Soooo I was wondering if you can write for Grencia Mars from cowboy bebop bc if so I have a request of the reader getting drunk and getting with them for the night, but bro takes care of them before anything else so they don’t wake up with a horrible hangover the next day, u can change it up if u want, and just in case you don’t write for him u can just do spike too as a replacement I don’t mind, have a good dayyy! Xoxo 💋
Angel (Grencia Mars Eckener x Reader)
𝗔/𝗡: 𝗶 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘇𝗲𝗱 𝗵𝗮𝗹𝗳 𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 (𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗶𝘁) 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗺𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝗲𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗱𝗿𝘂𝗻𝗸 𝗯𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗳𝗶𝗰 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲𝘀 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗲. 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗶 𝗮𝗽𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗴𝗶𝘇𝗲 𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆. 𝗶𝗻 𝗺𝘆 𝗱𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵, 𝗶'𝘃𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗯𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗶𝗽𝘀𝘆 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗯𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮 𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 (𝘀𝗼𝗿𝘆 𝘁𝗺𝗶 𝗹𝗼𝗹) 𝗶 𝗮𝗹𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗮𝗹 𝘁𝗼𝗼 𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗹𝘆. 𝗲𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗮𝘆, 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗶𝘁!
𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩
𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?
𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?
Surprisingly, when you wake up, you’re fine. At least, you weren’t greeted by the horrible hangover you were expecting to have.
There’s still a certain stiffness and ickiness that comes every time you find yourself waking up in the same clothes you wore out to the bar last night. Your limbs are sore. Your hair is a mess on and around (and somehow a little under?) the pillows. And you can practically taste the morning breath on your tongue, further proof that all you did was make it home last night. But hey. At least you made it home tonight.
That’s all you can think about as you let out a soft groan and stretch your limbs out before curling underneath the covers once more. With a deep breath, your mind settles again, and you thank the old you- the drunk you who probably racked up far too big a tab for your own good- for leading present you home. But it’s within that deep breath that you notice something strange. The bed beneath your body is soft. Soft in a way that’s not unlike your own. But it’s not your own. You're not in your own bed. You’re sure of it.
Because nothing in your room smells like this.
That’s why you jolt up with a start the moment you realize the reason why the scent of your bed is so unfamiliar. You didn’t make it home tonight. And as impulsive as drunk-you is, no part of you is dumb or rich enough to make the mistake of booking a fancy hotel where you can lie around in sheets that smell this good. Which means…
As your gaze slowly lifts for you to peer around the room, you hear the sound of a light chuckle from just a few feet away. One that sounds more fond and mused than anything else. And the second you lay your eyes on the man standing in the doorway of the bedroom, everything comes flooding back to you all at once.
Him sending you drink after drink at the bar. The chatting up. The invitation back to his place. The ride there. And you…you…you…
“You sure you still want to do this? You’re not looking so good…”
… you're emptying your stomach almost immediately upon arrival.
“I’m so-so-so-so-so sorry,” Immediately, the apologies fly out of your mouth as the memories from last night start filtering in. If you’re remember correctly, the second appearance of everything you drank last night didn’t land onto anything of his that wasn’t his toilet. But you honestly can’t be too sure. And clearly the two of you were mutually trying to get laid last night and it was so horribly unsexy of you to do that and you’re thinking it’s going to be your biggest regret in life for years to come. Especially now that you can see this man in a setting that’s much brighter than the dim lighting of a bar and can’t ignore the fact that he looks absolutely gorgeous and that your shirt is probably riddled with unimaginable stains at this point. “I didn’t…I didn’t…I’m just so sorry!”
At this, the man laughs again- a sound that you can’t help but find warm and comforting despite his status as a stranger towards you. Only this time, he doesn’t seem content with just laughing while standing in the doorway of the bedroom that you can only assume to be his. Instead, he starts to walk over to the bed in the center of the room- the bed you’re on- trailing slowly before he sits down on the side of the bed. The side that you’re on.
“It’s Gren, by the way,” The man murmurs, a soft, pleased smile playing on his lips now that he’s close and rendered you speechless. Up close, he’s even more perfect than you would have thought. Long, silky dark hair. Pretty green eyes. A face full of features that are just devastatingly pretty. “In case you’re having a hard time remembering.”
Oh, so he’s a little mean, too. Too bad it’s just the perfect amount of teasing for you not to hate him like he probably hates you right now. Man, how’d you end up in the bed of an angel like this?
“Gren,” You try out his name on your tongue and are hit with a sense of familiarity that tells you that you must have been saying it all last night for it to feel that way. Somehow, that feeling only serves to make you feel so much more worse than before. “Gren, I’m really, really sorry. Is there anything that I ruined or that I-”
“S’okay,” He cuts you off, leaning in closer than before. He’s just inches away now. So close that you can feel every puff of air that escapes lips against your own. Is he about to kiss you? Can he smell your breath? Is that why he hasn’t kissed you yet? If he smells your breath now, will he lean away? Could he maybe have a toothbrush you could borrow. Actually, does he want you out of here. Or does he- “How’s your head?”
“My what?” You spout dumbly, still a little wrapped up in your own rambling thoughts that spouted from the raspiness of his voice and his overall attractiveness, before you realize what he’s asking about. And that you have an answer for him. “O-oh, it’s um…it’s fine actually. No headache, actually.”
Your hands ball into nervous fists of energy by yourside as you grip the sheets beneath you. You’ve been up for a good few minutes now. Whatever headache you were supposed to have after all the shots you poured down was supposed show up by now. And yet, outside of a light grogginess that comes with waking up after a rough night, you don’t feel any headache or anything. In fact, you don’t even feel hungover. Which is extra surprising because you don’t exactly recall caring enough to do the work to prevent that from happening. Perhaps you were lucky? Or perhaps…perhaps it was the work of someone else. Maybe even an angel?
Maybe. Maybe…
“Good.” Your new friend Gren remarks at your shamefaced reply, but he doesn’t seem surprised. Just… just satisified with your answer. Like you didn’t ruin everything with him. Like you made a fool out of yourself and somehow managed to do it in front of a guy who doesn’t care and yet still cares at the same time. “And you didn’t ruin anything. You were surprisingly easy to take care of, though. Just sleepy and apologetic. Perhaps even more apologetic than you are now.
His words start to jog a few more memories inside of you. Ones that aren’t unbelievably bad per se. But definitely embarrassing for you to re-live, even inside of your mind. Memories of him providing you with tissues with to dry your eyes as you cry between apologies. Memories of him pushing away the stray hairs on your face as you prayed to the porcelain throne in his home. Memories of him speaking to you gently- telling you that it’s alright and that he ‘won’t be mad as long as you try to go to bed after you finish this cup of water for me, okay?’ Like you're some sick kid instead of the lay he was supposed to have. What a joke.
But as if sensing the creeping feeling of mortification that was beginning to flood your veins, Gren lets out yet another soft laugh before continuing, voice still as lighthearted as ever.
“But if you did ruin anything, it would have to be on me since I’m the one who got you that drunk in the first place,” Gren confesses with a sheepish look of his own, as he peers over at you. He seems to be trying to gauge your reaction to his words, as if . Though once your expression seems to let him know that, he starts to lighten up and return to that more easy-going attitude you’ve been seeing throughout this encounter. “I probably should have stopped doing that a lot sooner. I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s alright,” You tell him immediately, surprised that it’s suddenly your turn to wave apologies. At the same time, you can’t help but shift around in his bed anxiously. He’s nice. Gren is nice. But you can’t ignore the fact that he wined you, brought you home, and took care of your stupid, drunk ass when he clearly thought the two of you were going back to his place to take care of a different sort of business. At times like these, you become hyperaware of the fact that there’s no such thing as a free lunch. You know that. You do. And as nice as Gren is, you know the world you live in isn’t in the interest of letting someone walk away with debts owed. Still, you know you’re going to dread the answer to this question when he finally comes out and gives it to you straight. “...but seriously. What do I owe you? And did I...ruin anything of yours?”
At your hesitant question and offer, he pauses. A second later, he’s pulling away from you and tilting his head and using his pretty green eyes to peer at the ceiling of his room as if he’s looking for the answer there. But his gaze is absent. And his lips are mouthing words that you can’t hear as he thinks and thinks and thinks. Until finally-
“It’s fine. You don’t need to worry about it.”
You deflate, knowing in your gut not to trust and answer like that. Even if . But surprisingly enough, Gren isn’t done. Not with sharing his thoughts. Not with teasing. Not with smiling and humming and speaking in a voice that you’d dare say is as perfect as he is. And judging from how he just placed his hand over yours on the bed- his bed that he has yet to kick you out of?
You don’t think he’s done with you yet.
“Though if you did want to pay me back…” Gren hums, tapping his chin thoughtfully, almost as if he truly had to think about what would be a punishment befitting for the crime. Almost as if he hadn’t already thought about the perfect thing to say next- to offer up to you next. Almost as if heaven is the somewhat nice bedroom of a good-smelling man. Almost as if the light streaming in from the window behind you is deliberately draping him in a halo effect. Almost as if… almost as if… “...you’ll start by having breakfast with me so I can meet you properly. That sound fair to you?”
Almost as if he truly is that pretty little angel you can’t help but see him as.
“That sounds…that sounds perfect, Gren…”
Maybe. Maybe…
