection through words and actions. That already proves you are nothing like her.” Spencer says rubbing his thumb up and down your cheek.

You nod your head soaking in his words.

“We’re gonna do this together.” He says smiling softly

“Promise?” You ask

“Promise.” He responds kissing you.

“Mommy mommy bedtime story!” Little Alice says as she crawls into her toddler bed you giggle as you turn the little lamp on in her room by her bed side.

“How about daddy tells you as story instead?” You say as Spencer walks into the room and smiles widely.

“Yes yes!” She says as you slide in next to her in bed.

“What about the story of Rumple Buttercup?” Spencer says sitting on the other side of Alice so she lays in between you two.

Alice giggles “that’s a weird name daddy!” Spencer smiles

“That’s the point princess Rumple is weird.” He says matching his daughter’s wide grin.

You watch both of them a smile spread across your face, you did it. Both of you, you both did it together.

You learned and grew and you couldn’t be more proud of the parents you both were.

You couldn’t be more proud of Alice your little angel your saving grace. You both had no idea how much you needed her until you both had her. You can’t imagine a world without Alice, you’d made a promise to always protect her no matter what, she was a part of you and Spencer put together.

Spencer got up from the bed snapping your attention away from your thoughts.

You looked down at a snoring Alice.

You smiled as you bent down to caress her cheek and place a kiss on her forehead “I love you angel.” You whispered as you got up and Spencer stared at you.

“What?” You smiled as he walked over to you wrapping his arms around your waist.

“You look so beautiful as a mom.” Spencer said kissing your cheek causing you to smile.

“You think so?” You teased lifting your arms to wrap around his neck.

“You’re the most beautiful woman.” He said burring his head into your neck as you both rocked in place.

Everything was so perfect.

“I love you.” He whispered into your skin.

“Thank you for everything for giving me what I didn’t know I needed.” He added as he kissed your neck affectionately.

“I love you more.” You responded tears brewing in your eyes.

No because I had so much fun writing this, it was so cute. I hope you all like this as much as I did!

#criminal minds imagine #spence reid #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #oneshot #angst #derek morgan #spencer #happy ending #pregnant #fluff

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