#but I haven’t been taking that much ibuprofen… | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

python333 · 3 months

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soft spot — python333

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synopsis you've been having a bad day, and ghost feels like being extra nice to you. plot twist you're an age regressor and him being so nice is NOT helping.

relationships platonic agere cg!ghost & gn little!reader.

characters ghost.

word count 6.7k.

warnings a victorious reference, age regressor reader, usage of c/n [call sign/code name], 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself]

note please feel free to attack me as much as you want if this is inaccurate. i don't even care if it's not constructive criticism. i am begging for everyone's thoughts and opinions on this!! this is also the longest oneshot i think i've ever written!

“Having fun there?”

You turn in your seat and find Ghost leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and one eye slightly wider than the other—an indication that his eyebrow is raised.

“Not really,” You answer, setting down your gun. You’d been disassembling it, trying to take your mind off of the slowly growing headache that’s been building up for the past few hours. You don’t think it’s a migraine or anything, but it still bothers you greatly.

“Yeah, no, I can tell,” Ghost chuckles, pushing himself off of the door frame and walking over to you. He eyes your gun for a moment, the magazine already removed as well as any live rounds left in the rifle ejected, and the bolt locked to the rear. You were only maybe a quarter of the way through your disassembly, even though you started around thirty minutes ago.

For some reason, you woke up upset today. You were too tired, you felt awfully sluggish, and there was a throbbing pain clustered in the back of your eyebrows. So, in short—you were reasonably very upset. It showed visibly in the way your eyes twitched every so often, and in the way you felt the need to pinch the bridge of your nose to distract you from the pain that was still building up behind your brows.

“What’s going on?” He asks, leaning on the table.

“I have this headache that won’t go away,” You respond, sighing as you move your gaze from your gun to Ghost. You can barely see it, but from his eyes you can tell that his face scrunches up beneath his mask. He knows a thing or two about bad headaches, being someone who frequently gets migraines himself.

“Have you taken any meds for it?” You shake your head ‘no’. Ghost holds up a single finger in a ‘one moment’ motion and rummages through the pockets on his tactical vest for a moment, before he pulls out a small bottle of ibuprofen no bigger than his palm. He hands it to you.

“Here.” You blink at it for a moment.

“Thanks,” You take the bottle gingerly and Ghost nods, watching you as you struggle with the child-proof lid for a second before getting it open. You shake out a small tablet, one the size of a low-dosage aspirin, and pop it into your mouth. You don’t have much of an issue dry-swallowing it, and it only takes one attempt before you successfully swallow the tablet.

“You’ve been feeling pretty bad this whole week, haven’t you?” Ghost frowns underneath his mask.

You think for a moment before nodding, “Yeah, I guess. I think it’s mostly just stress.”

You know it’s not just stress.

For a while now, you’ve used something called ‘age regression’ as a form of stress relief. You don’t know exactly when it started, but you do know that it was before you were recruited for the 141. And originally, you made a promise to yourself that you wouldn’t regress while on base, and you kept that promise for maybe a month before you broke it.

You think it was Ghost that was the trigger, actually. You can vividly remember the first time you regressed while on base; you had just finished talking to Ghost, and he called you something—you think he called you something similar to ‘kid’—that made a flip in your mind switch immediately. You can remember excusing yourself from the conversation quickly, leaving your lieutenant slightly confused but otherwise unbothered by the strange action.

And, worst of all, you can remember being in your quarters and practically burrowing under your blankets. You were curled up into a fetal position, trying to fight the urge to suck on your thumb or at least chew on something, but ultimately lost the fight and succumbed to your urges. You spent maybe a few hours like that, wide awake when you just wanted to try and sleep it away, thinking about that interaction you had with Ghost over and over again.

You’re not stupid. You know that Ghost has some sort of soft spot for you—albeit, you don’t know exactly how soft that soft spot is, but it’s definitely soft. Soft enough that he goes the tiniest bit easier on you compared to other recruits, soft enough that he spares you more time than he does for others, and the most obvious of all—he initiates most of your conversations.

Contrary to popular belief, he’s not the scary super-soldier most people think of him as. Sure, maybe he is kind of scary, and maybe his mask does jumpscare you when you’re doing missions in particularly dark spaces sometimes, but other than that he’s not scary in the slightest. If anything, he’s awkward. Awkward enough that he’s almost never the first person to talk to someone—except for you, of course. You don’t know why he acts so differently around you, but you don’t complain about it.

“That’s rough,” Ghost looks down at you with concerned, empathetic eyes, “Sorry you’re so stressed. Mind me askin’ why?”

“I don’t, but I also don’t know why I’m so stressed,” You huff out, even though you know the answer completely. You stand up, “I think it’s just me being sleep deprived. I’ve been having the tiniest bit of trouble falling asleep lately.”

“You should’ve told me earlier,” Ghost tuts, “I have melatonin.”

You give him a confused look. “You do?”

“‘Course I do.”

You blink at him for a moment before sighing, “Could I have some then?”

“What’s the magic word?” You give him an unimpressed look, ignoring the way the words make your stomach twist, and his eyes crinkle in a way that lets you know that he’s grinning under his mask.

“Could I please have some melatonin?”

“The magic word was lotion, but I’ll let it slide,” Ghost hums, “There’s some in my office. I’ll grab it for you later.”

“M’kay,” You look over at the door, unintentionally zoning out as you do. Your vision goes unfocused as the throbbing pain behind your eyebrows grows and something else grows inside of you.

Jesus. Why can’t you choose any other time to get the urge to slip into a younger mentality? Why does your headache have to make everything worse for you? Why does Ghost have to be so nice and helpful?

“Hey,” Ghost frowns, tapping a finger on your shoulder to snap you out of whatever trance you’re in, “[c/n]?”

Oh God.

Your eyes—that you try desperately to keep neutral—meet Ghost’s, his eyes soft and his eyebrows dipped downwards in a confused manner. His eyes are searching, flitting over you, trying to find something. The way he looks at you makes you want to squirm, and you can’t help but just slightly shuffle in place.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks, voice as concerned as his look. That should be the breaking point for you, but you remain as big as you can be, and nod affirmatively.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” You try to assure him, hoping you don’t sound as nervous as you feel, “I think I’m just a little tired.”

Ghost doesn’t look convinced.

He puts a hand on your shoulder, the act like a hammer putting another dent in the wall you had put up. The leather of his glove is warm even through the thick material of your shirt, and it feels like hot metal against your cold skin, the clothing covering your shoulder be damned.

“You can tell me if you’re not okay,” He tells you—what is he doing? Does he know something I don’t?—while his thumb starts rubbing circles into your shoulder, “I feel like you’re more than a little tired.”

You stay silent for a little bit. You don’t know how to explain yourself, the words seeming to liquify and leak right out of you, making you speechless. He seems to notice this, sighing and letting his hand slip down to your hand, holding it and giving it a quick squeeze.

“I think,” He looks around for a moment before turning back to you, “that we should head to my office so that nobody can bother us, and then you can tell me all about how you’re feeling right now. Does that sound okay?”

You nod wordlessly, not trusting yourself to talk with how heavy your tongue feels, and you let Ghost lead you back to his office. It’s only a hallway away, but that’s still enough time to overthink everything that could possibly happen. How does he know something’s wrong? What gave it away? Did I do something bad? What did I do? Wh—

The creak of his office door opening snaps you out of your thoughts, and Ghost steps aside to let you enter his office first. Hesitantly, you take a few steps inside, and you hear the door click shut behind you as Ghost walks in. He takes your hand again, making you look at him as he guides you to a chair.

You sit in the chair that’s in front of his desk, and he quickly drags out the chair that’s behind it so that it’s right next to yours. He sits down.

He’s looking at you expectantly.

“Uh.” You’re not sure what to say. He’s looking at you so reassuringly, it’s hard to keep yourself sitting upright.

“I know something’s wrong,” Ghost says, leaning forward the tiniest bit, “I need you to tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.”

He’s got to have at least some idea of what you’re experiencing, You think, trying to form some sort of explanation, He’s being so… weird?

You swear there’s some other word you could use, but your vocabulary feels so limited, and you would mentally curse if you could because you know that now your explanation is gonna sound weird. You can’t use the words you want, you’re gonna be forced to use simple words, ones that can’t convey exactly how you feel. Words that—and it physically pained you to admit this—were childish.

You can explain your situation. Just, now it would be more… blunt. And short. And also you’d feel like killing yourself afterwards. You won’t, obviously, but you can predict that you’ll come very close to doing so.

Okay, I have to say something because Ghost is looking more and more worried the longer I stay silent.

“I feel…” You trail off for a moment, trying to get your thoughts in order for the next two seconds to actually say something that makes sense, before continuing in a far less confident tone, “… small.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you regret it. Ew. Ew. Ew. What. Why? Why that word? It leaves a sour taste on your tongue and yet you can’t think of any other word that would better suit how you feel. Still. Ew.

Your thoughts are a jumbled mess ranging from fleeting thoughts of disgust to thoughts lodged in the back of your mind begging you to go anywhere else just so that you can stop having to have this conversation. This conversation requires words bigger than you have access to, and a sort of control over yourself that you can’t grasp. You can feel your hands twitching, wanting something to hold onto, anything to keep you distracted from the overwhelming urge to just regress.

Ghost blinks. He didn’t expect that answer.

“Small?” He repeats in a questioning tone, eyebrows furrowed, “I mean, compared to me, I guess you’re kind of short—”

“No, no, not like short small,” You try to clarify, feeling just slightly discouraged by Ghost’s confused words, “Like…”

You struggle to find the words that properly describe how you feel, only finding words like small and little in your current vocabulary. Your findings are making you increasingly upset, and you can feel your face start to grow hot with frustration and embarrassment.

Oh my God.

“Like…?” Ghost nudges your knee with his, trying to encourage you to talk, “I’m not leaving until you tell me.”

There’s still a level of care in his words, no matter how confused he seems, and that adds all the more struggle to your predicament. Not only do you not want to tell him, but you can’t describe how you feel in a way that’s acceptable for someone your age to describe anything. At least, not in a way that you deem acceptable for yourself to describe anything.

You’re far too old to be describing yourself as small.

“[c/n]?” Ghost nudges you again, and you blink at him. Your eyes are flickering all over his mask, going anywhere but his eyes, since eye contact with anyone would make everything significantly worse for you right now.

“It’s just—” You try to take a deep breath but your breath hitches. Everything is starting to make you feel so frustrated, and you’re starting to think that you might just throw a tantrum if you can’t do at least one thing right. You try to find the words you want to use but your throat is disobediently closing on you. Your mind feels like straight mush, and the quickly softening look that Ghost is giving you isn’t helping you at all.

To your horror, in your inexplicable inability to talk in the way you normally do, you let out a small whine. It sounds obnoxious to your ears, and worst of all, sounds like something a little kid would do.

You put your head in your hands, the quickly reddening skin of your cheeks getting cooled by the cold of your palms as you try and hide your face from Ghost. You can picture how he looks right now—somehow more confused than earlier, possibly annoyed, weirded out—and all those mental images make you bite your tongue to prevent another noise.

“What was that?” You don’t answer him.

To your non-answer, Ghost sighs, and you think, This is it, this is where he kicks me out of his office, oh my God I’m gonna get dishonorably discharged and he’s gonna give me a really mean look on my way out—

“Look at me.” You shake your head negatively.

“Why not?” He sounds so confused, it makes you want to cry. There’s still a level of worry in his voice, and it adds to the fog that builds up in your brain.

You move your face just slightly up so that your eyes peek out from above your fingertips, your hands covering the rest of your face. Ghost reaches out both of his hands, and ever so gently removes your hands from your face, uncovering your red cheeks and your lips—the lower of which quivers, like you’re about to cry. He notices this quickly, and you can practically feel the level of his worry shoot up.

He doesn’t say anything, instead just holding your hands in his for a moment, before he sets them down into your lap. He looks at you, concerned, and asks, “Is it hard to talk right now?”

You nod. His gaze shifts to his computer, and then back to you.

“I’m gonna go look a few things up really quick, okay? I’ll just be right over there,” He nods over to the space behind his computer, “and I’ll be right back here in a few seconds.”

You reluctantly nod again, and Ghost gets up from his seat. He grabs the back of the chair and drags it back around behind his desk, sitting down in it and powering on his monitor. It turns on almost immediately, much to his relief, and he goes to his browser and searches up a few things. You can’t tell what he’s searching up, only hearing the clacking of keys and the occasional final click that indicates that he’s hit the enter button.

He stays there for maybe a minute or two. It’s a long few minutes, and you can feel yourself slipping more and more the longer he stays at his computer. And the more you feel yourself slipping into that younger mindset, the more you start to crave Ghost’s attention.

The way his eyes are glued to his computer starts to irritate you. You’re aware that he’s doing something important, he must be, because why would he be so intent on looking something up otherwise, but still—you manage to feel the tiniest bit jealous of the computer. You know you’re too far gone when you can’t find it within yourself to realize that you’re jealous of a computer.

Your eyes linger on him and he must notice this because he looks up from the screen of his monitor and looks over at you. As if he can read your mind, he reassures you, “Just a few more seconds.”

But you said you were gonna be back in a few seconds a few minutes ago.

You don’t voice your thoughts. Instead, you nod, because God forbid you annoy Ghost with your need for attention now when he’s being so patient with you. He looks at you for another moment before going back to his computer and looking something else up, this time with a little more fervor.

Another few seconds pass and, true to his word this time, Ghost stops and gets up from his chair. He walks over to you, and your eyes follow him intently. He kneels down in front of you.

He looks hesitant to say something to you. That’s a first. That adds to the exponentially growing blob of fear that lives inside your mind, one of the only things that’s still prominent in the fog that conquers your brain.

“Are you…” You feel like you know what he’s gonna ask you. You’re bracing yourself for the question, and he looks like he’s bracing himself just to ask it.

“How, uh,” He’s trying to find the right wording, and you’ve never been able to relate to him harder than you do in this moment, “How… do you feel right now? How old?”

How old? You don’t really like that question. As much as you like that you’re now getting attention, you’re starting to remember how little you actually enjoy this type of attention. The question is pretty vague, but at the same time so specific, and you’re almost ashamed to know exactly what the answer is. Or, at least, you would feel ashamed if there was room in your mind to feel so.

“You said you feel small, right? Not like short small, just small?” He sounds more unsure of himself now, and you don’t think you like seeing him so reluctant to say something, “I looked up what it means to feel like that. Took some time, but I got to some person’s… website, and the person who wrote it was talkin’ about feeling like that. Something about regression, feeling a little bit younger than usual?”

He’s being so awkward about it, and while you typically find his awkwardness funny, now it’s anything but that.

“Uhm,” Your voice comes out as a mumble and you see Ghost perk up at it. You don’t know what to say. For a moment, you’re silent again, before you get over your embarrassment for a quick two seconds and force yourself to say, “Four.”

“Four?” Ghost asks, before quickly realizing, “Right. Four. You feel four?”

You nod, and your hands instinctively start moving back up to cover your face. Ghost swiftly grabs them, keeping his grip gentle as he keeps them from reaching your face.

“Hey, don’t try to hide again,” He says, tone softening as he holds your hands, “everything’s fine, okay? Do you— what, uh— do you need me to do anything? Do you want me to leave you alo—”

“No!” You quickly answer, a little surprised by your own volume, before you clear your throat and answer in a much more quiet voice, “Don’t leave me alone.”

“Okay, okay,” Ghost’s thumbs rub across the back of your hands, a soothing gesture that makes you the tiniest bit more relaxed, “what do you need?”

You sniffle, and you can see an immediate look of panic cross Ghost’s eyes. You don’t know how well he is with crying children, and don’t want to impose such a situation on him, but you also can’t stop the tears that begin to well up in the corners of your eyes.

“Hey, don’t cry,” He borderline begs, “everything’s gonna be okay, okay? Please do not cry. Take a deep breath.”

You try to take a deep breath, you really do, but your breath just hitches and gets caught in your throat. It only makes you more distressed, adding to the urge you have to just disappear. Ghost notices your failed deep breathing and lets go of one of your hands, before taking the other and holding it to his chest.

You can just barely feel his heartbeat, his thick tactical vest and gear in the way of it, but you can still feel it. Ghost takes a deep breath, holding it for a second or two before slowly exhaling.

“You copy me, okay?” He tells you, his words an order but his tone suggesting otherwise. He takes another deep breath, this time hoping you’ll follow his lead, and you do.

You try to breathe with him, your hand on his chest helping, but your breath keeps getting caught in your throat. Ghost notices this, but continues his breathing anyway, hoping you’ll catch on soon. You do, thankfully—after a few more attempted breaths, you finally manage one almost identical to Ghost’s. The next few after that go similarly, and that’s when Ghost decides you’re alright to take your hand off of his chest.

“I need you to tell me what to do,” He says, keeping your hand in his hold, “or at least tell me how all of this works. I want to help you.”

You really don’t want to tell him what you need right now, but you also don’t think you have a choice.

Wordlessly, you stand up from your seat, balance just slightly off-center before you quickly get your footing right. Ghost watches you, not moving, before you tug on his hand to try and urge him to get up as well. He obliges, getting up.

“What—” You interrupt him by taking another step forward and letting your head thump right into his chest, ignoring the itchy uncomfortable feeling of his vest against your face. You don’t bother to wrap your arms around him to at least try and form some sort of hug, preferring to just smush yourself into him and hope for the best.

After a moment of stunned silence, he wraps his arms around you.

“You mind if we move behind my desk so I can look up some more stuff on all of this?” He asks, voice quiet, “Unless you want to just tell me?”

“Desk,” You simply mumble into his vest, making him nod.

“Alright, but you’re gonna have to stop hugging me for a second,” Ghost warns you. You reluctantly step away, and Ghost smiles softly down at you, bringing his hands away from your back and instead holding one of yours.

He leads you behind his desk, and lets go of your hand before sitting down in his chair. Pausing, he quickly realizes you have nowhere to sit, and thinks for a moment before getting back up. He drags his chair just slightly to the side and looks back at you.

“Sit down,” He nods to the chair, “It’s only gonna be a minute or two, alright?”

You nod, hesitantly moving to sit in the chair, not really liking how far away from Ghost it is. It's not that far, You try to rationalize, I’m gonna be fine.

Ghost can see your hesitation and tries to work as quickly as he can, grateful that he didn’t turn his computer off earlier, typing away on his keyboard. You don’t care to see what he’s looking up, more focused on looking at the time on his monitor. 21:44. 21:45. The time ticks by and even though it’s only been a few seconds you already want Ghost’s attention again. His attention has actually turned into good attention, and that’s the type of attention you’ve been craving for the past week.

The clock reads 21:47 once Ghost is done, and he powers his monitor off this time, the small whirring the device makes dying down to a low hum before going completely silent. He turns to you, and somehow can sense that you need more attention.

“Am I not paying enough attention to you?” He teases you, making you conflicted on whether you should be annoyed by the teasing or happy you’re finally getting attention. As if he can read your mind, he chuckles, and kneels down to your level.

“I’m gonna give you as much attention as you need, alright?” He promises, “I just need you to stay in this room.”

—

Ghost watches you nod non-verbally, and it only adds to his softening expression.

He’s always had a soft spot for kids. He knows that you aren’t technically a kid, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still see you as one. You’re young for someone in the military, much less someone in this 141, and now that he’s found out that you’re an age regressor, that you’re a little—well, that doesn’t help how he sees you at all.

He thinks that maybe the reason he has such a soft spot for kids is a few encounters he’s had with them in the past. He’s seen far too many in compromising positions while on missions; positions like being held hostage, being held as prisoner, or just generally being mistreated or even just living in bad conditions.

He looks at you, and he just sees another one of those kids.

He sees how you act around him. He’s not stupid. When he talks to you, you’re actually engaged in the conversation, compared to when anyone else tries to talk to you—maybe excluding Price, or Soap, or Gaz, heavy on that maybe—you’re more likely than not brushing them off every chance you get. You’re standoffish with everyone else, but with him, you’ll always accept any conversation he initiates.

He can also see the way you look at him. It’s like you’re looking at your idol, or your savior, the way you look up at him. He can see that curious glint in your eyes when he tells you about a recent mission, or when he tells you anything, really. He can see when you try to mimic how he holds his weapons, and when you try to copy his techniques.

He remembers catching you one day in the shooting range trying to mimic how he aims at the targets—looking through your scope with one eye closed, the other focused only on the dot centered on the scope, taking a deep breath in and out before shooting, and keeping the gun exactly like that even seconds after the shot’s been fired.

In fact, the copying has gone from guns to melee weapons recently. Ghost swings only his forearm when he uses a knife, thumb resting on the very end of the knife’s handle, and entire arm stiff as he does. He does a slow windup when behind someone, a fast one on the off-chance that he’s in front, and buries the weapon to the hilt in whoever’s flesh he’s penetrated. He’s already seen you do the same on a recent mission. Not only that, but he caught you using a knife almost identical to his.

And now, you’re still looking at him like that—except, different. Sort of like how a kid might look up to their parents.

“What do you feel like doing, kiddo?” He asks, hoping the pet name isn’t too much.

From the way your eyes light up, he suspects it isn't.

“Mmm…” You hum, thinking for a moment, before requesting, “Coloring?”

“Coloring, huh?” Ghost looks around for some blank paper and some sort of marker or pen thick enough to act as one, but can only find some highlighters. He turns to you, frowning, “Sorry, but I don’t think I have any paper, kid. Anything else you wanna do?”

You shake your head, and Ghost is just about ready to jump off of a bridge before you point to his arm and repeat, “Coloring.”

He looks at his arm for a second, confused, before he remembers a conversation the two of you had a month or so ago.

“If you ever wanna get tattoos, I know a guy in Brighton,” Ghost said, reclining his chair back so that he can lay down in it. You were sitting across from him in front of his desk, fiddling with one of his pens.

“Good to know,” You hummed, “You have any tattoos?”

“Yeah,” You perked up at his admission, and he sat up for a second to roll up the sleeve of his shirt. He wasn’t wearing his usual gear, only one of those standard issue army-green shirts.

“Here,” He pointed to a large tattoo covering his whole arm like a sleeve, a few designs you could point out to yourself being a skull, a few Roman numerals, and some kind of scythe.

“Very emo,” You commented, making Ghost snort, “I like it.”

“I’m glad,” He rolled his sleeve back down.

There’s a lot of blank space in the tattoo, despite it being a sleeve, and he can already tell that you mean you want to color in that space. He thinks about it for a moment, a fleeting thought of is that even safe? crossing his mind before he ultimately decides that he doesn’t care and would rather kill himself than see you disappointed because he denied your request, his own health be damned.

“Alright,” He hums, grabbing a few highlighters from a mesh cup on his desk in the colors pink, yellow, and blue, “Go for it.”

You give him a small smile and if he cared about if he’d get ink poisoning two seconds ago, he sure as hell doesn’t care now. You gingerly grab the highlighters from his hand, your grabbing not too secure and sort of clumsy but secure enough that the markers stay in your hand.

You hold them with both hands, and it makes Ghost realize how small your hands are—sure, you could hold the highlighters with one hand, but he’s glad you aren’t because now he can admire just how small you are as a whole.

You set the yellow and blue down on his desk, making sure they don’t roll off for a moment before uncapping the pink and hesitantly holding out a hand for Ghost’s arm. He rolls up his sleeve and obediently holds out his arm for you, watching curiously as you press the cold tip of the highlighter to his skin. You’re starting by coloring in the skull a neon pink, much to his amusement, and you’re starting in the dead center of its forehead.

You’re so much more quiet than you usually are when you’re little, and you’re so much more hesitant, it makes Ghost want to just wrap you in a blanket and keep you safe and in his sight forever.

Your tongue slightly pokes out from between your lips as you concentrate on coloring in Ghost’s tattoo, making him grin beneath his mask. The ink of the highlighter doesn’t stay within the black bounds of his tattoos at all, but he doesn’t care one bit, and he doesn’t think you care either. You finish up the skull quickly, and move onto the scythe that’s right next to it, this time capping the pink highlighter and grabbing the yellow.

Ghost is pretty sure this is gonna stain his skin for a day or two, but he couldn’t care less.

He can’t help but notice how much more relaxed you look in your regressed state. More at peace, he should say. There’s no longer a hunch in your shoulders, your eyes aren’t twitching from your headache, and you’re not bouncing your leg like you usually do when you’re sitting down somewhere. It’s like any anxieties you had pre-regression had evaporated, like slipping into a younger mentality had taken away most of your worries, if not all of them.

He also can’t help but wish he could see you like this more often. Not necessarily the regressed part, but the relaxed part. Well, maybe the regressed part too. You’re being such a sweetheart right now, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to live through this experience.

“You having fun there, darling?” Ghost asks, his grin evident in his voice. The corners of your lips quirk up at the pet name and you nod silently, and now Ghost is starting to think you’re actually trying to kill him. You’re being so uncharacteristically shy, and you’re being so quiet, and you’re just being so sweet.

It seems you’ve moved onto the blue highlighter now, coloring in the last bit of his tattoo. He doesn’t think he’ll ever wash it off—or, at least, he wouldn’t if he had a choice. He knows that he has to shower sometime soon, but surely he can put that off for a bit, right?

Once you’re finished with your coloring, you cap the highlighter, and set it down next to the others you’ve discarded. You turn Ghost’s arm the tiniest bit towards him so that he can see your work better.

“‘s it good?” You ask quietly, watching intently for Ghost’s reaction. He looks over your coloring job and hums approvingly.

“It’s amazing, I love it,” He assures you, smiling down softly at you, “You did great.”

You seem to preen at the praise, and you take your hand off of Ghost’s arm, moving to put in your lap. You’re keeping yourself very contained, Ghost notices, Why?

He’s snapped out of his thoughts when he hears you yawn, and you quickly move to cover your mouth as you do. He’s reminded that it’s almost twenty-two hundred, and while that usually wouldn’t be an issue for him, it’s an issue for you. You originally came to the 141 as someone who had a sleep schedule almost as fucked up at Ghost’s, but soon developed a habit of going to sleep somewhat early considering the training you had in the morning. So, now you get tired anywhere from eighteen-hundred to twenty-one hundred. After that, your only goal is to find somewhere to sleep.

“Sleepy?” You nod tiredly, making Ghost coo, Ghost, the man who quite literally haunts some people’s nightmares, coos at you, “Aw, of course you are, sweetheart. Pretty sure it’s way past your bedtime by now.”

“Nuh uh,” You deny, making Ghost chuckle.

“‘Nuh uh’?” He asks, amused, “What d’you mean ‘nuh uh’?”

“No b’dtime,” You shortly elaborate.

“Ohhh, okay,” Ghost feigns realization, “You think you’re too big for a bedtime, huh?”

“Mhm. Way too big.”

“I dunno about ‘way’ too big,” Ghost hums, checking to see if the highlighter on his arm has dried before he pulls his sleeve back down. “You seem pretty little to me.”

“No,” You whine, dragging out the ‘o’, “Not lil’.”

“Hmm… you sure, kiddo?” Ghost asks, “So if I ask you if you need to go to bed, you’re gonna say ‘no’?”

That makes you hesitate, and Ghost almost thinks he’s won, before your own pettiness wins and you nod affirmatively. He raises an eyebrow at you.

“Alright, well, you’ve gotta sleep at some point,” He says, crossing his arms as he leans back in his chair.

You think this over for a second, and he watches as you look over him for a moment before looking down at his lap, then looking back up at him. He can already tell there’s some sort of plan forming in your mind. Wordlessly, you get up, and Ghost does nothing to stop you as you decide to just plop yourself down into his lap. You straddle his thighs, moving until you’re sitting comfortably on him, and then let yourself slump forward so that your face is resting in the crook of his neck. It takes him a moment to process what just happened, before he laughs lightly and wraps both of his arms around you to keep you in place.

“Oh, okay,” He grins, resting his chin on your shoulder, “you just wanna cuddle with me until you fall asleep? Is that what this is?”

He feels you nod against his neck, and his grin grows as he rubs one hand against your back, trying to soothe you to sleep. He doesn’t say anything else, not wanting to distract you from your attempts to sleep anymore, simply letting you stay slumped against him. Your breathing wasn’t too fast-paced to begin with, but as you relax even more in his arms, he can feel your breathing even out.

You’re falling asleep fairly quickly, and the only complaint he has is that he didn’t get to spend nearly as much time as he wanted to with you while you were awake and regressed.

Once he’s sure you’re barely awake, he murmurs, “You’re such a sweetheart, you know that?”

—

You don’t know how long it’s been since you fell asleep, but you’re woken up by the slight rustling of clothes, and then you feel yourself moving up.

Your mind still feels foggy and you can tell you’re still somewhat in that younger mindset of yours, but now you’re significantly less bothered by it than you were before. You’re awake enough to be aware of what’s happening, always having been a light-sleeper, but not awake enough to know exactly what’s happening. You don’t dare open your eyes, and try to keep your breathing even—though that isn’t much of a challenge.

That headache that had been building up earlier has fully disappeared, thank God, and you no longer feel the tension in your shoulder that you’d been unconsciously carrying.

You can sort of feel someone’s arms snaked under your back, and you know that you’re being moved somewhere. Quickly, you remember that it’s Ghost carrying you, and that you had fallen asleep on him, much to your embarrassment. Or, at least, it would be much to your embarrassment if you had the mental capacity to feel embarrassed about that right now. But you feel so comfy and so safe that it really doesn’t matter to you right now.

You can hear the clicking of Ghost’s boots against the concrete floors of the hallway, and he’s carrying you off somewhere; you imagine that somewhere to be your sleeping quarters. He’s walking pretty fast, not hurriedly but still at a somewhat fast pace.

Soon, he reaches a stopping point where he has to awkwardly put one leg up to support your back on his thigh as he quickly reaches one arm out to turn the knob of the door to your sleeping quarters and pulls that arm right back to support your back again. He sighs as he puts his foot back down, kicking open the door and walking in.

He’s quick to reach your bed, and he pauses as he considers what to do. You can practically hear him thinking, wondering how he’s gonna get you under the covers while he’s still carrying you, and for a second you think about showing him you’re awake so that things are easier for him before he sets you down on the bed.

He pulls the covers up and stops when he reaches the part your body covers, and picks you back up, before dropping you right back off where the blankets have been pulled away. He pulls the covers back over you.

After a few moments, you think he’s left the room, before you hear the rustling of fabric and feel him leaning down. He gently presses his lips to your forehead and pulls away after a second or two, before quietly mumbling, “Night, kiddo.”

He stays there for a moment before you hear his footsteps leave the room, and then the door clicking shut behind him as he leaves the room entirely.

You’re quick to fall asleep after that.

#cod #cod hcs #hcs #task force 141 #simon ghost riley #ghost #age regression #caregiver ghost #ghost x reader #platonic ghost x reader #platonic ghost #i find him so lovely #hes my dad guys trust #i was literally meant to be his kid #trust that if i ever get any cod games with him in it i will spend the whole time admiring him #dad pls come back home #i miss u #python333

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gh0stsp1d3r · 10 months

Note

Hi I was wondering if you could write something about what it would be like to take care of a drunk Hobie and also with his hangover if that's okay with you

Cute

Warnings- alcohol, this is everyone’s reminder that Hobies most likely 19, nothing too much

“Ay, now lads, why haven’t we ever bar hopped?” Hobie asked, speech slurred as you rolled your eyes. You knew you would have to take care of him back home.

“Good question, probably because ya can’t hold your alcohol!” Karl laughed at him. Some others around laughed as well.

“That’s not true- is that true?” He looked at you.

“Hobie, sweetie, love of my life, we all know you can’t hold your alcohol.” You said.

“You guys are daft, I can too hold my alcohol. Right Johnnie?” He looked at the bartender.

“My names not Johnnie, Hobie, we’ve known each other for 2 years.”

“Well then who’s Johnnie?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Cause you look like a Johnnie.”

“Well the answer is no, Hobie.”

“This is bonkers, I mean, seriously.” He huffed like a baby. He tried to get another shot of tequila, it would have been his 7th.

“Okayyyy.. that’s enough.” You took it away from him, handing it back to Karl.

“No fun.” He complained.

“Hobes, you’re plastered.” Karl put his arm around him.

“I am not plastered-“

“Yeah… you kinda are.” You joined in.

Hobie rolled his eyes again.

“Wanna go home?” You asked him.

“I’d love to, beautiful. You gotta boyfriend?” He smirked, putting his arms around you.

“Yeah I do.”

“Oh… well he’s very lucky…” He said, almost sad as he stumbled.

“Hobes, are you really that drunk?”

“I’m not drunk.”

You laughed at him as you walked him to the passenger seat.

You sat down and started driving. When you got to your guys apartment, you looked at him in the passenger seat, he had fallen asleep.

You sighed, getting up and opening his door. You helped him walk upstairs as he yawned and stumbled around.

You unlocked the door, and helped him in. You helped him get onto the bed. He grabbed the covers and looked at you.

He watched you as you got undressed, giggling like a school girl. You rolled your eyes and got into the bed and next to him.

He fell asleep fast, and so did you.

——————————————————————

Next morning, you had to handle a hungover Hobie.

“Do I have to get up?” He whined when you told him he had to get up.

“You know you do. Your boss will murder you.”

“Fuck Miguel. No one’s gonna boss me around.”He rolled over in the bed and put his face in the pillow.

“I have a really bad headache.. can you get me some ibuprofen please?” He looked at you.

You sighed, getting up and going into the bathroom. You gave him one and he thanked you.

You sighed “Just take the day off.” And sat on the bed.

“Was planning on it.” He put his face in the pillows once again as you rubbed his back.

“Shocked you haven’t thrown up yet.” You laughed quietly.

“It’ll probably happen soon.” His voice was muffled against the pillow.

“You know, you’re cute when you’re drunk.”

———-

Tag list:

Hobie- @enviinotes @rayis-psychotic @korizzybee @animechick555 @stupid-ninja @rreasonablydumbb @xxqueen-of-horrorxx @spidypunkk @criodzasn

@techta @1eonk @chipstermation6 @whosace16 @ @l-pandamatic-l

@spider-phoenix @zebralover @my-melo-gf @wiz-te-ria @tzuyuzzs @luvsaluv @mxkn

@deputy-videogamer @666kpopfan @jared-oranges @likelilac @jjkclub

@kitty-kei @blaxk-widow @hoesindifferentshows @lavsluvsu @lampylamperson @artsykerfuffleplus s @notbluees @sp0kyzz @arlipooh @freeingrebels @ken-zah @blustalker @cursedbitchboy @romanoffswoman @chaoticevilbakugo

#hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #spider punk #spider man across the spider verse

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decieve-ineigle-obfuscate · 9 months

Text

Stubborn Man

Category: Drabble - Fluff

Rating: General

Warnings: Nothing. None. Nada. Not even language.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader (I don’t think there are any gendered identifiers, but lmk if there are)

Summary: During a long case, Spencer forgets to take care of himself. Once a headache takes hold, the reader makes it their job to take care of him.

This case had been dragging on for much longer than any of us had hoped for.

What had originally been expected to be a minor consult regarding a missing child (who the mother refused to believe was a runaway), had turned into a 3-week-long case revealing a child trafficking ring in a small town.

I was tired, and so was the rest of the team.

But none of us so much as Spencer.

The town had almost nothing in the way of online records, thus leaving Spencer to read every scribble, slip of paper, and sticky note available.

He was now wearing sunglasses, and sitting on the front porch of the station, away from the noise.

He had started by rubbing his nose, then massaging his temples, then sunglasses indoors.

After Morgan had started poking fun at him, I convinced Spencer to sit outside, and nurse the headache.

But it didn’t seem to be doing enough.

I stood, excusing myself from a conversation with Hotch and the sheriff, before stepping outside to join Spence.

The dry warmth enveloped me, comforting me like a blanket.

“How are you?” I asked softly.

Spencer glanced up, and I could see him squinting through the lenses.

“Not great. The lenses are light enough that I can read, but not dark enough to block enough light.”

I nodded, sitting beside him on the bench. “Have you taken anything?” I asked, knowingly.

He pursed his lips and dropped his head. “No.” He said quietly.

I smiled gently and patted his sleeved shoulder. “I have ibuprofen, tylenol. What would you like?”

“They both make me tired. That’s why I haven’t taken anything.” He replied.

“When was the last time you slept anyway? No one’s going to mind. Everyone on the team can read, Spence.”

“Not as fast as I can.” He replied, leaning his head on my shoulder.

“No one is going to judge you for needing a break. Especially if you have a migraine. I had one last Tuesday that took me down for a day and a half. We get it. But you can’t help us if you don’t help yourself.” I said softly.

He nodded. “Tylenol, please.”

I fished the bottle from my jacket pocket and handed it to him.

“I’ll tell Hotch I’m taking you to the hotel. Okay?”

He nodded.

I stood and went back inside as Spence took the pills.

Hotch looked up, a small smile on his face, “Finally got him to relax?” He asked.

I nodded. “Yeah. I just need the keys.”

He tossed me the keys, and I walked back outside.

Spence was leaning against the SUV, covering his eyes.

“Hey. Ready to go to the hotel?” I asked my voice low.

He hummed in approval.

I unlocked the car and opened the door for him.

He climbed in and I closed the door behind him.

I walked around the car and climbed in beside him. “Hey. You gonna take a nap?” I asked.

“Mhmm. Hopefully, those blackout curtains are worth the whopping $10 I’m sure the hotel managed to shell out on them.

I chuckled as I turned the engine over.

I shifted into drive and began our drive to the hotel.

“They have sleep masks on the side tables.”

He perked up. “Really? You’re kidding.”

I shook my head, “Seriously. You should use one, too.”

He hummed in agreement. “I will.”

Upon pulling up, I shut the SUV off and got out.

I walked around the vehicle and opened the door for Spencer. “You ready?”

He got out and leaned against me as we walked in.

“My head is killing me.” He whispered.

“I know, Spence,” I said, kissing his jaw as I pushed the door closed behind us.

“Stay?” He asked, toeing his shoes off.

I shot Hotch a text and received an affirmative.

“Yeah. I’ll stay.” I replied, softly.

I pulled the curtains closed and placed Em’s hair clip on the seam.

“Better?” I asked, glancing back at him in the darkness.

He hummed, and I moved towards him.

His arms were open wide, and I shrugged off my jacket before crawling into bed with him.

He pulled me against his body, tucking his face into my neck.

“Love you.” He whispered, eyes fluttering shut against my hair.

“Love you too, stubborn man.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #criminal minds drabble #spencer reid drabble #drabble #gn!reader

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possibilistfanfiction · 4 months

Note

for surgeons AU could we get some early days, maybe first date or something? obsessed with your work as always

[s/o to everyone who asked for their first date, love u, crossposting this au to ao3 now too i guess lol!]

‘don’t laugh.’

‘i’m not.’

you glare.

‘i swear, i’m not,’ she lies.

‘cam, you’re actively laughing. physically. audibly. at me.’

camila takes a deep breath and forces herself to frown. ‘okay. sorry. continue.’

‘bea is just — hot.’

you can tell that camila fights a grimace, which is fair, maybe, because she’s known beatrice for years through medical school. ‘she’s also very kind and understanding, if you wanted to, like, do something that would actually be fun for the both of you.’

‘hiking sounds fun.’

‘ava.’

it’s not all that often you feel the tightness in your chest that you remember from childhood: things are far less limited to you now. you have care you need, and your physical therapy and surgeries and medications are usually effective at letting you do whatever you want day-to-day. ‘just — don’t.’

camila sighs. ‘okay. but i promise bea wouldn’t think any less of you.’

you flop back on her sofa. ‘i know that, i really do. but it’s just so not sexy. and you know what is sexy? beatrice without a shirt on hiking ten miles, all sweaty and —‘

‘— it’s november, i’m pretty sure she’ll be wearing a shirt and a jacket —‘

‘— that’s not the point.’

camila loses her battle and does outright laugh at you now. ‘okay. well, to answer your question, you can borrow whatever of my gear you need, and i won’t tell bea.’

‘you’re a saint.’

to be fair, beatrice picks you up in her extremely clean subaru — you refrain from saying anything; it’s way too easy for it to actually be fun anyway — and offers you a breakfast sandwich and a coffee from, apparently, her favorite place near her house. it’s a cool, cloudy morning, typical november fair, and it’s still dark out, but you’re used to being up early or really at any time of day or night at this point. you’d done every spine decompression stretch you’ve ever learned in physical therapy, taken some ibuprofen, and truly have no plan other than hoping camila’s trekking poles — a very serious name for very fancy walking sticks — are enough to see you through.

beatrice, for her part, is clearly nervous, and it’s charming: she spends at least twenty minutes talking to you about all of the features of the hike and why it’s an ideal one for the two of you — ‘it’s moderate elevation gain up to the crest, about 2.5 miles, and, since it has southern exposure, we won’t get too much wind today.’ and, ‘if you want to keep going, it’s beautiful along the ridge, and there’s two mild peaks we could summit.’ and, ‘i’ve packed enough food and water for essentially however long we want to go; you can carry some if you’d like, if you didn’t pack much yourself.’ and, ‘anyway, the entire thing is wonderful and, in my experience, fairly empty, especially as it grows colder. but, just our luck: not much rain forecast for today.’ — and then asks, almost painfully awkward, about your last shift.

‘it was fine,’ you say, finishing your sandwich and making sure your trash is neatly packed up in the bag, with hers too. ‘but enough shop talk. i want to know about you.’

she blushes and you see, not for the first time but maybe in a way that’s more obvious than you have before, that beatrice is just a person after all, even if she’s unflappable at work.

‘it’s okay,’ you say, so she doesn’t shut down or feel embarrassed. ‘i don’t mind shop talk, but i’m just — i’m glad to spend the time with you, away from work. plus you’re like a total enigma. very mysterious. it’s kind of hot.’

you haven’t said explicitly this is a first date, but you’ve been on lots of first dates and you’re fairly certain this is one. you’re definitely certain when she laughs, her shoulders loosening down her spine, away from her ears, and says, ‘only kind of?’

‘well, i wasn’t sure if we were just colleagues or just friends or whatever.’

‘or whatever?’

you groan. ‘you’re extremely hot, are you kidding? i think it’s affecting my residency, actually. i get distracted by your hands and then i lose the plot.’

she takes that in, maybe more than you had meant to say but who cares at this point; you’d gotten up at 5 am for her on your day off, so it’s fairly clear how you feel. ‘you’re quite distracting yourself, dr. silva.’

‘in a good or bad way? like, sexy or annoying?’

she rolls her eyes; you can tell, even if she’s still watching the road. ‘it depends. often both.’

you grin, lean back in the seat. ‘i contain multitudes, what can i say. triple threat.’

‘sexy, annoying, and… ?’

‘brilliant, obviously.’

‘oh yes, obviously.’ you pull into a deserted parking lot amidst a lush green forest and a heavy early morning fog; it’s beautiful, and you don’t ever regret that you ended up here, but you feel particularly grateful for it now. ‘you are brilliant, ava.’ it’s serious, the way she says it and the way she squeezes your hand, just once, before she gets out of the car with a soft smile.

you watch her as subtly as you can as she puts on her gear, following suit as closely as you can without being too obvious about it. you know this is, objectively, really stupid and unnecessary, and jillian is probably spidey-senses yelling at you from somewhere in the world, but you have never wanted to impress someone so badly in your entire life. once beatrice is all ready to go, in her warm fleece quarterzip underneath a waterproof shell, a similar setup for her pants, her boots tied securely and her pack neatly zipped, poles ready at the correct height — so your elbows are at 90 degrees, camila had explained yesterday — and a beanie pulled down securely over her buzzed hair and ears.

‘the most important part for me,’ she says.

it takes you a second, but then you laugh. ‘you’re being funny.’

she makes sure her car is locked, zips the keys in a pocket inside her jacket, and then takes off down the trail. ‘i’ve been known to have a sense of humor from time to time.’

she’s not even walking that fast but it’s cold and jillian is mad at you all the time for how much you have to stand just for work, definitely without the however-many-long mile hike you’re about to go on. ‘the other interns are terrified of you, you know.’

beatrice turns toward you with a smirk. ‘and you’re not?’

‘well, i’ve seen you cry, once not even about a patient but about the fact that the coffee cart was out of earl grey tea.’

‘i hadn’t slept in thirty hours.’

you shrug — that’s probably true, but still — and bump her in the shoulder. ‘i like you,’ you tell her, honest, finally, amongst the moss and the ferns, the sun barely up, no one around to hear you. there’s a different kind of fear you feel when it comes to beatrice: not as dr. choi, indomitably talented and ruthlessly efficient resident, but as someone whose cologne you recognize, as someone who you want to make your grandma’s vatapáfor. ‘you’re kind to me.’

beatrice slows down for a moment — thank fucking god — and takes you in. you feel out of place often, and especially here, but the best thing about her is that, even if she senses it, she never faults you. ’that’s what you deserve.’ and then, ‘i hope i am. i want to be.’

you don’t know much about her, really: you know that she went to boarding school at 14 and had been at the top of her class at the best schools and programs in the world ever since; that she loves to be in nature and has known lilith for forever; that her accent loosens, just slightly, when she’s especially excited or especially exhausted. she likes otters, you’ve gathered, from a little pin on her coat, and she wants to go into cardio because it’s endlessly fascinating to her, and impossible, and miraculous. she runs so much admin for the free gender affirming surgery clinic even though it’s not her speciality and she certainly doesn’t have to; she learned asl last year, in addition to a host of other languages she speaks, to better communicate with patients and colleagues. you think, of anyone in your program, maybe of anyone at the hospital entirely, she’s chief superion’s favorite.

there are so many things you want to learn about her: what makes her scared and who she let take care of her after she had top surgery and what her favorite song is and what book made her cry as a child and if she likes comedies or is more of a drama kind of girl. you want, you can admit to yourself, to know everything about her in a way you’ve never quite wanted anything before.

‘you’re the best person i know.’ you’re worried it’s too much before she smiles — not at you, too shy, but you catch it anyway before she looks away.

‘that’s generous.’

‘still, true.’

she worries her lip before saying, ‘i am, technically, your boss.’

‘barely.’

‘ava.’

‘hmm. not dr. silva? doesn’t sound very position of power to me.’

‘i — i like you too.’ you watch her push her poles into the soft ground a little harder, like her whole body is fighting — to say what she means, or to not say it, you’re not sure.

you’ve had crossroads in your life before, most of them really fucking horrible — until they weren’t, until the world stretched out before you and opened up before you. you’ve talked over and over about this with jillian and the therapist she made sure you went to before you consented to any truly dangerous and experimental procedures or injections: disability was limiting, sure, but the real harm was done by the lack of care afforded you, not your lack of movement. you work so, so hard to believe it on good days; it’s nearly impossible on the worst.

but this is the best day, you decide. camila is right: beatrice is kind and caring and brave in ways you know; in ways you have yet to find out.

you’ve made it maybe half a mile into the hike but your back is aching, left foot going numb already, your right hand clenched too tight around the handle of the pole, so much so that even the soft cork of it hurts. so, instead of moving and moving and moving like you always do, like you have since the moment you could close your hands into fists so tight you swore you’d never let the world go: you stop.

bea takes a few more steps and then notices; she turns around and looks at you curiously.

‘sorry,’ you say, impulse and fear and habit, then shake your head. ‘actually, uh. i’m not? yeah, i’m not.’

she stands steady, unfazed by that. ‘okay.’

‘uh, well. i like you too. i already said that, but i really like you. i don’t — god, this sounds so stupid. but i don’t want to be your intern.’

the small, amused smile on beatrice’s face makes you feel better. ‘am i not a good teacher?’

‘i think there are lots of other things i would enjoy you teaching me.’ you close your eyes for a moment as she laughs, trying to regroup. ‘okay, i am sorry for that one.’

‘don’t be. i quite enjoyed it.’

‘before — before we tell chief superion anything, if you wanted to try, just — you should know that i shouldn’t have said yes to going on this hike.’

beatrice’s brow knits together, so immediately concerned you reach for her hand.

‘not because — it’s beautiful,’ you say. ‘you’re beautiful, and i’m so happy you asked me.’

she doesn’t look any less worried, which is fair.

‘i have a spinal cord injury,’ you say, and her face softens into something you’re terrified of for a moment, until you realize it’s only patience, only an opening for understanding — not pity, and certainly not anything close to contempt.

‘okay,’ she says, calmly and as kind as ever.

stupid, annoying tears burn at your eyes. ‘i just — you love hiking, and you asked and planned so nicely, and you wanted to share this special thing with me, and —‘

‘ava,’ she says, then brings her thumbs to wipe your cheeks with a gentle smile. ‘i just wanted to spend time with you. you’re right, i enjoy hiking, but i also enjoy lots of other things. things that i would also want to share with you.’

‘i should be using a cane at work,’ you admit, in the middle of this beautiful forest where no one but her can hear you. ‘i haven’t been because i didn’t, i don’t —‘

‘— while i think it’s wise you’re moved off my service,’ she says, ‘i will burn down that entire hospital if anyone looks down on you for that.’

‘that seems counterintuitive to do no harm.’ the way you say it is wobbly and your nose is full of snot and it’s kind of all so terrible, but then you catch up: ‘you don’t want me on your service?’

beatrice steadies herself. ‘i want to kiss you.’

‘even after —‘

‘ava, listen. i want to kiss you.’

‘yeah,’ you say, and lean forward.

it feels like your entire body lights up, even though it aches in the damp cold — golden light everywhere.

you laugh a little afterward, then beatrice smiles and takes off back toward her car without any complaints.

‘it’s still rather early,’ she says as you go on your way, ‘and we’re only about twenty minutes from the car.’

you grimace. ‘yeah, sorry.’

she shakes her head. ‘there are undoubtedly so many things you need to apologize for daily, ava —‘

‘— hey —‘

‘— but this is not one of them.’

‘fine,’ you huff.

she’s unfazed. ‘i was going to ask if perhaps you wanted to come over to my place. among other things i like in addition to hiking, i do like to catch up on rest as well. and then perhaps lunch? there’s a spot near me that has wonderful oysters.’

‘a nap? in your sexy house? lunch? with your sexy face?’

she ignores most of it: ‘it’s a rather normal house.’

‘i bet it’s sexy. lilith told me you were rich.’

beatrice grimaces.

‘it’s okay. like, really. i just bet you’re, like, the kind of person who has bespoke everything, aren’t you?’

‘no,’ she says, but she’s blushing and looking away from you.

‘you know, you’ve got a terrible poker face.’

‘only when it comes to you, i’m afraid.’

‘ah, what a terrible fate.’

‘the worst,’ she agrees, shaking her head with a smile. ‘it’s got a good view, i will say.’

‘well, lead the way then.’

‘ava, we’re just walking back to the car.’

you roll your eyes. ‘you know what i mean.’

beatrice’s house is beautiful, perched on a hill with giant windows overlooking the sound and the olympics. she laughs — not unkindly — when you admit that all of your hiking gear is actually camila’s, says, ‘i thought that pack looked familiar,’ and then lends you a hoodie and some comfortable running shorts to change into. you don’t ask her so many things brimming inside of you; she doesn’t ask you either, although you’re sure she — as bea and as dr. choi — has a billion questions. you’ll ask and answer everything in due time.

for today, you bully her — with far too little bullying involved to make her argument of i’ve never seen it before and i don’t waste my time on shows like this — to start binging season 4 of real housewives of salt lake city; even less convincing when she knows all about jen’s escapades last season and then clamps her mouth shut when you laugh into her shoulder.

‘it’s compelling, fine,’ she says with a very dramatic pout, and you’re kissing it off her face before you can think twice.

she smiles into it, your nerves dissipating, and it’s good, and right, and safe. you eventually kiss her cheek and run a hand over the soft bristles of her hair — which you’ve been dying to do — while she smiles and then settle into her side.

‘thank you.’

she lets out a big breath, peaceful under the blanket, thick socks on your feet, cold rain outside but only warmth in this house with you in it. ‘no, ava. thank you.’

#wn fic #avatrice fic #avatrice #prompts #surgeons au #if there's two things i love it's hiking & rhwoslc!#butch bea 🥺🫡#they’re both so silly

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pimosworld · 11 months

Text

Por la mañana (2)

Santiago Garcia x f!reader

Summary-A drunken love confession leads to a fun morning for you and Santi

CW-Explicit smut, 18+ MDNI,mentions of alcohol consumption,light angst,Fluff,Kissing, cursing, unprotected piv, oral sex female receiving,fingering,piv cream pie,soft dom Santi

WC-2.7k

A/N- We’re finally getting to the smut. This is part 2 of Santi and readers confession. Please read part 1 if you haven’t already. I will attach a link below.

Not beta read

Part 1

***

You’re certain you’ve never been this hungover in your life. Your head has its own heartbeat and your mouth is dry as the Sahara. The only comfort you have at the moment is the silk sheets on your legs and the musk smell on the pillow. You don’t own silk sheets.

You pull the covers from over your head to brave the sunlight but soon realize it’s barely morning. You glance over at the nightstand and notice your phone and purse sitting neatly next to some water and what you can only assume is ibuprofen. 7:05 am, Okay just take the meds and drink some water.You can sleep for a few more hours and then try and figure out why you’re in Santi’s bed and not your own.

***

Santi lies on the couch staring at the ceiling fan as if it’s going to be the answer to all his problems.He knows he should probably try and get some sleep but how can he? You idiot,you told her you loved her in the most unromantic way possible.

Would you even remember? If you didn’t that would be fine, he could deal with staying best friends. He could not however deal with your rejection of his confession. How could he ruin this dynamic of your friendship? Was Frankie full of it when he said you had a crush on him? His mind is swimming with the thoughts of what if.

Santi grabs his phone not caring what time it is,he has to talk to someone. He sends a text and lays his phone face down on his chest.

I fucked up

He crosses his arms behind his head and refocuses his thoughts on the ceiling fan once again when a ping sounds from his phone.

Fish 🐈🐠: Its 2 am care to elaborate

I told her I love her

Santi watches the text bubble appear and disappear.

Incoming call Fish🐈🐠. Santi groans and answers his phone.

“I’m sorry pope I had to call you know I hate texting…so what did she say?”

“It’s fine hermaño.” Santi sighs on the other end. “I told her let’s talk about it in the morning, I didn’t want her to make a decision drunk.”

“Okay so what’s the issue? She told me she has strong feelings for you and she’s been waiting for you to ask her out for a while now.”

“Exactly, I didn’t ask her out. I made out with her and told her I loved her and she may not even remember.”

“Listen…if she doesn’t remember then just start fresh tomorrow and ask her on a date…if she does remember I say you take her lead. There’s no use freaking out now.

Santi thinks for a moment, there’s no reason not to trust Frankie and he knows he’s right.

“Thanks hermaño, I’ll try and get some sleep and let you know how it goes tomorrow.”

“You’re welcome and I think you mean today.”

End call

***

I love you

“If you want this with me…tell me in the morning.” He releases his grip around your waist and exits the room.

You sit upright in Santi’s bed and try to control your breathing. That wasn’t a dream, that actually happened. Your pounding headache has now been replaced by your pounding heart. What if he didn’t mean it? You know he had less to drink than you but not much.

You glance at your phone to see it’s now 9:30 am. Should you say something to him or let him take the lead? You can hear rustling in the kitchen and the smell of coffee and bacon. Okay so he’s awake. Just get dressed and go from there. You pull back the covers and begin the search for your clothes when something catches your eye. Your His Metallica shirt sits neatly folded on the edge of the bed. I thought he said it was dirty,did he wash it this morning?

It would be rude not to wear it when he obviously set it out for you. You change out of the army shirt and quickly replace it with the other. It’s soft and still a little warm, it smells uniquely of him and the cheap laundry detergent he insists on using. You reach for your jeans but decide to be bold and forgo them. He didn’t set out pants.

You step into the attached bathroom to freshen up and optimistically use his mouth wash. You glance at yourself in the mirror. You don’t look half bad for a hangover and it doesn’t matter anyways, it’s now or never.

As you make your way into the kitchen you notice Santi at the stove-fully dressed,his too tight blue jeans and dark gray tee stretched over his broad shoulders. You’re suddenly not feeling as confident. You begin to step out of the kitchen to retrieve pants but he senses your presence.

“Good morning cariño, how are you feeling?”shit

He’s still facing the stove so you make your way to the stools behind the kitchen island. “I’m feeling a lot better…thank you for taking care of me.”

“Always.”

He pours you a cup of coffee and puts cream and one sugar just how you like. He hands you the mug and your fingers brush his, causing your heart rate to spike. If you don’t tell him now, you never will.

He turns around and you stand from the stool moving slowly around the island. Before he can turn around you slide your arms around his waist to keep him in place.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” His voice is laced with concern as he begins to turn in your arms but you tighten your grip and bury your face between his shoulder blades.

“Just let me talk and then I’ll let you turn around.” Your voice is muffled in his shirt and his giggles reverberate through your body. His amusement at this is oddly calming. You raise your head slightly and take a deep breath.

“I love you too.”

His breath hitches slightly and his hands holding your arms squeeze you as he attempts to ground himself.

“I’ve wanted this with you for so long and I hope you meant what you said last night.” He slowly untangles your hands from his waist and kisses each palm.

“I meant every word.” He spins around and can’t help the smirk on his face as he finally notices your lack of pants. His fingertips brush the bottom of your shirt and slowly skate along your hips- he pauses just as he did last night and you panic briefly. You hope he’s not having second thoughts again.

He leans in close to your lips but not close enough to touch. “Can I have my shirt back?” He says with one eyebrow raised. You remove his hands from the shirt and raise it completely over your head discarding it somewhere to your right. His jaw goes slack at the sight of your naked body-you we’re feeling very confident and decided on wearing only the shirt.

He’s on you in a moment grabbing your waist with his calloused hands and pulling you flush against his chest. He kisses you like a man starved and you can feel his hard cock straining through his jeans.

“We should take this to the bedroom.” He pants out as you both try to catch your breath. You grab his hand and start to lead him down the hallway to his bedroom and his compliance makes you weak in the knees. You move as if you’ve done this dance before. He drops your hand briefly to begin discarding his clothes among the hallway. You hear the clang of his belt and the sound has the arousal building between your legs.

When you enter his room you sense a change from the night before. There’s no more apprehension.

“Lay back on the bed.” There’s no question in his tone anymore-only commands. You scoot back on the bed getting comfortable against the pillows. He slips out of his jeans and then removes his boxers. Your mouth waters at the sight of his thick cock already leaking precum. He crawls up the bed and lays down on his stomach, placing both your legs on his shoulder. You’re too turned on to feel self conscious as this gorgeous man smiles up at you from between your legs. He places a kiss on both thighs as he rubs soothing curl legs on your hips.

“I’m going to take my time okay?” Before you have the chance to decide if you should answer he silences you with a long slow drag of his tongue along your slit. You let out a whimper and he laughs. Did he just laugh?

“You’re going to make this too easy cariño.” Is he teasing you now? You don’t have time to think as he circles your clit with his tongue and your whimpers have turned to moans. He grips your thighs and pushes his tongue into your entrance and you can’t help but buck your hips at the sensation. He gently eases your hips back down with his left hand and slowly brings his right to your wet folds. He slowly eases in one finger and you bite your lip to suppress your moans.

“Look at me.” You don’t remember closing your eyes but you blink at him. “I want to hear all those pretty little sounds that I’ve dreamed about.”

He adds a second finger as he finds that bundle of nerves and begins to fuck you slowly.

“Oh fuck…Santi.” Your chest heaves and you can feel your slick dripping down to the sheets below.

He begins rubbing circles on your clit with his thumb and your first orgasm slams into you, you’ve gone into subspace not aware of the tears streaming down your face or the cry of his name over and over.

“Shh… it’s okay I’ve got you.” He begins trailing kisses up your body as you try and ride out your high. He hovers above you and stares down at you with your slick coating his chin. You cup his face and pull him flush with your body as your lips move against his in a slow passionate kiss. The intimacy is too much and not enough at the same time.

You reach your hand between your bodies and begin to stroke his hard cock pressed against your abdomen. He drops his head to your shoulder and groans, tightening his grip on your waist. He’s panting and rutting into your hand as precum coats your abdomen. You bite down on his earlobe and drag your teeth down his pulse point and he lets out a choked sound.

“Wait..wait.” He pants out. You halt your movements and you feel him pulsing in your hand. “I need to feel you, I don’t want to come like this.”

“Santi, look at me.” He raises his head from your shoulder, his sweat soaked curls on his forehead and pupils blown wide with lust. “Fuck me please.”

He opens his mouth in a slight oh when you begin to rub his head along your slick soaked folds. His eyes are still on you when he slowly pushes in just the tip and drags it back out. Your eyes begin to roll as he mutters curses under his breath. He rocks his hips over and over until he’s seated at the hilt.

You’ve never felt so full and safe at the same time. You tighten your legs around his waist and wrap your arms around his neck. “Santi please move.”

He wraps his arms under your back and grips your shoulders as he sets a bruising pace. The sounds of your moans fill the room as he hits a spot deep inside. He can feel your pussy flutter around his cock as he snaps his hips into you.

“Tell me how it feels.” He rasps into your ear not slowing his pace.

“It…fuck…it feels so good.” You punctuate each word with his thrusts unable to form a thought.

“I knew you’d be a good girl for me.” You clench down on the praise and he lets out a growl in your ear. He raises up to look down at your slick building at the base of his cock as he stretches you on his girth. He pushes your legs into your chest with his hands on the back of your knees as he churns his hips forward.His pace slows as he places his thumb on your clit rubbing quick circles causing your back to arch off the bed.

“Santi…please.” Your begging has him on the edge, your pleas and whimpers are music to his ears.

“I know baby, I’m right here.” He leans close as his thrusts grow shallow. “I’m close…where can I?”

“Come inside me please.” You're begging again and he definitely won’t make it.

“Be a good girl and come with me.” He kisses you slowly as he swallows your cries. You clench down on him as your climax washes over you in waves. He bites down on your lip and comes with a strangled sound shooting hot white ropes of cum into your quivering channel.

He collapses into you trying to brace some of his weight but you pull him down flush with your chest. The heaviness of his body grounding you.

“Fuck…that was.”

“Amazing.” You both pant in unison.

He pulls out of you with a hiss and you can feel your combined slick dripping out of you. “I’ll be right back cariño.” He stands and enters the attached bathroom and you hear the water running. He returns with a warm washcloth to clean you up. You would feel vulnerable at this moment if it wasn’t Santiago Garcia, the man you’ve been in love with for years.

He throws the cloth near his hamper not caring if he missed, and climbs into bed behind you pulling your back into his chest. The feeling is so domestic it makes you want to cry.

“I was supposed to ask you on a date first” He mutters into your hair. You can't help the giggles that erupt into laughter. He breathes a sigh of relief, he would give anything to hear that sound for the rest of his life.

“I know this is out of order but can I take you on a date tonight?” The tone in his voice suggests that he’s afraid you might say no.

“I would love to, although you’ll need to take me home at some point to get some proper clothes.” He pulls you onto his chest in one motion causing you to yelp.

“No…I think I’ll make you wear that Metallica shirt you love so much.” You slap his chest playfully and he grabs your ass pulling you down on his growing bulge. He kisses you deep and nips your bottom lip as you pull away slowly.

“We need to get out of bed before we end up here all day.” Before he can protest his phone pings from the floor in his jeans.

“Let’s try and have breakfast and then maybe we can finish this conversation.” You say as you slide off him. He grabs your hand before you’re off the bed.

“I love you.” The words would knock you off your feet if you weren’t sitting. You kiss his palm and place it on the bed. “I love you too.”

The shirt you want to wear is in the kitchen so you sway your hips as you leave for dramatic effect suddenly feeling at home in this space.

Santi lays there for a moment in a trance not having felt this happy in a long time. His phone pings again and he swears this better be an emergency.

🐈🐠:Congratulations

🐈🐠: Sounds like things went well 😚

🐈🐠: Your big ass but dialed me at some point.

What did you hear?

🐈🐠: Not much,just an I love you too

Santi releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

🐈🐠: 🍆💦 Have fun today

Oh sure you didn’t hear much

I thought you didn’t know how to use emojis?

🐈🐠: Benny taught me 😋

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated.

Tagging a few people who commented or reblogged part 1

@simpforbritgents @sunakochansama43 @brekkershadowsinger @thewatcher98

@itspdameronthings @amysuemc @djarinsimp @kingtwhiddleston

#triple frontier x fem reader #santiago x reader #santiago garcia #santiago garcia x you #santiago garcia smut #Santiago Garcia x Francisco morales #frankie morales #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier smut #santiago pope garcia x you #santiago garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier x reader

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in-my-shifting-era · 10 months

Text

Lost Keys

Spencer Reid (Fluff)

Summery: After a hard case reader just wants to get get home and sleep in her own bed.When readers keys keys goes missing. Spencer comes to save the day.

Warning: Normal Criminal Minds stuff. Some talk if a case that involves children. Nothing graphic. Reader does cry but it is more of frustration and exhaustion then sadness.

Authors note: I’m back! Sorry I haven’t posted anything. Life has been keeping me a little too busy. Writing has been on the back burner for a bit. As the poll determined here is a Spencer Reid post! Feedback would be amazing. I’d love to get some mutuals on here!

————————————————————————————————————————

The case was a hard one. Cases involving children tend to be harder to handle then others. Though the unsub was caught pretty quickly and the children taken where physically unharmed; this case took so much out of you. Having to think about what those children may have experienced at the hands of that monster.

You would have loved to just go back to the hotel room you had been staying in for the past few days and sleep this whole weekend off. Hotch insisted that the team would be home sleeping in there beds tonight. Even if that meant getting in at almost 2am. The thought of being on a jet for two hours feeling both physically and mentally exhausted was enough for a headache to start.

Your ‘Go’ bag had been packed up messily before heading to board the jet. You shuffled in with your team. Everyone taking there sports tiredly while having had one final debrief before take off. You sat down and tried to get comfortable. Tried being a key word there. You did not fall asleep once on the whole 2 hour flight. JJ offered you some ibuprofen for your headache. After hour in and still a pounding headache Spencer offered you chamomile tea. You ended up sipped on that as you watched the jet land.

You stretch lightly as you get up and gather your stuff to head to your car. Spencer stops and lets you off before him with a sweet but tired smile. You mimic his smile right back to him and head off the jet. You wait at the bottom for the young doctor. He always insists on walking your to your car when it’s late at night, and because you think he’s cute you let it slide.

His long strides get him down quicker then you. As you start to walk together he speaks. “So do you think you’ll make it to your bed this time or is your pillow still on your couch.” You laugh and roll your eyes playfully. “No actually I’m making an effort to sleep in my bed. Bosses orders.” You smile up at him and put your hands in your bag looking for your car keys as you approach where you thought you parked.

Your heat sank when you didn’t feel your keys where they should be. You stopped quickly and started searching more thoroughly. This action making Spencer almost walk right into you. You start to panic more when you don’t see the small wristlet of keys you usually have. Spencer places his hand on your shoulders gently taking you back to reality. “What’s wrong. What are you looking for.”

A pit of dispute hits your chest as your respond. “I don’t have my car or apartment keys.” Spencer’s small looks of pitty makes your eyes well with tears. “I could have left them on the jet. I’ll run and go see if-” Spencer steps in front of your swiftly and puts his hands on your shoulders gently to have you look at him. “Hey. It’s okay. It’s almost 3 am and you’re exhausted. I’ll bring you to my apartment. You will get some sleep and in the morning we’ll call and ask if they found any keys left behind.”

A single tear falls but only because your blinked while nodding your head lightly. “I don’t get to sleep in my bed though.” You look up giving him sad eyes because at this point your are almost delirious from no sleep. Spencer moves some hair behind your ear and smiles softly at you. “We’ll I am sorry about that. You can have my bed. We both like a more firm mattress so you’ll be comfortable. Does that sound okay?” You nod lightly loving the idea of sleeping in a bed after the weekend you’ve had and follow Spencer to his car.

Spencer left his oldies station on as you drove to his apartment. You hummed along to a Beatles song as you pulled up to the familiar building . You got out and follow him up to his appointment thinking about just how late it is. You both get in and take off your shoes and coat. Spencer leads you to his room turns on lights as he goes.

“I’ll give you some clothes if you want. Work clothes are not comfortable to sleep in.” You offer him a sweet smile. “Thank you Spencer. For all of this. I’m paying for our coffee on Monday.” Spencer smiles cutely. “Technology you owe me two coffees because when you spilled yours last week I gave you my cheese danish to eat.” You laugh remembering the hazelnut latte you lost that day. “Then I owe you a cheese danish. Sound fair?” Spencer nods and hands you some sweatpants and an old tee of his. “I’m going to the guest bathroom you can change in here or in my bathroom.”

You give him a small nod and smile as he leaves his room. You change quickly and do a very lazy version of your nightly routine in his bathroom. As you get back to his bed you see Spencer taking a pillow off and look around for an extra blanket..“ Am I kicking you out if you bed sleeping here?” He shakes his head. “No not technically. I just figured you’d be more comfortable if I slept on the couch.”

You shake your head and pat his side of the bed. “No. I’d feel terrible if you slept on the couch. Stay here.” He gives you a shy smile and puts his pillow back. “As long as your comfortable with it I’ll stay.” You smile tiredly at him as you getting under the covers on your side of the bed. “I’m fine with it. I’m usually comfortable when I fall asleep on your shoulder anyway. If I latch onto you just push me off the bed.”Spencer lays lightly and gets one his side of the bed making it dip slightly. “I never push your head off so this would be no different for me.” You blush lightly at the thought of waking up entangled with him. “Goodnight Spencer.” You close your eyes slowly letting Spencer’s “Goodnight” be what lulls your asleep.

#fluff imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x bau!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine

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deathdaydreamm · 5 months

Text

☾ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 ✷

what’s up y’all! once again I am broke! I have to get a tooth removed in 4 days, i’ve been in so much pain for the past two months and taking ibuprofen and Advil almost everyday and I haven’t been able to tattoo much at all. I spend almost every day sleeping and and not able to eat much so my energy is low as fuck! I almost have enough to cover rent, anything at all helps, even a dollar :) I hope you’re having a wonderful day, and may only good things come your way!

𝔻𝕠𝕟’𝕥 𝕓𝕖 𝕘𝕠𝕠𝕗𝕪 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕞𝕖, 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕒 𝕕𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕤𝕥 𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥 ♡

v3nmo: sofa526

ca$happ: sofa526

#thank you for reading #I love y’all

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twinklelilstarkey · 2 years

Text

Tutor: Trip - Rafe Cameron

Words: 5.4k+ Type: Fluff & Smut Summary: Rafe packs for his trip and faces the reality of two weeks without you. Warnings: Fem!Reader. Secret relationship / Forbidden love. Almost being caught. Rafe's family doesn't like them together. SMUT {male masturbation + Rafe imagining happenings of past chapters}. From this request

Tutor Masterlist (for context, you should read the smuts <3)

I do NOT give you permission to repost my work. If you’d like to read my stories on other platforms, you can find them on my Wattpad and AO3.

By clicking to read more you are agreeing that you are over the age of 18 and mature enough to read mature scenes :)

Rafe is supposed to leave his house in the space of an hour, and it’s not looking good. He has a headache of the size of a planet, and he still has to finish packing everything before he gets to leave. He also knows that as soon as his dad sees that he’s that late with their plans already, he’ll be getting a whole entire scolding. So, to say he’s a little in a bad mood is an understatement.

He doesn’t want to go. It will be two stupid weeks full of conferences and meetings of his dad’s business. Sure, Rafe understands that it’s needed for him to go to all of this stuff since, one day, Ward will pass him everything, but, God, why now?

Rafe obviously hasn’t seen you after last night, and the two of you haven’t texted either. He expects you to be still asleep, so he hasn’t even bothered to do it yet - not wanting to wake you up. But he has to admit, you haven’t left his mind for more than five minutes. Every time he’s distracted while packing, he will find himself thinking back on yesterday and how you looked and felt.

From what he heard a few hours ago, the guy who he beat him made his way into the house and cleaned up his own wounds. The owner of the party, who Rafe has no idea who it is, found him and decided to take him to a doctor. Rafe simply gave the guy a possible black eye, a serious bloody nose, and a busted lip. He has done worse. And, to add to that, Rafe's name hasn’t been mentioned once.

When thinking about the guy, Rafe finds himself thinking about you yet again. The way you held his hands or the way you looked at the blood. If there was a time when Rafe couldn’t read you by your expressions, it was yesterday. You didn’t seem scared for one second, but can he conclude that you were 100% comfortable with it?

Rafe sighs as he throws another shirt into his bag carelessly and faces his wardrobe once more. He can hear his family downstairs, especially his dad walking in and out of the house with all of the bags to the car. He can occasionally hear Rose speaking to him about the hotel, but Rafe zones out right after.

His sisters’ are also up. Sarah is already out of the house, and Wheezie must be finishing getting dressed - for some reason. Wheezie is one that likes to wake up early but never gets ready at this time, which is weird. Again, Rafe zones out before he can even get a conclusion out of the sounds around him.

He stands before his bag and begins to count how much he already has and how much more he still needs. Rafe is still waiting for the ibuprofen to work on his headache, but it still isn’t doing a thing, meaning that he’s left to count and think for a few more minutes.

A car pulls out of the driveway and, not even 3 minutes later, there are voices in the hallway downstairs. Rafe’s ears perk up at the familiar voice of someone, and he frowns a little. He stands in the middle of his room, quiet and non-moving, waiting for the confirmation he so needs for this morning to go well.

“Wheezie still needs to eat her breakfast, but she will come down pretty soon.” Ward’s voice is heard downstairs, “Feel free to do whatever while you wait. Do you want anything to eat?”

The voice answers more softly and not as loud, and then, suddenly, Rafe doesn’t hear it anymore. He restarts walking around, running his hands through his hair as he’s growing more and more frustrated with what he still needs to pack. He still needs to get the stuff in his bathroom, all of his chargers, and headphones… God, why is he standing still again?!

There’s a knock on his door, and Rafe tenses up. It could very much be his father, trying to see if they can leave in just a few minutes or trying to see if there are any bags he can bring down to the car. But every single thought stops as the knock is heard again.

Rafe opens the door, and you, who had just been looking over your shoulder, look up at him. A beautiful smile appears on your face when you see him, and Rafe’s heart skips an entire beat.

“I’m tutoring Wheezie today.” You explain to him, “And I was able to plan it as a morning tutor session with Rose, two hours ago.”

Rafe can’t even get the words out. He already had the will-not-see-you-in-2-weeks-better-start-getting-angry-at-the-world mentality, and, now, you flipped all of his plans around. Your eyes leave Rafe’s before he can figure out what to say or do, and you notice his bag and the mess that it is.

You push past him inside his bedroom, leaving Rafe to try to ignore the way his entire body seemed to react at the way your arm grazed his. Rafe closes the door and turns to face you, only to find you staring at the bag. You’re wearing a pink top and white jeans, and Rafe seriously looked at the back of those jeans for quite a while.

“Are you always this bad at packing?” You ask, breaking Rafe’s staring contest with your ass.

“Only sometimes.”

You look over your shoulder at him as he comes closer. You turn around to face him and eye him up. Rafe has this cute little smile going on, and it doesn’t take you long before you take his face into your hands and bring his face down for a kiss.

Rafe’s hands don’t come to you right away and that makes you pull away with a small whine.

“What?” He asks you.

You look into his eyes for what feels like just a tiny bit, and Rafe is left in the silence. He stares down at you, and his hands finally move to hold you. They lay across your sides and pull you in closer to his body. You let out a little sigh, and that makes Rafe smile at you.

“That was it?” He asks against your mouth.

“You did that yesterday too.” You remind him.

That almost makes the man before you laugh. He had completely forgotten how you had been pouty before coming into the bathroom the night before, and he also had forgotten that he had no idea why. Rafe squeezes your flesh underneath his hands, and you peck his lips with half-closed eyes.

“You could have told me.” He says, “I would’ve fixed it right there.”

“You did.” You remind him with a small giggle. “And I’m still sore.”

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, and you shake your head cutely, kissing his lips at least 3 times before saying anything else.

“Don’t be.”

You let go of Rafe’s face and wrap your arms around his neck. You stare at him for just a moment and your moment is easily broken by the sound of a car door closing. Without letting go of Rafe, you look over your shoulder at the mess that is his bag and back at him.

“Do you need help?” You ask him.

He doesn’t answer you verbally but the look he gives you is enough to answer you and make you laugh. You let go of him and turn around in his arms to face the bag. Your hands quickly lay on the shirts just seemingly thrown in, and you begin to take them out and fold them better. Rafe watches you for just a bit and finally decides to let go of you.

He faces his wardrobe again and continues to look through his clothes to pick some more. You are quicker at folding everything than he is at picking the clothes, and you can tell by the way he’s still standing there.

You walk over to him and peek into his wardrobe, laying your hand over the fabric of a few clothes and taking a closer look at each. Rafe watches you, and then you turn back to him with the last three shirts he would need. He grabs them and goes to put them away in the bag.

“What else do you need?” You ask him.

“Suits.” He says simply, looking up at you after talking.

He walks over to you and the two of you eye the different blazers in the hangers. You reach to touch some of the sleeves and Rafe watches you as you touch everything with so much care. You quickly notice the way he has stopped moving and look over at him, smiling as soon as you meet his eyes.

“Stop staring at me and get to work.” You tell him, trying to use an authoritative tone.

He doesn’t do as told, and you send him a playful glare before moving more to kiss his cheek. You turn back to face the wardrobe and take a step back when noticing something by the corner. You frown slightly, and Rafe looks in the direction you’re looking at. You lean into the wardrobe to grab what your eyes seem to have recognized, and you let out a chuckle.

“You still have this?” A giggle escapes right after, and Rafe smiles at you.

“Couldn’t throw it away.” He tells you while eyeing the underwear in your hands.

“Is it a prize or something?” You ask while trying to hold back your laughter.

“Of course, it is.”

You shake your head at him with a smile and try to ignore the way your entire body wants to fall into a pit of shame for a second. You fold your underwear in your hands to break your stare with Rafe and hold it in your hand.

“Want to keep it forever?” You ask playfully, and he chuckles, offering you a shrug.

“For the memories.”

You laugh in a mix of actual amusement and disbelief, and Rafe watches you as you let it out. You take a step back from the wardrobe, and Rafe grabs three different, random, hangers with suits. You walk over to his bed while he walks over to his bag at the end of it. You throw yourself on the comfortable bed and continue to hold the panties in your hand.

“Don’t you have to tutor?” He asks you as he tries his best to fold the suits before putting them on the bag.

“Not yet.” You say before closing your eyes and laying your head in your hands.

Rafe watches as you lay there, across his bed, on your stomach. He tries to stay focused on the outside noises of his bedroom, trying to see if he can hear his sister walking out of her room to have breakfast or even his dad walking over to his room to check on his damned bags. Knowing how they are, he doesn’t want the two of you to get caught together.

Rafe closes the bag and forces himself to look away from you. He grabs the other bag and really just starts throwing all that he will need. From the things in the bathroom to his chargers, laptop, and all the rest of his essentials for the two weeks.

When he turns off the light of his bathroom and walks out, he still finds you on his bed, but, this time, laying closer to his bag. He doesn’t think much of it and begins to zip everything up. He looks around his room, trying to see if he has forgotten anything important, but it doesn’t seem like it to him.

You roll around on the bed, now laying on your back, and you sigh loudly. Rafe leaves his bags by his door and walks over to you. He doesn’t move to get closer to you, but he does look down at your body as you lay there staring back at him.

“What time is it?” You ask him.

Rafe pulls his phone out of his back pocket and checks it. He only has 15 minutes until it’s officially time for him to leave. He opens his mouth to tell you the time, but the sound of a door opening and closing down the hall is heard. The two of you stay silent as the person that is outside walks away, and the two of you only relax after a few more seconds.

“Almost 10.” He simply says, and you don’t say anything back.

You stare at him for a little bit longer as Rafe throws his phone beside you on the bed, and you outstretch your hand towards him. He looks at it for a while, and when he takes it into his, you only pull slightly, making him know that you want him closer to you.

Rafe does as told, and you try to hide your triumphant smile. When he's close enough, you peck his lips, and Rafe rests his arms just by your head, hovering over your face. You kiss, again and again, and all of the kisses are small and short. You always pull back to look at each other. When a smile begins to grow on Rafe’s face, he simply moves his head down and snuggles it close to the crook of your neck.

He hears you let out a giggle at first with how his breathing supposedly tickles, but you eventually stop and wrap your arms around him to pull him closer. Your torsos are glued to one another, and there isn’t an inch that isn’t touching. You hold Rafe as your fingers begin to work through his smooth hair, and you feel him begin to lay kisses all over.

The warmth of his lips is familiar and maybe even a little ticklish, but you don’t move. Your fingers work through the back of his head, messing with his hair a little too much, and Rafe slowly leans his head back. He stays there watching you as you watch him, and as your fingers continue to work their magic at making him want to close his eyes.

Your lips connect yet again and, this time, it isn’t a peck. The kiss isn’t rough or fast, it’s very slow and, at the same time, very heart-clenching. You don’t want Rafe to go. Yes, there have been times before when you didn’t touch him or kiss him for two weeks, but you two still saw each other in between. Now, you’ll have to come to his house to tutor and find it without him.

Your tongue smooths against Rafe’s, and your lips move at the perfect pace. You try to push back all of your thoughts as you continue on, and Rafe’s hand on your waist makes you want to get even closer to him. You two are already flush against each other, yet it doesn’t seem like it’s enough. You deepen the kiss, and it almost catches Rafe by surprise. A small moan comes out of your mouth, and Rafe forces himself to pull away. You cannot do this. This will lead to something else, there’s too much risk and almost no time.

You stare at Rafe sadly, and he knows better than to not give you another kiss. It’s ridiculous how much you two have each other wrapped around your little fingers. You can get anything from him with just a pout and it shows. Your hold on his hair tightens, but the kiss comes back to its sweet and slow pace yet again.

The sound of voices at the end of the hallway reaches your ears, and neither of you move just yet. Rafe’s hand moves from your waist to your cheek, and he pulls away at the same time a door, far from his room, opens.

“You need to get back.” He tells you.

You unconsciously frown and Rafe kisses it away, not ever trying to hold himself back. When he pulls away, he has to force himself to stand back up and isn’t even surprised when you don’t move to get up with him. He takes a step back to give you space to move, and you take an impatient deep breath before actually moving, even in the slightest bit.

You sit up first, and, once you're up, Rafe watches as you begin to make your way towards the door. You try to fix your hair as you walk around, as well as your clothes, and you turn back around to him when you reach the door.

Before you notice, the urge is much bigger than you. You close that small distance between the two of you just one last time and kiss Rafe. Your hands lay over his sides and his own move to cradle your face. It's truly a goodbye kiss, but you cherish every bit of it.

“Can you text me when you get there?” You ask him sweetly, and he grins at you.

He whispers his answer, and you force a grin to match his.

You turn the doorknob after moving away from him and pull the door open. The hallway is absolutely empty, and you cannot hear a soul in the entire house. You turn back to Rafe to find him looking around the room, and then he looks back at you.

A light bulb flashes at the top of his head as he remembers.

“Where did you put your underwear?” He whispers.

Your saddened expression breaks into a small perfect smile, and you step back into the hallway.

“Somewhere safe.” You shrug, acting nonchalant.

Rafe is now standing in his doorway as you talk to him innocently just before his door. There’s a safe distance between the two of you. A smile on your face and a confused grin on his.

Rafe is still trying to figure out what you mean when he notices two people appearing in the staircase of the hallway.

You look over your shoulder, still with a smile on your face, to find both Ward and Wheezie. Their eyes are on the two of you right away. They both notice the way you're smiling, and Ward feels his body tense up when he sees that you two are talking. He knows it could be worse, but he also knows how wrong it feels to have his son so close to someone like you.

“Are you all packed?” He decides to ask Rafe.

“Yes, sir.” Rafe says with a hint of playfulness in his voice.

Wheezie is holding her breakfast in her hands, and she sees how you’re beginning to walk away from her brother. The two of you don’t look like you were doing anything, but she has to say that the sight of it is weird. Two completely different people who have never spoken before were just talking and smiling at one another.

You turn your back to Rafe and begin to make your way over to Wheezie’s door, right at the same time she does the same thing.

“Where were you?” She asks you, knowing that you had gotten here earlier.

“On the balcony.” You answer with such ease, and your usual softness makes it sound real, “I was on the phone with my mom.”

“And… Rafe?” Wheezie whispers as she opens her bedroom door, away from Rafe’s field of view.

“I was asking him if you had already gone down to eat breakfast. I wasn’t sure because I didn’t hear your door.”

If your voice didn’t sound convincing enough, you pulled your phone out of your back pocket as you spoke. Your screen shined with a notification of a text and, for some reason, Ward relaxed at that. He’s fine with you speaking to his son for whatever reason, only if it’s a quick conversation, but he has to agree that the idea of you being alone with him all this time isn't the best.

Ward walks over to Rafe and grabs onto one of his bags so that they can finally get on the road (and, eventually, the plane). Rafe passes his dad the lightest bag and grabs onto the heaviest. He snatches his phone from the bed and leaves his room.

Rafe can hear muffled words being shared between you and his younger sister as he closes the door of his bedroom.

Ward and Rafe both walk past Wheezie’s bedroom door right as you’re about to close it. You offer Ward a pleasant smile as always just before he looks away and begins to go down the stairs, and your eyes move on Rafe. Your smile doesn’t disappear, and his own appears. As he reaches the start of the stairs, he looks at you for a little longer, right before his father notices his absence behind him, and you two look away at the same time with the exact stupid smiles on your faces.

(...)

Rafe groans as he closes the hotel door behind him. He has been waiting to get to this room for hours, and time has never moved so slowly. He texted you right as he got to the hotel, and if things couldn’t have been worse, his dad stopped to talk to some people at least 4 times before they talked to the receptionist.

Rafe’s tired, hungry, and annoyed. Which all results in his usual bad mood and lack of desire when it comes to talking to his father’s friends downstairs.

He looks at his two bags just at the end of the bed, and he wants to scream at the fact that he still needs to unpack. Rafe considers taking a nap first at least 5 times, but he eventually lets himself understand that his nap will take an entire night due to how dead he feels.

His father dismissed him for the whole rest of the day because he already knew that Rafe didn’t look like he wanted to be there with him today. He can’t exactly put his finger on why since Rafe does seem like he’s making an effort to sound nice to his friends and even to him, but he just cannot understand. What could it be that is throwing him so off?

Rafe grabs the lightest bag first, putting things away in their respective spots. Bathroom things in the bathroom, laptop on his bed, and everything else where it feels right. Then, it was the clothes’ bag. He began by putting the suits in the hotel’s hangers, then his underwear and socks in the drawers and, as he shoves his hand to grab onto the pile of clothes that you folded, he felt something. As Rafe pulls it out from the side of his clothes, he almost laughs. This is the place you considered so-called safe?

He throws the underwear to his bed and continues to put the things away in the wardrobe. He also takes his bags into the corner of the room when he’s done, and he swears that his eyelids have never felt so heavy.

He takes his clothes off, except for his boxers, and gets more than ready to sleep. He turns on the TV for some background noise and slips inside the cold sheets of the hotel’s bed. He sits, laying his head back on the headboard and closing his eyes for just a few seconds while he tries to relax and get his mind in place.

Rafe re-opens his eyes and grins at the sight of the underwear again. He grabs it, looking at it as if it truly was his prize. That makes all sorts of images run through his head, and Rafe deeply regrets it right after.

He would do anything to touch you right now. To feel the soft skin of your thighs or your soft kisses against his lips. Rafe sighs at himself and leans his head back, fingers still playing with the delicate fabric.

In his mind, all that appears is the way you looked in those jeans this morning, the way you smiled at him, the way you moaned at just a kiss in his bed, and the way you didn’t want to leave. God, he would really do anything to have you right here. You could've been right beside him, probably without any of your clothes. You would look beautiful as always, looking at him with your pleading eyes and small pout just like you do when you don’t get what you want right away.

He can imagine the way you would sit on his lap and hold his face in your hands carefully. You’re always so soft with him. It makes him want you more and more each time. The way you would kiss him so velvety at first, be so slow and so sweet. You would be seated on his lap like it was the most normal of things and pull away to just whisper something. Your breath would hit his lips, and it would never take you long to kiss him again.

If his hands hadn’t been on you yet, they would be now, and he would begin to move your hips against him. You would probably already be so wet for him, just like every other time, you would grind your wet pussy over his boxers and possibly leave a mark behind. When you would pull away, you would plead for him with your eyes to touch you, no matter how fast or how rough, you would always want him to touch you.

God, if only you were here.

Rafe looks down at his lap and isn’t even surprised to see and feel how hard he really is. His ears appear to be in a soft ring. It’s that sort of lust that one has all of a sudden, one so strong not even your body can keep up. Rafe can only really imagine you before him, or imagine touching you, but he did have your panties in his hand.

He doesn’t hold back in any way, Rafe pulls his boxers down and his hard cock easily springs out. His hand can never compare to yours, your soft and smaller hand. Not now that he knows how it feels to have you touch him and pump his cock with your hand as you moan onto his face.

Rafe wraps his hand around his cock and begins to move it up and down. His other hand clings to the panties in his hand, the delicate fabric being a victim to his harsh grip, and he knows how easy it would be to rip them. He can imagine the way it would be to just have you under him and rip your underwear out of the way every time he takes you. Every time he gets to taste you and every time he gets to fill you with his cum.

Rafe lets out a soft groan at the image in his brain of how you looked just last night. He had been so rough with you and you wouldn’t care. Your eyes would fill up with tears and you would sob, but you never, ever, want him to stop moving into you. The way your smaller hands would grab onto his arms and cling onto his skin, forcing his arms to tighten around you. Your teary eyes staring at him through the mirror as you rested your head on his shoulder and moaned in his ear over and over again.

Everything around Rafe begins to feel like a bubble. The air seems thicker and warmer. His heart has begun to beat quicker, and he can hear it muffledly in his ears. His hand is gripping onto his cock tighter, and his body is already burning with all that his mind is able to think of you.

He looks down at the panties in his hand, he lets go of them and imagines how you wore them. How he was able to feel the wetness and warmth of your pussy through the fabric when he first touched you. The way you look at him every time he touches you is almost like a fantasy to Rafe. He has no idea why he likes it so much. The way your face frowns in pleasure, the way you always want him glued to you, and how your eyes plead him for more each and every time he’s with you; All of it is like a drug. One of the worst ones too. Rafe swears that he doesn’t understand it fully, but he knows he would be able to do the worst of things possible if it means getting to see you look at him in that way for the rest of his life.

Your innocent-looking face and your sweet little smiles never change when you look at him. No, you’re just as sweet and innocent when with him. And that innocence never seems to change, not even when he’s balls deep inside you and thrusting into you so hard he’s scared that he might break you. Especially never when you look down at the way his cock slides in and out of you, glistening with all of your juices and stretching you time and time again. You always like to watch it and then look at him as if to check if he’s still looking down at you.

Rafe groans while leaning his head back again, and he stares at the ceiling. His eyes are closed and all that hunts his mind is you. You hunt him for every second of his days, and he gets frustrated when he can’t exactly hold on to you.

Rafe can feel the way his insides are tightening, the way his dick has begun to throb on his hand, and how his precum brushes against his fingers when he moves his hand near his head. He can already imagine how you would look with all of his cum coming out of you, and how he would reach closer and move his cum back inside of you. Just like yesterday. You were so sensitive that you almost seemed to lean away from his kisses at the first touch, and when his fingers met your abused and slightly swollen pussy, you moaned and jumped a little. His fingers were covered with his cum and yours and all of it was fucking filthy.

He lets out a final grunt as he looks down at his lap. Rafe watches as he gets closer and closer to his orgasm, trying to force all of the nasty images at once into his mind. His hand grabs onto your underwear and moves higher and faster with his hand. His tip is red, and he is so hard.

It only takes him one more memory, and Rafe finally reaches his climax. He tenses up at first, letting rope after rope of cum dirty your pair of panties in his hand. He grunts and even lets out a whimper as he continues to touch himself all throughout his orgasm. His eyes close again as the euphoric feeling consumes his exhausted body, and he feels his muscles finally relax.

Rafe swallows harshly, breathing heavily and keeping his eyes closed for a few seconds longer. He doesn’t open them as he doesn't wish to find an empty room once more. He doesn't want to not find you before him or to not feel you kiss him with so much love and so much care. Or even to not have your love-filled eyes stare back into his as if you are looking at the love of your life.

Rafe, after maybe two minutes of resisting doing it, finally opens his eyes. He doesn't care for the disappointment at first, but it eventually gets to him.

He looks down once more and sees the panties still in his hand, but now with its delicate fabric stained with his cum. He doesn’t know for how long he stares at it, but he does. To be quite honest, he doesn’t even know what to do with them after this. He’s at a hotel for fuck’s sake.

His phone vibrates beside him, and he looks at the screen while he puts his boxers back on. The contact name flashes on his screen and his tired body still has the strength to react to it. He grabs it and brings it to his ear as soon as he picks it up.

“Hi.”

“Hi!” Your sweet and happy voice feels his ear, “How was your trip?”

His once frown of pure annoyance and bad mood now curves into a smile as his heart squeezes itself. It’s a strange feeling. He’s not sure he has ever felt it with anyone else, but the reality is that his heart does it with you every time without a miss.

His eyes fall back down onto the mess over his bed, and he sighs before answering your question.

How the fuck is he supposed to do this for 2 weeks?

Hope you enjoyed this! Do you have any ideas for what else could happen while Rafe or Y/N while he's on his trip - send me some ideas if so!

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron flyff #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fic #outer banks fic #outer banks fanfic #drew starkey #obx rafe

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websterss · 1 year

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 — 𝐋𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓: Hi!! So I've seen your account recently and I really would like you to write jatp luke Patterson x reader, when the Reader is always so goofy and childish. So they are sick like they have a very bad fever, and they are very weak and Luke takes care of them, and maybe sings a lullaby to help them sleep by singing to them and rocking them please.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): um cussing mostly, and fluff

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 985

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Luke Patterson x fem!Reader

𝐀/𝐍: Hope you enjoy it! This is my shortest story omg. I am fully recovered from having the flu this past week, so I’m trying to get back into my writing, but it’s still a slow process for me, because I was really drained of energy for a week, so be patience with me lovelies. ♡

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

“Y/n, I know you’re in there!” Rapid thuds against your window can be heard. The loudness that vibrates through the window shook through your body. You pull the duvet over your head to hopefully muffle the sounds of your annoying friend.

“Come on, let me in!”

“Goaway.” You muffle yelled. Though to your annoyance, it simply slipped your mind that Luke has the ability to poof in and out of places. Perks of being a ghost. “No. I wanna be at peace!” You whine as you sense his presence before you.

“Hello to you too, sunshine.”

“Goaway.” Your voice muffled under your blanket.

“Can’t do that. Julie specifically told me to come and help you around the house since she’s at school.”

“Why!” You kick out the duvet off you. Moving around frantically, part tantrum. “I don’t need a ghost. I need a goddamn miracle-“ You stop feeling clogged up air in your chest causing you to cough. “God I hate being sick.”

“Do you need anything?” Luke walked over, pressing the back of his hand against your warm tempered forehead. “No fever.”

“I just wanna sleep honestly.” You sigh heavily. Turning your head to meet his eyes. “I have this massive migraine that I’ve been trying to cure with ibuprofen for the last couple days, but I stopped because I’m scared of growing an addiction.” You muster a grin, finding the bit hilarious. “Then there’s my congested nose, trying to breathe has been a bitch. I keep waking up in the middle of the night in coughing fits because my lungs can’t get any air.”

“You gotta tell your lungs to work man!”

“I’m trying!” You laugh, heaving a slight bit then feeling the urge to cough again. “This sucks. I don’t even know how I got sick. It’s like all my energy just got drained right out of me. It’s ruined my whole week.” You let your arms fall in defeat by your sides. “I’m sorry, Luke. I know I said I’d be there for the band’s rehearsals but— I barely have the energy to get out of bed these days.” A faint smile paints your face.

“Hey, don’t sweat it okay. Rehearsals will still be there for you to watch after you get better alright? Besides, we can always record what you’ve missed.” Luke sat on the edge next to you. His comfort dissolves the aches and pain that run through your entire system. The mere thought of knowing someone wanting to look after you, gave you hope for a full recovery sooner rather than later. “Though you’re not missing much honestly.”

“Only my social life.” You dismissed passively. “Can’t believe I’m stuck here and you guys are making music. Unfair.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better-” He pointed at your side, activating your flight or fight response. You laughed moving away from his hands, never one to enjoy being tickled. “We’re not really having much luck with coming up with new songs.”

“Now that I found it hard to believe.”

“No seriously, it’s like we ran out of inspiration.”

“Oh come on! You guys seriously haven’t written anything while I’ve been at home sick?”

Luke shrugged. “We’re all missing our muse…” He reached forward to boop you on the nose.

“Please, I’m no muse.” You half heartedly laugh.

“Maybe not the guys, but definitely mine.” He nodded surely.

“Well then, I’m honored.” You reach forward and take a hold of his hand. Twiddling with his fingers. Intertwining and untwining your hand with his. “Any chance I can hear something?” You batted your eyes playfully. A pout full on display. “Would you sing for a poor sick girl?” You force a cough out of your mouth. “A sneak peek of what’s to come?”

“You sure know how to persuade a guy.” Luke smirked.

“What can I say–“ You cough again. “I’m pretty convincing.” Your eyes crinkle, a sleepy haze falls over your tired form.

“Alright sleepy head, I’ll give you something.” He brought his hand up to lightly brush away some flyaway hairs from your eyes. His touch softly lingering. Soothing the slight ache that didn’t want to go away.

“What’s it–“ You yawn big. “called?”

“Well, Julie, the guys, and I haven’t really settled on a name yet, but I think we’re inching closer with Those Eyes.”

“It sounds nice…” You adjust yourself into the bed. Bring the covers up to your chest. The thing about having the flu was that you had the tendency to get shivers here and there, other times hot spells causing you to kick off the covers. A continuous back and forth situation. Right now you were just simply feeling cold.

“It does. It’s a little slower than any of our other songs, but I think it’ll be a nice touch to the album.”

“Let’s hear it, rockstar.” You hummed. Placing your hands flat over your covered stomach.

“Give me a second.” Luke scoffed humorously. He began making a rhythmic beat on his jean clad thigh, head slowly bobbing as he tried to find his pitch. He took a deep breath and began singing.

“Cause all of the small…things that you do…are what remind me why I fell for you...” His smile grew seeing you start to slip into a deep slumber. Your breathing evening out and becoming slower. He leaned forward, letting his hands caress the side of your cheek gently. His heart fluttering as you subconsciously leaned into his touch. “and when we're apart, and I'm missing you. I close my eyes and all I see is you...and the small things you do.” He leaned back and watched you sleep. His favorite pastime, knowing you were getting rest, and at peace in the comfort of your bedroom. “Sweet dreams, peaches.” Then he was gone in a poof. Silence filling the space, and your sleep unbothered.

#luke patterson #luke patterson imagines #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson imagine #luke patterson x fem!reader #jatp luke patterson #my gif #writings by juls

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librariesandcastles · 2 years

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Stay

“You’re such a good friend, Y/N. So helpful and thoughtful and gentle… and beautiful.” - Chris rambled as you were putting your best efforts into navigating him towards his bedroom. You went out to celebrate his latest movie and he had one too many drinks. - “You are the most beautiful among all of my girl friends. And boy friends, and dog friends, too. And let me tell ya, I’ve got very beautiful dog friends.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.” - you laughed. You knew better than taking his drunken compliments seriously, but your heart couldn’t help but skip a few beats. The poor thing didn’t understand that its feelings for Chris just shouldn’t be acted on.

“You smell good.” - he leaned forward and nuzzled his nose down your neck making your cheeks flush the brightest shade of red.

“And you are so drunk.” - you shook your head in another attempt to not read into his words or actions. He wouldn’t remember any of them in a few hours anyway, and you certainly didn’t want to repeat them in your head longer than necessary. You were friends for years, good friends, and yes, there were sparks, a whole damn wildfire in fact, but you weren’t completely sure if Chris was ready for more. His career was demanding and he was always on the go. Relationships rarely worked out for him and you didn’t want to get him or yourself hurt, so when you finally reached his bedroom and you made sure that he is comfortable in his bed and has water and two tablets of ibuprofen on the nightstand, you ran towards the door.

“Y/N.” - he mumbled and stopped you just before you managed to leave. - “I don’t want you to drive this late.”

“It’s not late, Chris, it's actually early. It’s six in the morning. Plus, I drove you here, remember?” - you argued, your body half out of the room.

“Yes, but you shouldn’t have done that, Y/N.” - he pointed his index finger at you trying to appear serious. - “You are drunk, too.”

“I had two margaritas. Hours ago. I already sobered up.”

“Yeah, but… traffic’s bad in the morning.”

“I’ll manage.”

“But you don’t have to.” - he said with a voice that made your insides melt. His blue eyes were half closed and heavy with sleep, his face was slightly puffy from exhaustion and he just looked so adorable that the remnants of those two margaritas were tempting you towards the bad decision of cuddling down next to him. - “Just stay.” - Chris pleaded. - “You never stay.”

“You never asked me to stay before.” - you heard yourself saying as if you were both in the state to discuss this right now.

“Cos I like you as a friend. Like very much. I don’t wanna mess up.” - he spoke the last sentence so low you thought you imagined it. - “I… God, I’m not so good with my words right now…”

“Chris…”

“I… I know I haven’t been the best at expressing how I feel about you.” - he swallowed. - “But it’s hard, you… You are too precious to me, I don’t wanna lose you.” - god dammit. Your willpower started evaporating and you knew you were going to throw caution and logic to the wind. You took your heels off and climbed next to him.

“I don’t want to lose you either.” - you whispered and allowed him to take you in his arms.

“But not giving this a chance…” - he gazed upon your lips and licked his.

“Will be just as bad.”

#chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fic #chris evans one shot #chris evans fan fiction #chris evans imagine #chris evans drabble #chris evans blurb #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x you #chris evans fluff #chris evans x best friend!reader #chris evans characters #christopher robert evans #cevans #chris evans x fluff

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cbk1000 · 2 months

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Hey, so kind of a general writing/not been on tumblr much update (because apparently I'm so perpetually online people will ask me if I'm ok after a few days of me not posting as much lmao): I have been having some health issues. I haven’t really mentioned them aside from updating a couple people I talk to daily on why I've been so quiet because a.) I felt too poorly to do anything other than marathon sitcoms I've seen a bazillion times, and b.) I didn't know what was going on.

The tl; dr is that, after getting diagnosed with strep throat a few weeks ago, and feeling mostly normal aside from some minor irritation in my throat, I started feeling horribly weak and overall just fucking terrible, and I was having bad tachycardia. Like a heart rate in the high 130s just standing, and a sitting heart rate of like 110 (my normal resting heart rate is in the low 70s). Three trips to the ER later, a bunch of normal labs and cardiac tests, and my boss (ER nurse for 20 years) pushing for an echo, and I finally got a diagnosis of pericarditis, which is inflammation of the sac around your heart. It's most commonly caused by viruses. The ER doc suspects my strep throat was misdiagnosed and I had a virus that caused the inflammation of my heart, although I think bacterial infections can sometimes cause it as well. I've been put on high dose ibuprofen and some acid reflux meds to protect my stomach while I'm on such a high dose of ibuprofen, and I have to take it easy for at least the next week and then be careful and play it by ear. I have been too weak to even sit up much for the past several days and cannot stand for very long, which is infuriating as someone who does one-armed push-ups for funsies.

Anyway, all this is to say, I'm still alive, the next chapter of Book of Merthur (for any of you following it) was coming along just fine but for obvious reasons is a bit postponed now. I'll probably be off work all next week again and hopefully will feel strong enough to get in a bit of writing. (And for any readers about to say, 'Oh my God, don't worry about that, take care of yourself!!' I am literally gnashing my teeth to go back to writing and am furious that my last week or so has consisted of me being too exhausted even to read. I've been marathoning sitcoms I've seen a bazillion times, I'm not even much of a TV watcher, and I'm going crazy. Yesterday I lifted two books to get to the one I wanted underneath them, and was so exhausted I went straight back to bed. THEY WERE PAPERBACKS. AND NOT WAR AND PEACE PAPERBACKS.)

#personal #also Mr Jenn is a gem just throwing that out there

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niceboyeds · 1 year

Text

inside your skin (s.h.)

pairing: Steve Harrington x reader

summary: Steve comforts you when he sees you're overwhelmed

contains: fluff, alludes to panic attack

word count: 800

a/n: trying to post this for the 3rd time and i swear if it doesn't show up I'm going to start crying. anyway, enjoy this sweet comfort Stevie fic xx

taglists: let me know if you want to be added!

Stevie- @reanimated-alice

the boys- @neewtmas

nav

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you can’t even remember why you started feeling like this. why all of a sudden everything seemed wrong and it became too overwhelming to process. too much to deal with on your own.

your breathing was getting rapid, tears forming in your eyes as you felt like your whole world was crashing down around you, unable change it.

just as you were on the verge of a breakdown, as if he knew you needed him, Steve walks though the shared-bedroom door. he sees your current state and worry washes over his face immediately.

“hey! why’re you crying?” he rushes over to hold your face in his hands wiping the few fallen tears away. “hey, I need you to breathe okay? copy me.”

you follow his breathing patterns, breathing in, holding it for a moment, and breathing out. you do this with him long enough that you’re able to breathe again on your own.

“what’s got you so worked up, pretty?”

his presence alone calms you, allowing you to spew out the word vomit of things you’ve been trying to deal with. “I can feel my shirt touching me, my head hurts, my sock seam is in the wrong spot, I have a knot in my hair that I can’t get out, and I haven’t slept more than two hours in like three fucking days.”

“okay, okay. so let’s do things one at a time, alright? first, we’ll get you a new shirt.” he begins digging through his dresser, tossing things out until he finds something that’ll work. “how about this one?”

he holds out his t-shirt and you reach out to take it. you give a pitiful smile at the gesture as swap your shirt with his.

“how’s that?”

“better.” you sigh, holding a small piece over your nose, smelling the clothing that has his scent on it.

“good. now the sock issue. let’s take them off, yeah?” you nod and bend over to remove your socks, wiggling your now free toes in the carpet.

he can notice your immediate change in body language, slowly relaxing as he helps fix all your little problems. things you would’ve been able to fix yourself had you not noticed them all at the same time.

“now just sit on the bed, ‘kay? i’ll be right back.” you follow his instructions and sit cross-legged on the mattress, waiting for him to return.

he comes back shortly after with a glass of water, a couple ibuprofen, and a hairbrush. “here, take this.”

you do as he says, swallowing the small pills and sipping on the water while he climbs up next to you on the bed. he gently brushes out your hair, finding the stubborn knot you tried to get out all morning with no success.

“geez. you weren’t kidding about this mess.” he jokes, kissing your shoulder.

“I told you.” you pout, finishing the cup of water just as you feel him running the brush smoothly over the spot the knot was living for the past day.

“thank you…” you whisper, turning to face him.

“of course baby. wanna take a nap?” you nod, getting up to set the glass on his dresser before wandering over to the side of the bed you always sleep on. you strip off your pants and let the shirt fall to your thighs before crawling under the covers to lay down next to him.

“Stevie…”

“what’s up?”

“I— you... ugh never mind.”

“c’mon, don’t do that. what’s wrong?”

“it’s stupid and I don’t want to be even more dramatic.”

“you’re not dramatic. tell me what’s goin’ on in that head of yours.”

you give another sigh before looking over at him. “you’re not close enough…”

he tries to contain his laughter, though he can’t help but let a little bit slip out, wrapping his arms around you and holding your body against his chest.

“how’s that?”

“I guess it’ll do.” you accept the closeness, unsure how you could possibly get closer even though you are literally itching for his touch.

“I don’t think you could get any closer.” he teases, rubbing his arm up and down your back to soothe you.

“I want to be inside your skin.” you whine, nuzzling your face into his chest.

“i’m not sure how to make that happen.” he pats your head, perhaps a bit concerned.

“can’t you just like, lay on top of me?”

“i’ll squish you.”

“good.” he laughs at your answer again, but you know he won’t do it out of fear of hurting you. “can you just squeeze me tighter then?”

“absolutely.” his strong arms pulling you as close as physically possible into his body.

once again he feels you relaxing, almost as if it was instantly the cure to all your problems. all you needed was Steve.

#steve harrington x reader #steve x reader #steve harrington #steve stranger things

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just-a-girl-who-wrytes · 6 months

Text

@alisbackalleybbq

Thank you for your request, love! 😘

In Sickness and in Health

“Baby, wake up.” Deacon pressed his lips against your forehead.

You groaned as you woke up and noticed you were physically hot, but started shivering.

“Here, open your mouth.”

You were half asleep, but did as you were told. You felt the cool tip of a thermometer underneath of your tongue.

“Now close.”

You obeyed.

A few moments later, the thermometer beeped and you heard Deacon hum.

“Time for this, but you gotta sit up, babe.”

You cracked your eyes open and furrowed your eyebrows at your 6’2” boyfriend sitting on the edge of the bed next to you.

“Your temperature is 102, sweetheart. I’ve got you some Tylenol and Ibuprofen to help get it down and help you feel better.

You sat up in bed, slowly, to ease the wooziness that came with sitting upright. You took a sip of your gatorade to be met with what felt like razor blades in your throat.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Deacon asked tenderly when he noticed you grimace.

“It feels like I’ve got strep throat,” you said softly.

“Fallin’ to pieces on me.”

You looked at Deacon as he smirked.

Taking your medicine was excruciating, but you managed before laying back down and wrapping up and drifting off again.

Before you realized it, David was waking you up again. This time, to get you up and help you get dressed for the doctor.

“The doctor?” You asked. Your mind was fuzzy from feeling unwell and sleeping so hard.

“Yes, babe. I called and got you in to a strep test and a flu test. See if we can’t get you some antibiotics to get your throat feeling better and see why else you feel horrible.”

You smiled tiredly at him. He handed you one of his hoodies and kissed you gently on the temple. Once you were as comfortable as you could get in leggings, uggs, and your husband’s hoodie, he held out his hand to you. You smiled and took it, allowing him to guide you downstairs and out to his truck. He drove you to the doctor’s appointment, never leaving your side as you got swabbed for strep and flu, both of them coming back positive.

You were given antibiotics for the strep throat and advised for supportive care for the flu. After your appointment, Deacon drove you to the pharmacy to pick up your medicine.

As you waited in the drive through, you leaned over and kissed David’s cheek.

“I love you so much, baby. Thank you for taking of me.”

He reached his arm under your chin, holding your head to his shoulder.

“It’s what I am here for. I love you too, beautiful.”

He paid for your medicine and took you to Starbucks on your way home, ordering your favorite fall drink - spiced apple cider.

Once you arrived home, you undressed and put on one of your husband’s shirts, and snuggled up on the couch while he busied himself in the kitchen.

You laid there, watching true crime shows and noticed David hadn’t joined you yet when you noticed the smell of something cooking. You didn’t bother to lean up and look back towards your kitchen to see what he was down.

“Babe, what are you doing? I’m lonely.” You joked.

He chuckled, “Gonna die from lack of attention?”

“Yesss!” You groaned.

A few moments of silence passed before David rounded the end of the couch with a bowl.

“Well it’s a good think you haven’t been starved of attention then, huh?”

He handed you a bowl.

“Homemade chicken noodle soup for my lady.”

“Deac….”

He disappeared back to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of water, your antibiotics, and some vitamin c supplements.

“Meds please…” he said, indicating for you to take the antibiotics. You complied.

“And now eat as much as you can.” His voice was so soft and tender. “That way you don’t get sick.”

Once you finished as much soup as you could eat, you set the bowl on your end table, grabbed your blanket, and snuggled into David.

“You are too good to me, baby.”

He wrapped his arm around you and kissed your forehead.

“What was my promise to you?” He breathed into your hair, “For better or for worse, in sickness and in health.”

#david deacon kay #david kay #imagine #jay harrington #swat #swat cbs #girlfriend #wife #love #husband #marriage #sickness #in sickness and in health

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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year

Text

Running from the Flames {13}

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x OFC Warnings: 18+ only, fluff - this is a work of fiction and the events are not based on reality. Chapter: One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten || Eleven* || Twelve || Thirteen || Fourteen || under construction

While the rest of Alpine were hard at work trying to fix the issues on Pierre’s car, there was nothing more he could do until the final practice session in the morning. They weren’t expecting to finish anytime soon so Otmar had to make the call to cancel the team dinner and instead ordered catering to be delivered straight to the pit.

“You guys can head off if you want,” Otmar offered after getting off the phone with Sergio’s Pizzeria, which had won the vote from the team. “No point in boring Addie by hanging around here.”

Addie was hardly bored, she had happily sat at a table with my phone watching Frozen and was oblivious to the action around her, but it would be good to get her out of the busy pit.

“Dad was going to come to the team dinner but should we invite him out instead?” I asked Pierre as he came back to my side after going off to chat with Charles a few minutes ago.

He nodded but nervously scratched his beard. “Let’s hope I make a better impression.”

I pulled his hand away from his face and combed the wayward hairs of his beard flat again before helping myself to a quick kiss. “He was impressed with your interview today. I’m not sure if he was expecting you to throw hands with Lewis after that photo went viral.”

Pierre chuckled and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I’m a lover not a fighter, plus, I trust you. I know how close you are to the OG’s.”

“The OG’s?” I laughed.

“That’s what we call the drivers that have been around forever, not to their face of course.”

“Lewis would probably embrace it, the others not so much. Should we go?”

“In a few minutes, Elsa’s about to save Anna.” I cocked an eyebrow at his knowledge of the film and he sent me a charming smile back. “What? I can’t enjoy a Disney movie too?”

“You won’t by the time she’s made you rewatch them twenty million times.” I pulled out of his embrace and went to pick up the colouring books and crayons Addie had finished with but a hiss of pain slipped through my gritted teeth. A strong arm curled around my waist and took the weight off my leg that had gone stiff while standing still for too long.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Pierre asked as he scooped me up into his arms and carried me to the table where Addie was waiting. He lowered me gently into the seat beside her before packing up the backpack I had brought with things to entertain her. He swung the bag over his shoulders and bent down to pick me up again but I shook my head.

“I’m fine, I just need a couple of ibuprofen,” I assured him but it was just as dad walked in and he frowned down at us.

“What’s wrong?”

“Your daughter is being stubborn,” Pierre said as he ran his hand through his hair, tugging the strands in frustration.

“He’s just over reacting,” I corrected and tried to prove my point by standing up but the joint wouldn’t shift and I fell back into the seat.

“Stubborn woman,” Pierre muttered as he ignored my narrowed eyes and lifted me in his arms.

“Bri, if your leg is hurting you need to keep off of it, you know this.”

I crossed my arms but then thought better of it and draped them around Pierre’s neck in case he dropped me. “If you haven’t noticed, but I have a toddler, I can’t exactly go and put my feet up with a cuppa.”

Dad sighed and I figured he was remembering what I was like at that age. God knows what sort of trouble I would have got into if there wasn’t someone chasing after me. “How about I take Addie for the night? You can rest up and hopefully it’ll be better in the morning.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course,” he huffed like he was offended, “I love spending time with my favourite granddaughter. I’ll go bring the golf cart around, Pierre, Otmar wouldn’t be happy if you put out your back before the race.”

“It’s no trouble for me, sir,” he said, looking effortless as he carried me to the back exit so the main garage didn’t see the fuss. “Can you pass mama her phone, princesse?”

Pierre had noticed the movie had finished and she handed it up to me so I could slip it in my pocket. It wouldn’t be the first time she had fallen with it and smashed the screen and I didn’t really want that inconvenience again.

“Are you hurting again?” she asked innocently but I felt Pierre’s eyes narrowing on me again.

“Just a little bit, babygirl, but Grandad’s going to take you to his hotel for the night for a sleepover and when you see me tomorrow I’ll be all better okay?”

She bounced excitedly around us and completely forgot about my pain and I was grateful to have dad there. It was my job to worry about her but I didn’t like it when it was the other way around and staying with grandad would be a good distraction for her.

We reached the FIA golf cart that the officials used to ride around the paddock and Pierre climbed in the back with me on his lap while dad and Addie rode up front. Dad took it slow and I rolled my eyes before telling him to hurry up, something he promptly ignored.

“He’s got precious cargo onboard,” Pierre whispered in my ear.

His words reminded me that I still hadn’t given him his gift and I reached into my handbag for the box, offering it to him with a smile. He carefully shifted me so he could still hold me and undo the wrapping paper and ribbon.

The box creaked open and his lips parted with a sharp breath as he ran his thumb over the simplistic yet delicate design. His throat bobbed with a deep swallow and he looked like he was going to say something before the words failed and he dipped his head to mine, putting all those lost words into something I understood.

“Merci, mon ange,” he murmured against my lips.

“You’re very welcome.”

“I know you are both adults but that’s still my daughter,” Dad growled from the front and we pulled apart with a laugh. Well, I laughed, Pierre’s ears turned pink and he looked everywhere but forward to where my dad was glaring daggers in the rearview mirror.

“Sorry, sir.”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” I reminded him quietly as I unclasped the necklace and placed it around his neck. “You’re just feeding his ego. I’m pretty sure it’s in the FIA job description.”

“If I saw my daughter kissing some guy I wouldn’t be happy.”

“You’re not just ‘some guy’, so he will have to eventually get used to it.”

The cart pulled up to the parking lot that was reserved for the teams and Pierre gave him the directions to his Audi. When dad parked in front of the SUV he turned in his seat and stared at Pierre. “I’m glad to see you aren’t driving my girls around in a tin can and you seem to be taking care of them but I’ll be keeping my eye on you.”

“Jesus, dad, you’re not in the mafia, chill out.”

Dad shook his head. “I took my eye off you once and I nearly lost you, sweetheart, I’m not going to let that happen again.”

“Damien,” Pierre addressed him directly and returned the intense eye contact that was directed at him, “I would never hurt Brianna or Adelaide. I care for them both very much.”

Dad nodded and turned off the cart so he could unbuckle Addie before holding his hand out to shake Pierre’s. “You keep them safe and we will get along perfectly.”

Pierre gripped his hand and they shook on the deal before climbing out of the cart and putting me in the front passenger seat of the Audi. Dad strapped Addie into her car seat after checking it was installed correctly and I saw another look of appreciation hidden in his hazel eyes.

“I’ll come pick you soon, little bug, and don’t forget to pack your snuggly.”

He closed the door and gave us a wave before taking the golf cart back where it belonged. As soon as he was moving away I turned and grinned at Pierre.

“What?” he asked, becoming self conscious as my smile only widened.

“He likes you!” I took his hand in mine and kissed his knuckles. “You were so worried about making a better impression, all you had to do was sweep me off my feet.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s what it was. You really think he likes me?”

“I do, and he's probably on the phone to mum right now telling her all about it. She’ll want to meet you and that will be like a cross examination.”

Pierre’s eyes widened and he looked at me. “What?”

“I’m kidding, babe.”

“Thank god,” he breathed a sigh of relief and ran his hand over my thigh. “How are you feeling?”

“It’s fine when I’m not standing on it. It’s really strange, normally it only gets sore when it’s cold or the weather is about to turn.” I looked out the window to see the sky was still a vivid blue though the sun was reaching for the horizon. “I can’t see any rain clouds.”

“Nothing’s come up in the rain radar, or we would have been testing for wet tyres. Maybe it’s just overuse?”

“Too much activity in the bedroom?” I offered with a wink. “Maybe we should take a break?”

“No,” he replied rather quickly, “that is the perfect amount of activity. I mean we did a lot of walking in Narbonne and Marseille.”

“Maybe…” I wasn’t convinced but at this point I didn’t care why it was hurting, I just wanted to know how to make it better.

Click here for chapter fourteen.

Tagging: @anotheroneiforgot @my-only-way-tocooperatewithlife

#pierre gasly fanfic #pierre gasly x oc #pierre gasly x poc!oc #formula one fanfiction #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf #running from the flames

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