#After Odds Against…re-reading | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luvingspence · 1 year

Text

𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙜𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙡𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙩

early seasons!spencer reid x fem!reader

spencer gets emotional once he realises how much his girlfriend loves him <3

also spot the taylor swift and twilight reference girlies! and apologies for how cheesy this is, it’s very rushed bc exams so it isn’t proofread :(

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

His apartment felt different now that she was here. There was more colour, her pink slippers were next to his, she now kept tulips in a lovely patterned vase in the kitchen, and there was now a thrifted clothing rack in the corner of their shared bedroom for the clothes that refused to fit in the large oak wardrobe.

The atmosphere felt altered too. The candles she burned smelled warm, he now couldn’t wait to come home, compared to how he used to feel. Knowing he would be coming home to an apartment that wasn’t empty and lonely filled him with a feeling that was almost indescribable. It was like having butterflies in his stomach, but all so much more than that. Something in his chest blossomed and happiness spread to every corner of his body when he saw her perched on the sofa with her fingers skimming the pages of one of his books, or when he saw her in one of his sweaters with the most adorable frilly apron around her waist when baking in the kitchen.

Though, today was an unusual day off. By some miracle, Hotch had managed to convince Strauss to get another team on-call for the coming week. After three back-to-back cases, all lasting a week long, Aaron knew his team needed to sleep in their own beds.

So there he was, in thick, odd socks many sizes too big for him, a green cable knit sweater, and grey plaid-pyjama trousers on his sofa watching re-runs and more re-runs, waiting for his girlfriend to come home. It felt strange to be the one at home for once, but it was pleasant.

“Spence, honey.” Manicured fingers carded through his long-ish hair, he jumped. She giggled.

“Sorry, you looked like you were about to doze off there,” She circled around from the back of the sofa and sat next to him, thighs touching and arms now tangled together, “guess you didn’t hear me come in, huh?”

“Guess not.” He bashfully winced, embarrassed by his skittishness.

“How was your day off then, genius?” Whilst inquiring about his day she pulled a blanket that Penelope had bought Spencer off from the back of the sofa and wrapped it around them.

“Good, it was good.” He leaned his head on her shoulder and cuddled closer. “It was going to read today but I just watched Doctor Who re-runs, I don’t get to do that often.”

“Sounds good, honey.” Y/n smiled softly and kissed his forehead, “you of all people need a lazy day every now and then.”

Spencer silently nodded and slide further down the sofa so he could rest his sofa against her chest. He felt something cold and metallic against his chest. A curious hum escaped his lips. “What’s wrong, honey?”

He sat up straight, now looking down at his sweet girlfriend. He brought his hand to her chest and fingered at the new metal handing from her neck.

It was a cute little golden locket. It looked to be vintage. It was oval in shape and had floral patterns and vines creating a lovely botanic boarder around the locket.

“This new?” He mumbled, still twirling the locket between nimble fingers.

“Oh this?” Y/n softly smiled down and wrapped a gentle hand around Spencer’s wrist while he played with the chain, “Yeah, it’s new. I saw it in a little vintage shop when I was out with Penny last week. It’s cute, right?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” It did look adorable. It fell neatly just below her collarbones. It was a very her necklace. He imagined it would look well with all of her clothes, especially the sundresses and lacy tanks she loved so much. “It’s very pretty. You look very pretty.”

“You’re the sweetest, Spence.” She grinned widely. She ducked her head and laid chaste pecks along his neck before resuming their cuddling. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He pulled her close and ran his fingers down the side of her arm, his fingers touched her so gently it felt like he was barely there. It was a sweet, rare moment of uninterrupted peace for the couple.

Spencer though, his brain was still whirring. Why hadn’t he noticed the locket this past week? It was more than unusual for him to not notice something new about Y/n. Maybe he should ask.

“Have you been wearing this all week?” She shook her head.

“No, it’s a locket! I didn’t want to wear it empty.” She giggled, she removed her head from it’s place on her boyfriends shoulder and fiddled with the locket’s opening.

“Did you put a picture of Taylor Swift or that other singer you like in there?” He chuckled.

“Lana Del Rey?” She corrected, “and honestly, I thought about it, but no.” She glanced up at him and smiled, he noticed a flustered expression on her face.

Once she got the locket open, he saw it. In a heart shapes frame inside the pretty locket, was an even prettier picture of the two of them. How she managed to get a photo small enough of the two of them to fit inside the locket, he was clueless.

“It’s us?” His voice became quiet, his pink lips formed a small pout.

The picture was simple, they had been out with friends in the summer. He was casual attire, which was a very rare occurrence, ordinary black trousers and a beige cable-knit sweater with his usual converse. Y/n was a sight to behold, however. Perched on his lap comfortably in adorable sandal-wedges and a sweet white sundress, she was planting a loving kiss on Spencer’s cheek while he grinned at the camera.

“Of course it’s us,” She looked down as if she had a reason to be embarrassed, “I know it’s cheesy but, I just… I don’t know. I love you. Like, a lot.”

He was for once, speechless.

He suddenly felt like the young, timid, and perpetually awkward twelve year old version of himself with too-long hair and glasses a little too big for the bridge of his nose. Never, and he could not stress the never enough, had he thought that would find someone who cared and loved for him in such a pure, wholesome, unabashed way.

“I love you.” He quickly said. He had never been more sure of anything.

She cooed, obviously enamoured with the man before her. “I know you do, Spence.”

“No, I mean,” He took a shaky breath, “I am unconditionally and irrevocably in love with you. Loving you and being loved by you has made me feel a form of happiness I never thought possible for a person like me. Before I experienced this, love, I thought it would be simple, black and white, but it’s so golden. You’re my golden.”

He’d lifted her hand to his mouth and gingerly placed a teary kiss on the back of her palm. He didn’t let go. He couldn’t let go.

He’d never let her go if she’d let him.

“Spence, honey,” She sniffled. Making her cry hadn’t been his intention, obviously, but he assumes that from her giddy smile and softened gaze that they were tears of happiness, of love, of all things good. “I’m golden?”

He only nodded, but that was all she needed.

“You’re my golden too, Spencer.”

#kacey talks <3 #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #taylor swift references #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fluff #mgg #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #spencer reid fluff #x fem!reader

4K notes · View notes

hazelfoureyes · 1 month

Text

⟢Alastor x Cupid FemReader Tasked with making a demon believe in true love or you can’t return to heaven, things immediately go off the rails when you hurt yourself and Alastor catches one of your most troubling arrows; Mania

I managed to finish this despite, ya know, the aforementioned: (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

˚₊ · »-♡→ Week 1 and Week 2 (keep reading)

˚₊ · »-♡→Week 3 and Week 4 smut💦

˚₊ · »-♡→Week 5, Week 6, Week 7, and Epilogue smut💦

「warnings/promises: Alastor x CupidFemReader, broken bones, feet washing, normal sized Luci, you know the outfit in my PFP? You’re wearing that but soft purple and the bottom half is ambiguous because idk baby whatever you feel best in it’s your story, Husk has a bad time, Alastor has a bad time, You have a bad time, Charlie has a great time 👌🏼, not choking」

Minors this one is chill but the next two imma need you to Dni 💋 ♥️ 🧹lovingly

You had made a mistake, yes, but Hell? Really?

Sure, you had dropped an arrow into the water supply of a nunnery which did lead to some unholy behaviors. But! The nuns seemed quite happy. Wasn’t that the point?

Tossing you to Hell through a hastily opened portal was honestly unprofessional. You ended up dropping three stories, upside down, in front of a butcher's shop.

In the seconds between Sera telling you, ‘You can return when you’ve made a sinner believe in true love.’ and Lute kicking you square in the chest through the hell door, you thought it wouldn’t be so hard. True, you couldn’t use your arrows as that wouldn’t be “true love” and also too easy, even gods weak to your shots, but ultimately sinners were still human. Humans were pushovers! Pliable, gentle at their hearts, desiring love and tenderness. How bad could the naughty ones be?

And then you landed shoulder first onto the pavement. It hurt. Things didn’t hurt in heaven…

Your arrows scattered, quiver spilling when you inverted. Wincing, you scrambled to grab as many as were within reach. Your right shoulder was burning, a new sensation.

You counted them by name as you gathered: Eros, Agape, Philia, Pragma, Philautia, Ludus, Storge… panic.

ErosAgapePhiliaPragmaPhilautiaLudusStorge— Mania wasn’t there. Arguably the arrow that caused you the most trouble, the sting of Mania would cause a madness that led to obsessive behaviors, possessiveness, jealousy.

Pulling yourself up, arrows clutched in one hand, the other holding the place near your collar was throbbing, your eyes were frantic in their search.

“What’s this?”

You finally looked up from the sidewalk, a man’s back to you before he turned. Bile rose and burned your throat as he pulled Mania from where it had pierced his chest pocket.

His eyes, shades of red heaven didn’t even entertain, made a simple trip from the arrow's head to your face.

The man went so still you thought for a moment he was a hologram, but you could see the tiniest rise and fall of his chest. A deer facing down a bright light, he remained frozen in place as you began to approach him.

“Excuse my manners, but that’s mine and I really need it back.” Your injured arm moved first and the pain made you see white, a cry so sharp people turned to look. He snapped back to his senses, and with an odd sound you couldn’t quite place, he seemingly disappeared into the ground.

Mania was left behind, shining smugly against the dirty pavement. You didn’t want to make a reach for it, fear flooding you. You’d never felt pain before.

You’d seen it in humans, but never in your existence had you experienced it. Would both arms hurt?

You let the left hand abandon its guarding place and grabbed the errant arrow. Tucking into an alley, you crouched and returned the arrows to their quiver with immense difficulty.

Okay, yes it was Hell but maybe you were a little paranoid. A sense of being watched wouldn't leave you even after you re-emerged from the darkness of the alley.

The enormity of your task set in as you surveyed the area. You, an obviously heavenly creature even without your wings out on display, would need time to make anyone believe in any form of love. Where would you go in the meantime? And now injured for the first time in your life? How long would that need to mend?

Expanding your view, you saw the currently defunct doomsday countdown hovering above the embassy. Perfect, holy ground would atleast keep you safe for the night, which was falling with a malignant speed.

They couldn’t have given you some time to change? Or pack a set of clothes? Your short sleeved button up a (literally) glowing shade of white was attracting too much attention, golden sandals now cloudy from various fluids across Pentagram city’s streets. Your heart shaped overalls a powdered purple, you looked like an adult child among a sea of very tired professionals.

When you got to the embassy you only had one good arm to open the heavy doors, which unfortunately didn’t budge. Perhaps you needed two? Trying to muster up some adrenaline, you began to pant. Deep breaths like the women in labour you sometimes worked your magic on.

As soon as you gripped the handle you saw something that made you jump back, muscles flexing around whatever damage you’d done in your body from the fall. A large black snake? Some demonic squid’s appendage? Something unholy grabbed hold of the handle as soon as you had and gave such a tug the doors violently shook.

You spun around to the dark neighborhood behind you. Nothing. Turning back the thing was gone. And so was all of your hope. It was locked. The tears were unwanted and unnecessary, but just-- you were hurting so much, you were dirty, you were alone, and now essentially homeless.

If there was ever a reason to cry, you decided to let yourself have this one.

The lamplights flickered and the entire street went pitch black. Because of course it did.

Hyperventilating now entirely without intention, you watched as one light to the left popped on with a static buzz. Desperate to be out of the darkness you ran to the spotlight. As soon as your foot entered the beam, the light beside it lit up. Your eyes wandered to heaven above, were they helping you? Had you not been entirely abandoned?

Of course! Yeah. They sensed you at the doors and sent off some guidance. How silly of you. Relief washed over you as you ran through the lights until your foot left one spotlight but the next hadn't popped on.

Twirling back to the embassy, you saw all of the lights shut off in succession behind you.

Just you and the one lamp now, and the glow of some TVs in the shop window to the right. What was the meaning of this?

That weird sound you heard earlier but couldn’t place… electricity but dusty and barely contained. Your gaze was drawn to the radio in the shop window in front of you. You hadn’t noticed it until it buzzed to life. It lit up faintly, dial turning on its own until a high and smooth voice rang out, “Looking for your way to heaven? You’re in luck! The Hazbin Hotel is now accepting any and all willing to find redemption!”

This must have been the message, I mean, heaven was never good at being subtle.

“Just make your way to the left and toward the looming building atop the hill!”

Your head turned to your left and then up slightly. Bathed in red and white lights stood a behemoth of a building on the edge of a cliff.

Head still facing the hotel, your eyes flitted back to the radio.

“Reception is open 24 hours a day!”

You touched your arm, then patted at your pockets. Not a wallet or ID card on you. You were the 17th Cupid incarnation, why would you have a fucking ID card? But didn’t those places need such things? You’d seen every romcom earth had ever produced. There was always some issue with hotel check ins.

“Not a red cent needed! We literally do not care who you are!”

Oh. Wait. Was this a trap?

“Created by the Lucifer Morningstar’s daughter! A foolish young woman who genuinely believes in reforming sinners!”

Lucifer?? The former angel, yes, but the word angel carried much more weight now. Perhaps he would have a modicum of pity given your circumstances.

You took an unsteady foot forward and toward the hotel when the street lights all buzzed back to life.

The path to the hotel was long, many demons stopping you on your way but quickly losing interest after a second or two of pestering you. You gave a silent prayer to the archangels for that blessing.

It must have been nearly 1am when you finally made it to the hotel’s doors. When you entered you found an empty reception desk and a poorly written note:

Before the bell’s hammer even hit the metal, a man popped up from behind the counter.

The man.

The man you shot with Mania.

“Welcome to th-,”

You were outside and leaving the awning before he could finish, but just as quickly as you left he appeared in front of you, “Still missing your manners?”

He blocked your path with his remarkable size. Why were demons so tall? What was the use of it?

“Deer got your tongue?” He bent over unnaturally at the waist.

“What?”

“Would you like-,” he began.

You walked around him and down the driveway. He moved briskly beside you, slowly growing larger and larger until his body was several stories tall and entirely blocking the gates of the premises.

A horror. Hell was full of horrors.

He crouched, large toothy smile now baring down at you.

If you stabbed him in the eye with an arrow, which would cause the least trouble? It was a rule to never give a double love bite but this was a dire situation.

But if you were sent to hell for a little nun love fest, what would purposefully stabbing a sinner do?

He rapidly shrank, hands coming to his front to catch a summoned microphone…Cane? Staff?

“You’re injured. Just, come back inside. I promise I don’t bite without consent.” His head cocked to the side, a quiet, “Usually” tacked on.

We’re you visibly hurt? How bad was it? You looked past him to where sounds of yelling and music were rolling up the hill.

“You don’t have many options, angel.” He hissed the word through clenched teeth. Disgust almost seemed to lace his voice, but why, then, was he offering help?

“Not an angel. Cupid. Different.” Kind of. You gave the quiver a shake.

“Ah yes. That explains why you shot at me earlier.” A large hand came to your side and directed you to turn back around. He kept it there, pushing softly to keep you moving.

“I didn't shoot you.”, You huffed, crossing your arms before doubling over in pain. He stopped walking, hand resting now against your spine. Regaining your composure, you continued towards the hotel lobby, “My arrows fell out and…you caught one. With your body.”

“My pocket made quite the lucky catch. Now!” He snapped, a key appearing and floating into his hand with a sparkle of neon green, “Let’s get you to a room and cleaned up.”

“Do you work here?” You asked as he escorted you to one of the upper floors. The room was surprisingly clean and well decorated. You had expected a dingy highway motel. And while the room was largely dark wood and rich colors, it wasn’t as offensive as the rest of hell had been.

“Ah! My my, forgive me! I am Alastor, the radio demon and hotel manager here.” He bowed and offered his hand for you to place yours in. You did so without thinking, and he kissed your knuckles once but his mouth lingered over your flesh. Eyes half lidded, he glanced back up at you, “It is an absolute pleasure to meet you.”

There was no way to reverse Cupid’s arrows. Not by force. Love could only die by the hands of the ones who held it. Others could definitely bruise it, but ultimately it was up to the beholder. Mania was a little different, obsession could be dispelled by shattering whatever illusion the holder felt.

If the holder thought someone was the epitome of genteel chastity then a show of wanton sexuality could break the spell. If someone was convinced the object of their desire was very smart and savvy then acting ignorant could make the obsession fall flat. But there was no indication he had any illusions of you. Not yet, atleast.

Mania was now his, and he would keep it in his heart until he lost it or killed it. He could, technically, be possessed by, and be in the possession of, Mania for eternity. A sinner had never been shot before, that you knew of.

He didn’t noticeably react as you took back your hand. With a hum, he snapped again and you found a chair pulled up behind you and knocking into the back of your knees. You fell into the plush armchair, watching a metal basin of steaming water slide against your feet.

“Excuse you— ExcUU-,” you pulled your legs back but he pulled harder, Alastor removing your dirty shoes and tossing them off to the side like trash.

“You can't clean yourself with that broken collar bone. Allow me.” His hand gripped your ankles and dunked both into the water, “I insist.”

“It’s broken? How could I break a collarbone…,” the humor wasn’t lost on you, sinner washing holy feet, but your focus was entirely on the concept of a broken bone.

“Falling twenty five feet head first, apparently.” Alastor rubbed soap into your calves.

“But I don’t break.” What happened to you, what had that kick into hell done? “You saw me? Also, that isn’t dirty.” you pointed at your calf.

“Peripherally.”

Did he mean the dirt or witnessing the fall? You sat in silence while he hummed, returning your feet to their original color.

“Now,” he rose, patting his hands dry on a small towel, “Unbutton your top.”

Your expression was apparently quite loud, Alastor putting his hands up quickly, “Not like that. I’ve no interest in that sort of thing. I need to see your shoulder and upper chest.” He waited patiently, staring at you the entire time. His smile was so wide, teeth yellow and sharp. Unsettling.

He really did look like he could eat you. You’d heard of such demons.

You slipped off the straps of your overalls, and began to open your shirt. He did away with the water, coming to kneel directly to your right as he watched. You couldn’t see anything without some kind of mirror. If it was bruised or swollen, it was out of your line of sight. Long clawed hands came to the front and back of your shoulder, pressing inward. You pulled away, a firm grip now as his right hand held at the left side of your waist.

“Are you a doctor?” Hotel manager and doctor would be an unlikely combo, but the day had been odd from start to finish.

A shake of the head, “But when I was alive, I did have quite a lot of experience with the inner workings of anatomy.” You grimaced, how could he say such sinister things with such a lovely voice? “Maybe not broken. But I’d say at least a fracture. Perhaps your heavenly body didn’t take full damage. It hurts when you move your arm, correct?” You nodded.

He hummed, another click of his fingers and a fabric unfurled into his waiting hands. “Take it all the way off so I can set this.”

You were exhausted. The pain was gnawing at your nerves. No more fight in you, you just wanted rest, so you slipped off the shirt entirely and let him wrap your arm up into a simple sling. You were surprised his hands were so warm. Demons seemed like they’d be cold to the touch. Like lizards or pearls.

When he finished, you sitting in the large chair with your arm wrapped in a silky black sling, no shirt, and pastel purple heart-shaped overalls folded down your torso, you considered having another cry. You felt your chin tremble. You couldn’t recall ever crying from sadness before today.

It was just a mistake. You hadn’t meant to drop your arrow. Why were the archangels so angry? What’s some sex between nuns?

Alastor bristled, hand coming to your cheek. It was an unwelcome gesture. You batted his hand away with your only free one, but he just sighed and set it on your thigh. You pushed it off, shooting him a glare. The audacity.

You thought you saw his eye twitch.

With what little energy was left in, you stood and open the door for him, “You have been very kind and helpful. Thank you very much. You can leave now.” Oh, right, “Please.”

He stood, pausing as he passed you. He was so tall. Shoulders wide. You felt your heart rate pick up. Even with two good collarbones you knew you couldn’t take him in a fight.

Alastor leaned down to your level, you backing up and into the door, “Until the morning.”

When he said it you had thought he was just going about formalities. But he wasn’t. You awoke some hours later to a knock. When you opened the door he was looming in your doorway again.

You tried to close the door but he put his foot in the gap, then a strong hand wrapped around the door’s edge and he pushed his way into the room.

You sputtered, arm flailing a little as you choked on which reaction to give first. You were undressed, in just your under things.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself further when you get dressed. I’ll undo the sling and help.” Closing the door he then spun back around to face you, smile as bright as it was earlier that same day.

“No! Absolutely not! Leave! Please!”

As he guided your arm through the shirt, you struggled to process what had happened. One minute you were indignant and stubborn and then he was so close to you, hands warm and gentle, and then already he was untying the sling and your shirt was just there and-

“See? Wasn’t that easy? No harm in accepting help.” Alastor looked you over from top to bottom.

“Accepting? What part of any of that did I accept.” You stood bottomless in a button up, trying to get the overalls from the hanger with just your left hand. His chest pressed into your back, nearly forcing you to fall into the armoire, to assist you.

“The part where you didn’t actively fight me. I think we can call that acceptance until you learn better.” His words shook through your ribs and to your front.

Annoyance rose in your chest, what was he thinking? Humans had no right to touch you let alone a sinner. “You’re an eldritch horror, please back away from the divine creature before you.” Alastor laughed, backing away with the clothes in his hands. Hand out, you motioned for him to pass it over. He tossed it on the floor, and took a seat on the bed with crossed legs. “Oh, I see. You’re an asshole. Perfect.” Pretense gone, manners not needed.

You grabbed it with your left hand and managed to get both legs into it before slinking it up and onto your left shoulder. While you tried to figure out how to do the right side, realizing the flaw in your order of processes, Alastor leaned over and unhooked the left strap, overalls falling to the carpet with a soft thud.

You stood there for several moments, staring at him with purple fabric pooled around your ankles, him staring at you with a shiteating grin.

After finally getting dressed, preferring to not think about how, you were followed down to the lobby.

“Breakfast?” He asked, you both in the elevator as he hadn’t gone more than three feet from you since he entered your bedroom.

“No, no appetite. I need to find Lucifer.” You were sure he could help somehow. Somehow he could do….something. Details about Lucifer’s powers and abilities, his strengths and skills were all kept hush-hush. But if nothing else, you could find someone who understood your position.

Your hand was being vigorously shaken before the elevator doors even closed behind you. Charlie Morningstar was not what you expected. Chipper and bright, she was bursting with energy.

“Gentle, Charlie. Our dear Cupid is injured.” Alastor’s hand came to the small of your back. You reached back with your left hand and knocked it off of you.

“Like, the real actual cupid?!” Charlie’s eyes were shining, you could almost see the hearts floating up around her face. You felt Alastor’s hand again, now on your hip. You took three steps to the right, slipping from his fingertips.

“Yes, that is exactly what I-.” You were cut off, Charlie launching into a speech about sinners and heaven and redemption and so much more you couldn’t process.

The energy she gave us was very angelic, which was confusing. Until you saw her father entering the common area.

The most hated creature in all of creation. Your best hope for a tiny sliver of comfort.

Alastor’s hand reached for yours, fingers trapping your wrist and stopping you from approaching the king of hell.

You shook your arm. His hold stayed. You tugged. He was unaffected, talking to Charlie now about your injury as if you weren’t right there.

As Cupid, or at least as a cupid, you weren’t physically strong. You really weren’t meant to exist for a long time, just for as long as your body held up to repeated trips to the human realm. But, in heaven, you were never capable of being harmed. And of course, on earth, you weren’t really corporeal so no harm could come to you. You weren’t built for tug of war with a 7 foot tall demon.

“Mr. Devil! Sir!” You waved your foot, shouting out to the normal sized man. As he saw you, his eyes widened, “Hello there! Sorry to be a bother, I’m from heaven and-” You jerked your hand free, power walking to Lucifer, “I’m here on punishment. It’s a pleasure to meet another member of Elysium’s caretakers. Former or otherwise.”

Flustered, Lucifer fumbled with his phone before dropping it. “Oh! Shit! H-hello!”

You reached down to retrieve it for him, seeing black and red shoes behind you as you did.

“What — why are you here?” Lucifer was looking at Alastor now, which was great news because for a second you thought he was talking to you. A sneaking feeling leaked into your chest that heaven hadn’t actually told him you were coming.

“Just keeping an eye on my guest! As you can see she got injured and I’ve taken to the task of her safety while she’s in hell.”

“No one asked him to do that, sir.” Your smile was strained, you could feel Alastor’s shoulder was touching yours. You looked to where you were connected and then back to Lucifer, “Are all sinners like this?”

“Honestly? Yes. They’re all pretty terrible.” Lucifer sighed, “What did you do?”

A cold sweat, “Misused an arrow. I can’t leave hell until I make a demon who doesn’t already believe in true love…believe in it.”

“Oh no! That’s— you’re gonna be here awhile.” Lucifer pulled at his collar in a mock attempt to release the awkward heat of the conversation. He saw you wither, and Alastor seemed to bloom, so he quickly changed pace, “But! Uhhh, you can totally do it! Charlie has some of the best of the worst here. If I can ever help, just ask!” Nervous laughter that did not put you at ease. He seemed so silly. So sweet and easily flustered.

You felt your hope dash for a second time in less than a day. How long would you be in hell? How long was awhile?

“She is my responsibility now. She won’t be needing anything from you, your majesty.”

A darkness came over you as the two demons began to bicker. You now had your own obsessed shadow; a large and creepy sinner following you around. How on earth could you get close enough to a demon to complete your task? Convincing someone of true love would require trust and time. This would be impossible with Alastor attached to your side.

You spent the first week in hell in the hotel. Everytime you got the courage to leave and explore the areas outside, you’d find yourself shadow portaled “back to safety” by Alastor. It was like the human film ‘Groundhog Day’, always starting over back in the lobby.

No matter where you went in the hotel, he was either beside you or where you had been headed. You saw the sky less often than Alastor’s grin and you couldn’t stand it. You took to hiding, leaning against darkened stairwell corners and sitting on the floor of the ladies restroom.

It bought you a little time to yourself, but the second you moved he was there again. Asking if you were a lost little doe, hand reaching for your waist to pull you near him, red eyes threatening to swallow you whole.

Toward the end of the week, while helping you get dressed as he did daily, Alastor took a step back. “I could get you some new clothes. Cannibal town has the finest duds.” He lifted the lace that lined the top of your pocket, “You stick out. No demon is going to let you trick them into believing in true love like this.”

You could have screamed. No, no demon would even approach you with Alastor standing behind you. It absolutely wasn’t the clothes. You politely rejected the offer and went about your day.

The next morning you awoke to find your floor littered with strips of something. Flinging open the armoire you found two empty hangers. You turned back, noticing the white and purple color to the fabric confetti.

The march to Alastor’s room was easy, as it was 10 feet in front of your door. He had placed you directly across from him, because, ya know, Mania.

He clearly hadn’t expected you to leave your room in your underwear, eyes like saucers as he yanked you in.

“What in heaven are you doing?! Anyone could see you.” He hissed, closing the door with a little too much force.

“Whose fault is that?!” You seethed in return. Anger was something you rarely ever felt but he was inspiring new things in you. “Someone shredded my clothes.”

Alastor’s ears folded back, eyes looking to the left and up, “Odd. Are you sure? Maybe you accidentally threw them away.” That devilish grin you’d come to expect. He knew damn well how stupid that was.

You stomped your foot, if you had two working hands you’d try to rip his antlers off, “Are you serious?!” You turned to leave, kicking the door before attempting to open it.

A large hand pressed back on the door, slamming it shut. His breath was dropping down the back of your neck despite his considerable height, “You will not be leaving this room in such a state of undress, my dear.”

His voice was so low and close, had anyone ever spoken to you with such a commanding tone? A new feeling twitched in you. You blocked it out.

“You don’t get to make decisions for me,” said too softly.

His other hand came to press on the door, too. An arm to either side of you, trapped, as he leaned in. You pressed yourself against the door to make distance from his body.

“Oh, I absolutely do. Who is going to stop me? You?” Alastor’s voice had noticeably dropped an octave as he whispered what felt like a challenge against your hair.

Who indeed…you had no strength, an arrow would either be useless or complicate things. Lucifer seemed preoccupied and jittery. Heaven wasn’t returning your prayers.

He took your silence as an answer.

“Exactly. Now, I’ll only ask nicely once.” His hands left, warmth on your neck fading. You turned to look at him, sensing his eyes burning holes into your back.

He was holding a two piece set. Older style, 1920s American maybe. Black and burgundy. When did he have time to get this when every hour seemed to be spent near you?

“May I help you get dressed?”

You’d gotten quite close with the few residents who didn’t run at the sight of Alastor. Husk was one of them. You became fast friends, often drinking and lamenting about Alastor’s general existence as Alastor sat some 15 feet away on the sofa. Still not allowed outside the hotel gates, your second week you spent many hours at the bar talking to the surprisingly kind grump.

To your delight Alastor didn’t seem bothered by it, oddly, as long as you were in eyesight he seemed content.

You thought maybe his mania was already waning. Sure you hadn’t attempted to leave the hotel, and you hadn’t argued when he dressed you, but…Ah, hm. Fuck.

Mania can look like Love when you don't struggle against it. A fly motionless in a web can elude the spider for a little bit.

Don't push against the restraints and you can forget they are there entirely.

But push you did, accidentally. Husk was making some new cocktails, trying to enjoy himself and be creative.

“Yeah, that’s it.” He grinned.

“Good?”

He took another sip before handing the glass to you. You grabbed it, taking a taste. Sweet but a bite as it went down. Something with citrus. When you looked up from the glass, he was gone.

A choking noise from behind the bar made you stand up in your seat, eyes flying from Husk to Alastor. A glowing green leash dragging Husk across the floor, his hands desperately pulling at the collar as he struggled to breath.

“Stop!” You shouted, crawling over the bar and grabbing the chain with your good arm. You tried to pull back, to slow the choking force, but got pulled along with it. “Alastor!” You screamed as your shoulder hit the floor and sent searing pain down your arm.

You could hear Husk gasp, the green glow disappearing from past your clenched eyelids.

“Why can’t you-,” Alastor started to speak a he came to your side. Husk scurried away, crawling back from the demon. You hit the hand Alastor offered you but were surprised to see his face painted with concern.

“I said stop.” After rolling to your feet you began to march away. “Every time I find something nice in this piece of shit domain you remind me I’m in hell.”

You had almost made it to your room when a hand pulled you by the good shoulder and pushed you against the wall. It still hurt.

“Don’t you know? Sharing a drink, it’s as close to a kiss as you could get without bringing your mouth to his.”

“It was a drink, Alastor. You had no right.”

His hand settled on your throat. No grip, just a gentle placement, “I have every right.” His brows knit together in worry, in confusion. “What should I do to make you understand me?” His hand came to your chin, thumb ghosting over your lips.

“If I let you go too far, someone will surely take you. Who wouldn’t? Please. Stop pushing me so much.” His eyes were almost loving as they shined down at you. His breath was picking up. You could hear the desperation in his voice.

Those damned eyes were unrelenting in their stare into your own. There was no creature in presence or audacity in heaven like Alastor. You’d never encountered anything like him.

“Of all the Love you had to take a stray hit from, Mania really was the cruelest accident.” You held your hand at the crook of your neck, wondering if you did more damage. No, if he did more damage.

“Mania? Is that the arrow I caught? How fitting.” His finger pulled down on your bottom lip. You’d seen this movie, you’d been there for these scenes in dorm rooms and under rainy awnings, in darkened beds and sunny fields. You could move, no part of him was actually holding you physically. “Yes, maybe I am obsessed. But whose fault is that? Will you take responsibility for it?” His chest was shaking with every breath. Why didn’t you move? Just walk away. Knock off that touch as you had been doing. You hadn’t noticed how quickly you were breathing, too, until his hand was pulling your chin up and towards his face.

It only came out as a whisper, half said as it was only half meant, “don’t.”

A laugh, “At least pretend you mean it.”

Your knees came together in some desperate attempt to stop the feeling creeping up your legs and to your lap, “Apologize to Husk.”

“Why would I ever do such a thing?” His breath was so warm on your mouth, face tilted to keep his nose from hitting yours.

“What a terrible reply!” You slid down the wall and slipped under his arms, “If you shadow work your way into this room I will fuck that horny spider on camera just to spite you.” You opened your door, pausing to make sure he was still down the hall, “Angel on Angel, working title.”

Your whole body went slack, the sounds of a wild animal loose in the hallway rocking the door as you took shaky steps to the bed, paintings on the walls rattling as he did unseen damage. Sounds of an unknown, unholy animal raging just past the thin drywall.

Had you ever seen Mania work so quickly with so little fuel? Hand coming to your mouth, a burning where his finger touched you.

No one had touched your lips before. No one could ever hope to. Humans were beyond the realm of feeling you, and you didn’t allow kissing with the partners you took in heaven. Personal rule. As in, it was too personal.

The lights in your room flickered, briefly shrouding you in darkness before coming back to life.

Deja vu.

Oh.

What had he introduced himself as? The radio demon? It wasn’t heaven who brought you to the hotel. Of course not.

No. Obviously not.

ᡣ𐭩ˋ°•*⁀➷ masterlist

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove @saccharine-nectarine , @viannasthings , @looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha , @astraechos , @reath-solia ,

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

@faeoffaith , sailorsmouth , @jeannyjaykaydeh , @jyoongim , @cosmic-lavender , @saturn-alone , @lustylita , @radio-darling , @kaylopolis , @dickmastersworld , @leviskittywh0re

#alastor #alastor x reader #alastor smut #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x you #hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor

863 notes · View notes

sprout-fics · 3 months

Text

Mayday Mayday Chapter One: Bravo Going Down

(Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Medic "Fix" Reader)

Part Six of Snowblind

Rating: Mature Themes Wordcount: 5.1k Tags: Slow Burn, Bad Flirting, Whump, Blood and Injury, Active Combat Scenarios, Teammates to ??? to Lovers, Angst, Banter Warnings: Crashes, Descriptions of blood and injury A/N: Special thank you to @gazs-blue-hat , @laeilaps , and @vampirekilmerfic for the research and development of this installment! and thank you to everyone still reading despite the large gap in updates.

It’s a starless night when your helicopter gets shot down.

The ride to your destination is a long one. The ever-present roar of helicopter blades is the only sound you seem to hear in the darkness of the chopper, sandwiched between two larger marines who seem to check and recheck their gear every five minutes. They chatter in small exchanges over comms, barks of laughter to cover up the anxious energy caught between the darkness of the thumping blades above. There’s a tense, heavy atmosphere in the cabin that pulses between you all, a pent-up focus prowling just inside its cage, waiting to be released into the thick of battle. You feel it as much as they do, grounded only by the tap of your fingers in a steady rhythm against your weapon, running and re-running the attack plan in your mind as the marines around you shift with taut, scarcely contained energy.

They’d sat behind you during the briefing, watching attentively as Laswell detailed the fly-by-night mission to hunt down an AQ cell holed up in the dry desert mountains. Normally such a cell would be swiftly dealt with using air support, but in this instance Laswell needed one of the majors hidden inside the mountain bunker alive for interrogation. It’s high-risk, high-reward business, and the gravity of the mission isn’t lost on you.

The marines seemed surprised to find you second in command of this mission, shifting uneasily with low tones as Laswell announced it so. You were surprised yourself at the arrangement, considering the leading CO that stood broad-shouldered and heavy-stared before them as Laswell went over the approach. With Price off-duty and nursing a sprained shoulder from the team’s last deployment, and Soap and Gaz on an assignment of their own, the mantle had fallen to you to be partnered with the team’s one and only lieutenant.

It doesn’t sit well with your fellow American troops, you can tell. They’d expected one of their own to be second in command, especially considering your medic designation. Yet when one of them had dared voice such an opinion, his fellows snickering behind your back, Ghost had barked at them a snarling, low reprimand that quickly silenced any and all objections.

Now Ghost sits across from you, legs spread wide enough that the soldiers on either side of him have to compact their spaces to allow him room. You see the way they’re a little tense, a little intimidated by his size and presence. You can hardly blame them. Ghost has been quiet aside from a few orders for the entire ride so far, and you’re not sure whether to be grateful or unsettled by his silence.

Things have been...odd since you got back.

You’d been given all of a week to settle at base before the team was tasked with a flurry of missions- all short and swift deployments that left you with plenty of leftover energy to spend on the rest of the team. You’d been concerned about integrating yourself back into the group after such a long stint away, but fortunately the team had accepted you back with open arms. It had taken time to catch up with the most recent intel, and even then Price had insisted on putting you through your paces with training and other exercises to ensure your skills were still fresh. With Soap and Gaz at your side, it was a relatively easy task to tackle the list of training exercises your CO had tasked you with, buoyed by the boy-ish, lighthearted energy of the other two sergeants.

To test your revitalized skillset, Price often designated you to Ghost’s squad during deployments, trusting his second in command to sharply and swiftly correct any blunders on your part- of which there had mercifully been few. More than that, you seemed to flourish under the command of Ghost, quickly ceding to orders and swift with your deliverance. It had garnered you several rare instances of praise from the Brit, spoken quietly and perfunctory over comms, quick enough that you had to pause and ensure you had heard him right. When you had offered bits of banter over the radio, Ghost had surprisingly indulged in your humor, leaving you grinning even during ex-fil and almost giddy with the oddly fluttering feeling in your chest.

As if that wasn’t odd in itself, Ghost seemed...different than you remember off the field. More than once you’d caught him staring at you across the rec room between missions, dark eyes boring into you as if you were something to be studied. He sometimes sought you out himself to relay a message as opposed to using the team’s designated chat log, offering the excuse that he’d been nearby anyways. His gaze always managed to catch yours when you entered a room, and despite the man never smiling, you always saw the glimmer of recognition there as you caught his stare, as if he was anticipating your arrival.

You told yourself he was just looking out for you, as his duty as your superior, but the truth of it felt...more than that. Ghost was never one to go out of his way for his teammates, always offering the bare minimum of what was required of him to keep the task-force functioning. You know his past, mysterious and intriguing as it is, prevented him from truly bonding with the rest of the team. To him you were all co-workers, soldiers, but not brothers in the way you thought of them.

Yet it was Ghost who tossed you an extra water bottle after training, who had nodded to the weights someone stashed in the gym when you looked for them, who had given you his full attention as you stood before him and checklisted your gear for him before mission, who looked out for you at the bar and escorted you back to the barracks on the night of your return...

It made you wonder if there was a man behind the mask after all.

You dance around each other in fleeting glances and quiet words, and the meaning of it all is contained in the distance between you. You never touch, never dare to scrape against the soot-dark form of him, but you feel the presence of him at your back all the same. Watching, guarding, a sentinel that you can’t find yourself to venture far from. You lay awake at night ruminating over the way he says your name, ‘Fix’ like it’s his mother-tongue, a word so inherent to his language that it makes you feel like you were born to belong there against his lips.

Now, in the darkness of the helicopter, Ghost basks in the wash of red light overhead. His arms are crossed, weapon at rest between his legs as he awaits the slow downturn of motion that signals your approach. When you catch his eyes, the Brit tilts his head at you, heavy helmet and night vision goggles shifting expectantly.

You smile at him a little nervously, feeling the return of taut anticipation flowing through your veins as the hour of your hunt inevitably draws closer.

“Good night for a hunt, eh LT?” You venture cautiously, feeling one of the marines beside you tense. Nobody has dared to say a word to Ghost for the entire journey so far, and instantly all the attention in the cabin seems to land on you and your hesitant, clever smile.

Ghost blinks at you, doesn’t move an inch from where he’s seated. In the dim, red light of the hold you can barely make out his half-lidded, lazy stare as he regards you. Unbothered, unlike the men around him, he huffs a small sound before replying.

“Can’t see shit on a night like this.” Is all he offers brusquely. It’s enough.

“Well that’s what night vision is for. Anyone ever tell you you look good in green, sir?”

Shit.

You instantly clamp your mouth shut, but it’s too late. The words you just spoke hang heavy in the space between you, and the silence that follows is deafening. You wince internally, struggling to contain your expression as a dozen eyes regard you- gawking at your brazen flirtation you just offered to your fucking CO.

You want to crawl six feet under.

You can make out the whites of Ghost’s eyes in the darkness, surprised and taken aback. It takes him a moment to collect himself, eyes hardening and words steely.

“Spend less time gawking and more time watching the rest of your squad, sergeant.” Ghost tells you pointedly, though it’s without true malice. You contain a cringe at the reprimand, wanting nothing more than to groan into your hands at your own foolishness.

Yet your mouth seems to have a mind of its own, because before you can stop yourself, you reply with a “Gawking isn’t the word I’d use, LT.”

The private beside you sucks in a deep, trembling breath.

“Is that right?” Ghost’s eyes are suddenly sharp as they pin you to where you sit. “What word would you use, then, sergeant?”

Christ alive, just send you home in a body bag.

You feel your mouth open and close a few times, desperately trying to find the words, any words with which to salvage the rapidly spiraling conversation. You should really shut up, offer a murmured apology and keep yourself silent for the rest of the mission, but the eyes of the other soldiers stare unblinkingly at you as you finally find your voice.

“Looking...respectfully? Sir.” You manage, a little strangled.

The marine on the other side of you snorts. Ghost glares at him, and the man clears his throat before avoiding the Brit’s gaze.

“’Respectful’ isn’t the word I’d use for your behavior right now.” Ghost warns, low and dark, and you sit up straighter just by his tone alone. “I’d suggest you find a way to sort that mouth of yours before we drop in.”

“Speaking of-” A different voice interrupts, and even the pilot seems a little perturbed by your conversation. “Approaching target. Five minutes out.”

That seems to divert everyone’s attention well away from you and towards the mission at hand. Mercifully, Ghost draws the attention of everyone on board as he stands and clutches at the ceiling to steady his massive form.

“Listen up.” He barks, a dozen eyes looking towards the source of the deep, growling Manchester accent as it repeats the name of the asset you’re after. “That’s our target, needed alive. You know your orders. Keep this op clean, understood? No fucking body bags.”

A chorus of ‘Yes Sir!’s joins your own voice. Ghost seems to take up all the space from floor to ceiling as he nods, begins again-

A sound catches your attention, a distant fizzle that you manage to hear above Ghost’s booming voice. You open your mouth, a warning on your lips-

“RPG!!” The co-pilot yells just as the alarm blares, and suddenly the heli tilts, launching you violently against your straps as the pilot takes evasive maneuvers. The cabin descends into a chaotic flurry of voices as the marines react, trying to process suddenly being under enemy fire.

What happens next takes only seconds.

The sudden change of axis has Ghost stumble, one hand clenched in a white knuckle grip against the ceiling. You can hear the rocket above the growing alarm just as it whooshes past the hull, missing the chopper by mere feet. The blades whine above you, straining as the pilots try to right the heli, grunting over the comms. Garbled radio traffic is drowned out by the groan of the chopper, and the sudden gasp that tears from your own throat as you instinctively suck in air.

Yet just as it seems the chopper rights itself, you hear another sound outside. The two pilots' voices drown out each other as a second alarm screeches, and you manage to catch Ghost’s shocked eyes just as the sound of the incoming missile reaches a shrieking whistle. You open your mouth to holler at him to get back in his seat, and you see him move in the same direction, finding his balance and stretching out the hand not attached to the ceiling-

“Deploying flares-!”

“Hang on!!”

The RPG catches the flares on the outside of the hull, but the impact is close enough it throws the heli sideways, sending the bird into a tailspin. You watch in horror as Ghost instantly loses the balance he’s collected, hand slipping from the ceiling as he’s hurled up into the overhead so hard you hear a crack even past the roar of the straining blades. If it’s your voice that screams for him, you aren’t sure, but instantly you’re reaching for your straps, fumbling in an attempt to reach him. Your hands shake, breathing shallow and rapid, world spinning endlessly as the pilots struggle to contain the bird into a controlled descent. There’s voices yelling above the claxon, screaming orders, but yours is silent, heart hammering as you try desperately to remember how to breathe.

Ghost slides limply across the floor, head lolling.

You yell as you reach for him, fingers barely scraping his helmet and night vision goggles, unable to catch a grip. Yet the two marines across from you holler over the comms, one set of hands and then the other managing to find the edges of Ghost’s tac vest and hauling him with tremendous effort up into his seat across from you. Just as they manage to secure him, the pilot’s voice once again yells over the comms, barely audible as the helicopter groans and shrieks and the alarms blare deafening in your ears. Everything is spinning, turning on a dizzying axis you can’t find the balance to. You’re not sure which way is up, trying vainly to track the ground growing closer through the window next to Ghost’s slouched form.

“Mayday, mayday, this is Bravo going down-”

“EVERYONE BRACE!!”

You shut your eyes, hands in a death grip on your seat straps. Your jaw clenches so hard you can feel your teeth grinding, but the sound is obliterated by the catastrophic groan of the heli around you. There’s no time to do anything else except pray, and you try to remember the hymns and blessings taught to you by your mother all that time ago- having lost them when faced with a God that didn’t care about the suffering and the damned.

Fuck. You think for a half-heartbeat, the G-force of the spin forcing your head against the wall before you manage to tuck it forward. Blood rushes in your ears, and you catch a glimpse of Ghost before you, body leaning as the inertia drags at him. I never got to tell him-

The impact is catastrophic.

It forces all the air up from the bottom of your lungs in a wheezing gasp, tossing you violently against your seat straps. The force of it digs sharply against your ribs, painful and horrific as your entire body is hurled about like a rag-doll. You have no doubt if you weren’t secured you’d go flying against the interior of the bird, likely breaking your neck and leaving your body to rot in the dry desert sand. The bird groans desperately around you, tilting dangerously so your feet tilt up towards your head, the blades thumping at the sand once, twice, before getting caught and going still. Even then, the chopper slides another dozen meters, threatening to roll over completely before you at last come to a shuddering stop.

It’s automatic when you start counting in your head. One, two, three- Your training instinctively kicks in. Wait for the debris to settle, check for fuel leaks-

As soon as you reach five you fumble for your buckle, clawing at it in an attempt to free yourself as your voice rises over the groans and wheezing gasps of the men around you. It takes a few attempts to get enough air into your lungs to yell to your team, feeling your chest struggle for oxygen as your heart races up into your throat.

“Report.” You manage, voice cracking with grit and sand just as your hands find your buckle, one arm bracing yourself on the wall behind and below you. The lights flicker. In the darkness of the desert, the stars obscured, you can scarcely make out the bulky figures of your comrades in the cabin- similarly trying to free themselves. The chopper seems to have rolled onto its side somehow, as you find yourself with your legs higher than your head, the forms of the marines around you all but dangling from their straps from where the ceiling should be. There’s a brunt, singed metal type of smell that instantly has your gut coil with the instinct to go, move, clear out-

A few breathless murmurs, and after a moment another voice in the darkness.

“We’re good here, sarg!”

You breathe a sigh of relief at that, until-

A groan, loud and low, somewhere towards the ramp.

“I-it’s Johnson! His helmet is off!”

“LT is unresponsive!”

“I think the pilots are dead!”

Fuck.

You don’t stop to consider the possibilities of what that means. Fear claws at your chest, and you give yourself a breath to stubbornly swallow it down. You know that panic is a death sentence in this situation, and losing your head means endangering not only yourself, but the rest of your team.

You run through your options as fast as you can, knowing every second could be a grain of sand in a rapidly draining hourglass.

The helicopter can’t fly. It’s dead. The comms may still work, and no doubt the crash alarm has signaled the base about the nature of the situation. Yet it’s unclear if the chopper is sound. You can’t smell smoke yet, but you know the mangled mess of metal may change at any moment, sparking with fire and consuming you all in one bright blaze. Even if that’s not the case, it doesn’t solve the fact that the RPGs had to have come from somewhere nearby. The window to evacuate shortens by the second, and so you raise your voice in the darkness, drawing the attention of the others.

“Everyone out!” You bark, finally unclasping your buckle and feeling gravity drag you down, gear and all. “Check your squad, make sure nobody is left behind!”

It takes effort with the weight of your supplies to force yourself up above the seats, feeling bodies around you do the same. Fortunately the wreckage feels stable, even if the tremble in your limbs has yet to settle. Your chest doesn’t seem to expand enough to suck in all the air you need as you fumble in the darkness, eyes drawn to the gaping hole where the tail of the helicopter used to be.

Your hand lands on the closest arm you can reach, feeling the other soldier startled in the flickering darkness. “You.” You manage, throat dry. “Help me get the pilots.”

“Yes ma’am!”

You precariously balance as you turn, catching the slumped figure of Ghost out of the corner of your eye and watching with blessed relief as he raises his head a few inches.

Thank God. You think with an exhale of utter gratitude. He’s alive.

Yet the task at hand remains, and as Ghost is balanced between the shoulders of two marines, scarcely lucid, you turn towards the flight controls, a younger corporal just behind you.

There’s shattered glass at the windshield, and it allows the nighttime wind to breeze inside, sand spilling over the cracked panels and monitors. A red light flickers erratically overhead, illuminating the limp forms of the two pilots. It’s not an easy undertaking to wrestle free the two unresponsive men- one of them sticky with what you assume is blood as you haul them towards the exit carved by your landing. You’re not even sure they’re alive, but you’ll be damned if you leave them after their miraculous mid-air recovery that likely saved the rest of you.

“Damn good pilot, Smith.” The marine grunts beside you as he shoulders the pilot and makes towards the exit. “Sure hope this sonofabitch made it.”

You silently wish the same, hauling the co-pilot by his straps backwards with you, nearly tumbling twice before mercifully making it towards the hatch someone has kicked free. You can hear garbled words over the radio, and in the blinking light you see a small shower of sparks as the dashboard short-circuits. Thankfully, it doesn’t catch into flame, and you at last make it onto gritty desert sand with the limp form of the co-pilot atop you.

Two soldiers on either side of you manage to hoist him up and allow you to scramble to your feet. It’s the first time you’re able to take stock of the situation now that you’re free, heart thumping against your ribs and form trembling from the adrenaline still pumping fresh through your veins.

Good God.

The crash looks like something out of a grotesque action film. The tail lays feet away from the rest of the bird, one of the blades sticking straight up into the night sky and the over bent in a mangled wreck only feet away from you. There’s bits of metal and debris strewn around you, smoking and stinking as they’re half buried in the sand.

It’s nothing less than a miracle that you’re standing, bruised and battered as you are.

Twelve of you total, including the pilots. Four of you are standing, another kneeling beside the prone forms of the injured and two more helping to rest the co-pilot next to them. You check yourself, cataloging the various scrapes and bruises you can feel under your gear, and managing a prayer of thanks when you don’t immediately feel anything broken or bleeding.

and in your second breath-

“Where’s the lieutenant?”

“Over here ma’am!”

You turn on a swivel, neatly avoiding the debris as you find Ghost sat halfway up, eyes bleary but focusing upon seeing you.

“Fix.” He offers groggily, and the breathless sound of relief that leaves you is far from subtle. It takes you two steps to kneel before him, a wobbly smile on your face.

“Chopper went down, LT.” You convey quietly.

Ghost gives you a scathing look. No shit. It seems to offer. Were it not for the dire circumstances, you might have even laughed at the utter annoyance in his eyes.

“What’s our status?” He bites, hands limp at his sides and making no motion to inspect himself just yet.

You look at the chopper, rolled halfway on its side, one of the rotors bent and buried deep into the sand. It’s clear it isn’t going to fly again.

“We’re stranded. Emergency beacon went up as soon as the bird went down, but it likely will be a few hours before we see any sort of response- and that’s if they decide to fly despite the RPGs in the area.”

You suck in a breath then, steadying yourself. The truth of the situation begins to wash over you with cold, deathly dread.

“We’re on our own.”

There’s movement behind you, and you glance over your shoulder to where a few of the men have gathered, looking to Ghost for orders. You look to him as well, trying to track his eyes in the darkness. He looks...unsteady. You can tell he’s still trying to get his bearings after blacking out, and briefly it makes you wonder just how severe his concussion is.

“You solid?” You ask him quietly, trying not to draw too much attention from the men hovering anxiously around you both.

“Fine.” Ghost grits, but makes no effort to stand just yet.

Liar.

“What’s our move, Ghost?” One of the other soldiers asks, eyes darting between you to the mission’s designated CO.

Before Ghost can answer, you stand, drawing the attention of everyone including Ghost.

“I want a perimeter around the crash.” You state, settling yourself where you stand. “No doubt the team that crashed us saw us go down. They’re headed our way. Head on a swivel. Let’s make sure we see them before they’re on top of us. Move the wounded to whatever cover you can find. I’ll handle triage. Salvage whatever supplies you can from the helo, but if you smell smoke or fuel you let me know as soon as you do, understood?”

There’s a beat of silence from the men gathered around you, some of them shifting nervously, their eyes flitting between you and Ghost, who looks up at you in a mixture of shock and some sort of irritation you can’t place.

“I said understood?” You bark, making several of the men jump.

“Yes ma’am!”

“Good. Now you, and you-” You point out two men at the back of the small huddle. “You’re with me. I need your assist for triage. You two, I want to know what supplies we have left in the helo. Dawson, I want you to radio base and give them a report of our status. See if you can find answers about how long until we see a rescue team. The rest of you, I want you on the perimeter. Now.”

It’s only after the small huddle has dispersed that you turn to Ghost, nearly flinching at the ire there in his eyes.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, sergeant?” He seethes, and you have to swallow down the sudden bout of fright at his tone- dark and furious.

Your hands shake. It’s not rare to encounter Ghost in an annoyed or irritated mood, but what this is right now, the bright blaze of your lieutenant's eyes in the desert darkness, has a warning of danger zipping down your spine and settling low and heavy in your stomach.

No doubt he doesn’t appreciate you overriding him, injured as he is. Ghost is used to calling the shots on missions, and you know it’s a comfortable position for him, not having to rely on others' judgment to ensure his own survival. His own instincts pave the way for his men, allowing them to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. In control, it means he doesn't question his superiors and if they truly have his survival in their interests.

It stings, admittedly, that he doesn’t seem to have that faith in you to make a call when he’s concussed as he is, his eyes still trying to focus on your form above him. You thought by now you might have earned that.

Perhaps you’re wrong about that.

“I’m sorry sir.” You offer at last. “I’m not trying to override your command, but you’re injured-”

“I told you I’m fine.” Ghost snarls, shifting and trying to get his legs under him. It’s a wobbly sort of maneuver, and you resist the urge to aid him, knowing he’d only shrug you off with a growl.

“Ghost.” You manage tightly, trying to swallow down the hurt of his anger. “You’re concussed.”

Ghost pauses then, still glaring at you, but manages to raise himself up to a stand anyways. There’s a beat between you before Ghost is suddenly leaning into your space. You have to tilt your head up to keep eye contact with his higher stature, setting your jaw and trying not to flinch as his eyes burn down into your own.

“I did not give you permission to take command of this mission.” He growls, low and deadly. The vibration of it hums through you, settles low in your gut as a threat that you try vainly to ignore. There’s a natural instinct inside you to automatically defer to Ghost despite his injury, the fact that his pupils are blown completely wide and you think you can see the white edge of his mask tint with something dark and slick that oozes from his head.

You want to tell him you outrank him when it comes to the health and safety of the men, that your status as a medic means you can assess him if he isn’t of sound operational mind. You know his call wouldn’t have varied drastically from your own. Yet you also know that if Ghost perceives you to be a question to his authority the second he gets injured, it means hell for you in any future missions you may be on with him.

It means it might erase any trust you’ve managed to gain from him after all this time.

Ghost towers over you, hands clenched at his sides. You keep your gaze locked on his, trying to maintain a brave face despite the grave warning in his stare.

“Fall in line, sergeant.” He growls, voice bone deep and drumming dark into your skull.

You shouldn’t.

You do.

“Apologies, sir.” You offer in deference as you finally avert your gaze, feeling something liquid hot burn under your skin at the action. “Your orders.”

Ghost seems to relax a bit, shoulders unwinding as he lets out a long, slow exhale. Your own air still feels caught tightly in your chest, your heartbeat thumping like a battered thing between your ribs.

Ghost studies you, and even without meeting his gaze you can tell his stare hasn’t ventured from your form. What he seems to be searching for is unclear, and you restrain the urge to look back up at him, allowing him to see the bitterness in your eyes. He doesn’t need to see how much his lack of faith in you carves something deep and wounded into your skin, a failure in yourself to prove yourself to the man you admire the most.

“Handle triage. I’ll check the perimeter.” He orders abruptly, voice more even now that you’ve ceded to his authority. You nod mutely, not meeting his eyes, feeling a wash of shame and anger warm your face as you avoid his stare.

You turn from him in the direction of the injured men when his voice catches you again.

“Fix.”

You pause, not turning.

Ghost is silent at your back. He seems to be weighing his words, debating with himself. The desert breeze whispers at the bare skin of your neck where his gaze seems to be resting. The flickering red light from the helicopter washes crimson over your form.

“Good call.” Is all he offers, and you blink, lips parting in surprise as he brushes past you brusquely. The moment is gone in an instant as he moves towards the marines with their night vision trained on the horizon, broad and dark against the starless night sky.

Alone in his shadow you wonder why, despite his anger, his words sounded almost trusting.

Tag List:

Please reply to or reblog this post with 'taglist' to be tagged in future updates. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, please DM me.

@dankest-farrik @zwiiicnziiix @moondirti @sritashimada @ladiilokii @sandinthemachine @verdandis-blog @guyfieriiii @fan-of-encouragement @starlitnotes @rentaldarling @mockerycrow @atenceladusiaawfytbwb @tinykaka @dumb-djarin @homicidal-slvt @selinn777 @nachtcirce @jujubashow @mutuallimbenclosure @kkinky @trash-boi-4-life @scatter-mind001 @alittlefansthings @allaboutirem0 @keiva1000 @makariaspresence @achelois-is-here @nightingale-ghost-writer @altered-delta @thetimidsarcasticcat @nestaarcheronss @bitchykittenconnoisseur @ghxstyops @whotfislynn @gazs-blue-hat @obi-wansorrow @liltofu99 @thatswhyilovetheghost @devilsfoodcake22 @dumb-fawkin-bitch @hlo-kty @children-of-epiales @definitelyanonymous @queenquazar @alicesfracturedmirror @stillinracooncity @paigetaylor628 @jinxxangel13 @enfppixie @itsnotmyfaultimdifferent @dustycrusty09 @cminoko @caitiecatastrophe

Fic Tag: Shadow and Bone

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #Simon ghost riley x oc #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x ofc #reader insert #cod x reader #fic: shadow and bone #oc: fix #fic: snowblind

184 notes · View notes

everythingne · 4 months

Text

cloud circuit - ls2

Y/n Tiffany has always been a woman just outside of Logan's grasp. But a chance encounter at a bus stop and a new neighbor prove maybe somethings are meant to be. As long as he doesn't figure out her real name.

logan sargeant x business owner!student!reader

warnings/notes: I don't think I have any genuine warnings for this chapter specifically? me once again doing a slightly messy trope bc i live for drama

Logan had never assumed he’d be the guy to fall for someone the way he fell for you. It was happenstance, a complete coincidence, but you both kept running into each other. For two years. At least once a week.

He went on a morning jog? You were at a crosswalk he had to stop at.

He was running out to get groceries last minute? You were buying baking supplies.

He had to go visit Oscar? You were also on the bus he had to take.

He went to the gym? You worked at the joint coffee shop, book store, bakery, florist shop, place next door, Cloud Circuit.

One thing he always found though, was there was always a book nestled in your arm. From Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow, to The Silent Patient, to For The Wolf, you always had a book, a black pen, and a highlighter and tabs you color coded to the books cover. It was something so minuscule for him to notice, but when a girl in a busy city like London was constantly curled up in a book—even on the clock, it seemed big.

The first time you spoke to him, outside of ordering him his usual orders—either a matcha latte and breakfast sandwich for the mornings, or a normal latte (sometimes with some extra sweetener) and a pastry for nights, was outside of some department store. He’d dipped in to find a coat his soon to be sister in law was begging anyone to find, and was happy to gloat about having the red jacket tucked securely into his bag, when he spotted you at the bus stop. It was drizzling, and you were tucked neatly under your umbrella, book held open with one hand as you scanned along the words. He noted, however, you were re-reading a fully tabbed book. His gaze must’ve lingered too long because you glanced up and caught his eye, making a flurry of an apology tumble out of his lips while you laughed softly and tucked a bookmark in and shut the book. He watches you tug it against your chest, chafing it to the fabric of your rain coat as you spoke,

“I’m beginning to wonder if you’re following me, Logan.”

Your voice was like honey, smooth and sweet. Your eyes sparkling in the yellow light from the street lamp and a playful smile tugging at the corners of your strawberry chapstick covered lips. He felt an odd pull to you and even with knowing he really needed to get him and get on the sim with the guys…he moved closer to you and lifted his hood against the drizzle. Your eyes flickered down to the Miami Dolphins logo, the hoodie itself an old favorite of his, you assumed from how many times you'd seen it.

“I could say the same to you, miss…” he hums, and before you can go to say your name he grins, “bibliophile.”

“Miss bibliophile?” You echo, eyebrows lifting as a small grin peeks at your mouth, “you make me sound like a criminal.”

“Well, tell me your name and maybe you won’t sound so villainous.” He shrugs as the bus rolls up to a stop. He steps back partly, trying to signal he won’t be following you onto the bus, and you smile as you toss your name over you shoulder with a quick ‘see you soon!’ and tuck into the red bus that’s pulled up. And when he sees you settle in your seat by the window, and reopen the same book you’d had tucked to your chest he takes a moment to read the name on the hot pink cover--Happy Place.

He doesn't see you for a month after that, you're not in any of your usual spots, he can't spot you in any crowds, and he feels a bit dejected. It takes both Alex and Oscar getting on his ass for him to finally admit, yes, okay maybe he has a crush on this girl he's only seen from afar. He knows nothing about her, nothing other than where she works and that she seems to like romance books, he can name every book you've read, every book he's seen you groan and slam shut (and the one time he watched you throw out a Colleen Hoover novel at work) and he can name every time he's seen you and okay, maybe he's a little obsessed but he's in love, damnit.

He's coming back to his apartment when he notices a new mat outside his previously empty neighbors apartment. It's a cute one, a pretty blue color, and as he opens his door and rolls his suitcase in he swears he hears movement in the hall. But he closes his door before he can see anything.

There's mail piled on the floor and he bends to pick it up, some bills he was expecting, spam mail, and then a little handwritten note. He hums, taking the letter in his hand as he drags himself and his bags to his bedroom and drops everything without much care before falling back on his bed. He thumbs the letter open, looking at the pretty handwriting and then read whatever the words say as he tries to not fall asleep.

'Dear neighbor in 221,

Hello! My name is Y/n Tiffany, but you can just call me Tiff! I'm a current uni student and small business co-owner (Circuit Coffee!) who just moved in next door! I'm a double major, Sports Business and Marketing and Advertising and Branding. I have classes at all odd hours of the day, and two cats who like to scream randomly so I'm sorry if me leaving early and coming home late, or Forza or Turi are a bother! If anything ever annoys you, I can make a pretty good matcha latte as an apology.

I would love to get to know my neighbors, so feel free to knock if you hear me inside!

thanks xx

y/n’

It takes Logan two weeks to hear you inside. He's coming back from a race late, letting Oscar crash at his for the night when he hears music from inside your room. As he fumbles for his keys Oscar gawks.

"Someone lives there now?" He asks and Logan nods, opening the door.

"Moved in two weeks ago, names Y/n, I havent had a chance to stop in and talk to her." Oscar nods as he lets his suitcase fall from his hand and slump against the wall with a soft bump. When he sets down his duffle bag, the music next door paused.

“Do you want anything to drink or something?” Logan asks, moving to grab a water as Oscar throws himself down on the couch and calls,

“Please! I think I’m actually dying.” Oscar groans and Logan laughs, tossing a water bottle over purposefully when Oscar not looking—causing a loud groan from the other side of the room. Through the wall, Logan can hear conversations as he kicks Oscar’s legs off the couch and sits down next to him.

“What time do you have to be back tomorrow? I can drive.” Logan leans back on the couch and rolls out his neck, the hours of sitting still on the flight making him sore all over.

“Not until like five, and I can always have Lily get me on her way back from university.” Oscar mumbles into his water bottle before taking a sip, “you don’t need to drive so out of the way.”

Logan goes to say it’s fine before he hears a few knocks at the door, he pauses, praying it’s not the annoying lady across the hall who always is asking him to quiet. Even if he’s silent. He gets up, Oscar leaning back to peek over the back of the couch to see, and neither of them expect to see you.

"Oh! It's you--uhm, shit," You whisper to yourself before snapping and pointing at him, "Logan!"

"Yes! Yeah, hi, hello," He stammers, cheeks bright red, "it's wonderful to finally meet you in a casual way."

"I heard you in here for the first time since moving in so I figured I'd swing by to say hello!" You grin, rocking from foot to foot. Logan looks at you and his throat goes dry, he doesn't know what to say and his face is red. You want to say something to break the silence but he leans forward to pull something off the side of your hoodie. A tab.

"Reading something new?" He hums, sticking the tab to your palm when you hold it up, "Haven't seen you use blue tabs before."

"Blue's the color the company I'm interning for uses," You giggle, but then pause and flicker your eyes up to him, "Wait, how do you know the color of my tabs?"

"You're reading For The Wolf, if I remember right thats a red book." He says softly, then his cheeks flush red when he realizes it is kinda a weird thing to notice, "I-I... you just always have a book on you, I caught on to paying attention to it. Figured I'd read some to give you some sort of real conversation next time I saw you."

"Well, I recommend For The Wolf. The relationship between Red and Eammon is really... sweet but also kinda dark? It's a good read, I can give you my copy with my little annotations..?" You suggest and Logan nods and he rubs his wrist idly.

"I'm not a big reader but I'll read it for you." He grins and you hold up a finger as you disappear into your room, to grab the book and to hide the fact every word he said made your skin bright red and made your heart feel like it was running a marathon. When he turns back to Oscar he gets a confused look, but before he can say anything you've returned to set the book in his hands.

"Enjoy." You whisper, and as he thanks you, your hands snag his arm and use it to elevate up to press a soft kiss on your cheek before you step back. Smiling at him, bright red cheeks in the low light making his stomach swirl, you disappear back into your apartment. Logan shuts the door, presses his back to it and looks at Oscar.

"I think...I think I've just fallen twice as hard." He whispers and Oscar claps, pointing at Logan and calling him down bad from across the room.

Oscar goes to sleep in Logan's bed, being a guest and all, and Logan sprawls out on the couch. He can't help but crack open the book, finding your little key for your tabs in the front, he trails his fingers along your loopy handwriting and grins to himself. The book starts off normal, pretty innocent, but he starts to realize just whats beneath the surface. With a fucked up sleep schedule to help, he ends up making it about halfway through the book before sleep finally takes him.

And when he wakes up, Oscar's making breakfast and teasing him about staying up too late to finish the book. And truth be told, Logan hated reading, but when it came to you he found he was willing to try. And he found even when Oscar poked fun at him, it didn't feel malicious, it made a warmth in his chest spread. Not that he knew why just yet, other than his silly little crush he'd never felt that jittery feeling.

Maybe it was really love?

Two days later he sees you when you're at work. It's right before the store closes and you're softly playing music as you scrub down the counters. Sunday shifts mean deep cleaning, and so you're stuck a bit later than usual.

"Hope it's not too late, Tiff." Logan says as the bell above him dings to signal he's shut the door. You turn down the music to a low hum as you turn to Logan with a bright grin.

"No, not at all. Still an hour on the clock." You move to make him his drinks as he pulls up a bar chair and sits down, digging in his bag to set down the book on the counter. You peek over and hum,

"How far in are you?" You ask and he can tell you expect him to only be a few chapters in when he says,

"Oh, I'm done."

You whip around, nearly spilling his latte on the counter and gawking at him, "after two days? I thought you said you weren't a reader!"

"I'm not, but your little annotations were so interesting I just kept going." He slides the book to you and notices you have a very similar one perched behind the counter, "Made it a bit easier to read, honestly--is that the same one?"

"The sequel, I actually just finished it." You take For The Wolf and replace it on the counter with For The Throne, "If you want another book to read. I need to know what you thought of Nevarah."

"She was kinda annoying."

"Right!" You groan and he laughs as you stir up his latte and hand it over before pulling out one of the last pastries in the container. It's some cinnamon thing, not that he really cares. It's probably not in his food plan either, but he doesn't care about that. He'd abandon all his rules if it meant he could be spending time with you. As you rant about how you didn't like her in the first book, but kinda did in the second, he leans forward to take in ever word that drips from your lips and you find that he's welcome company for your closing shift.

You're finished early, too, so you sit next to him on the only two stools you haven't lifted up. You'll mop tomorrow, you tell yourself as Logan recounts his reactions to Eammon and Red's connection and you blush when you tell him about one of their scenes you particularly enjoyed.

Which he matches your energy with by saying, "It didn't even say anything explicit and I was like--damn!"

Logan helps you lock up, since the coffee shop is open the latest all you have to do is lock the front door with the alarm system and your keys. He walks you home and bids goodbye in the doorway with For The Throne tucked in his arm and your instagram handle and phone number written on the back of his hand.

urusername made a new post!

liked by urbff, heidiberger, logansargeant, and 250 others...

urusername: i need to stop reading romance bc it makes me feel more single than i already am.

urbff: OMG MR WRONG NUMBER SHUT UPPP MY FAVORITE

heidiberger: give me those flowers.

⤷ urusername: bring ur boy to london and then we'll speak.

mickeyrickey: ti amo <3

taglist (thank u for the support!)

@struggling-with-delia

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #logan sargeant x reader #formula one fanfiction #formula one fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #formula one x reader #f1 fic #f1 x you #logan sargeant fic #logan sargeant fanfic #logan sargeant x y/n #logan sargeant x you #ls2 fanfic #ls2 fic #ls2 x reader #ls2 x you

172 notes · View notes

leahrintarou · 8 months

Text

☠︎︎ DAY ONE: TOYS FT. TSUKKISHIMA ☠︎︎

☠︎︎ WARNINGS: soft!dom tsukki, usage of a vibrator, female anatomy, orgasm denial, edging, drabble.

☠︎︎ WORD COUNT: 780+

"y/n, something came in the mail for you"

y/n looked up from the the device that rested on her lap before seeing tsukishima holding a small package in his left hand, his phone in his other, eyes focused on the screen. y/n reached an arm out while tsukishima handed her the boxed item.

"thanks, tsukki" she mumbled before placing it onto the nightstand beside her, almost avoiding her gaze from the box. "you're not going to open it?" tsukishima was able to pick up on her sudden odd behavior before a smirk made it's way to his lips.

"um, i'm doing an assignment that's due in a couple hours, it can wait. I'll open it later."

"hm, okay. i'll be back" y/n's eye's immediately darted up to be met with tsukishima's back, watching as he took lazily steps towards the rooms exit. "where are you going?"

"i have to pick up some volleyball equipment from the gym" he said before finally exiting the room.

y/n let out a sigh when she finally heard the front door close. she turned her attention to the package that was resting on her nightstand and carefully closed her laptop before setting it aside on the space beside her.

taking the box into her hold, y/n saw that the seal was already severed on the opening. she re-read the name on the front of the box before silently cursing herself. she'd accidently ordered the package under tsukishima's name since they shared the same account.

he'd mistaken the package for his own.

y/n felt an uneasy feeling in her gut after remembering tsukishima's smirking expression. she hesitantly opened the box, the purple colored item being the first thing that she saw.

being in a small daze, she didn't pick up on the sound of the front door opening once again, but she was finally snapped out of that daze when she heard tsukishima's voice. "you wanna test it out?".

y/n's heart basically pounded out of her chest when she heard his tone. "i thought you were leaving?" she questioned. "and i thought you had an assignment due in a couple hours?"

but, you seem like you have different priorities," he eyed the item that was being displayed in y/n's hold, an anticipating smirk growing onto his lips. "shut up" y/n mumbled, making quick movements to put away the device.

tsukishima took a couple steps up to y/n's seated figure before stopping her movements by placing a light grip onto her wrist. "you sure you dont wanna try it? you looked pretty curious just now, y/n." she looked up at the blondes figure and a groan erupted through her voice.

"what if it doesn't feel good?"

"you're the one who decide to buy it, but either way; if this toy ends up being shitty, i'll show you why you can alway rely on me if you wanna feel good."

-------------

that's how the two ended up in their current situation, with tsukishima repeatedly adjusting the frequencies of the toy just to hear y/n whine due to her pleasure being taken away so suddenly.

"you can handle it a little longer, can't you?" tsukishima admired y/n's unsteady breathing and her pleasured/annoyed expression. he continued to alternate frequencies by controlling the device through a small remote, ignoring y/n's small pleas.

relaxing himself, back against the headboard while y/n laid back, against his chest, tsukishima had a cocky smirk on his lips. he was able to get y/n worked up so easily and with a click of a button; he was able to take it all away just as fast.

he'd noticed how y/n's moans were slightly different than usual, more impatient, more needy, and less quiet. to be frankly honest he'd never expected it to have such an effect on y/n, but due to the fact that the vibrations were traveling directly to her bud, he couldn't help but let out an amused hum.

"you wanna cum, y/n?" tsukishima turned down the frequency since he actually did want to hear a coherent answer from her. "please" she answered through pants, gripping the fabric of tsukishima's sweatpants.

he placed a small peck to y/n's bare shoulder, turing the frequency of the toy on it's highest setting almost immediately sending y/n over the edge. her legs waverd, feeling every inch of her satisfied pleasure course through her body, erupting paired sounds past her lips.

"I guess this thing wasn't so shitty after all. round two?"

"can you give me a minute?" she rolled her eyes, still trying to steady her breathing after tsukishima finally turned off the toy.

"nope"

and with singular response, the toy was imeedietly turned back on, letting an uncontrollable yelp leave the lips of y/n.

#tsukkishima kei #tsukkishima x reader #haikyuu #haiyuu!!#haikyu smut #haikyu x reader #kinktober #smut #haikyuu tsukki #hq tsukishima #hq tsukki #anime and manga #anime smut #karasuno #kageyama tobio #tsukki x reader #tsukkiyama #x reader #sorry for any typos

351 notes · View notes

mrssoapmactavish · 2 months

Text

do re mi, abc – steve harrington

this entire blog is 18+. minors dni. shoo.

this entire post is nsfw. no minors. none. i don't want to see you here. go read something else, shoo!

the title should (hopefully) make it a bit more obvious. nothing gets the girlies going like a nsfw alphabet!! these are all my hot takes, so if you don't like 'em, i can't hear you (:

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

steve harrington is an angel. an affectionate motherfucker. after sex before sex and during sex, he's full of love and he's nothing but a sweetheart. asks you if you need a snack, water, cleans you up– but not before holding you against his chest for a solid 10+ minutes. shit, there have been times you guys take a little nap together all curled up. he'll take the best care of you, though; running you a bath if you're sore afterwards and throwing towels into the dryer so they're warm and fluffy for you, ordering food if you're too hungry for a snack but too tired to cook, and making sure the bed is tidied and made so you can lounge together and be little home bodies, which is something he only recently realized he adores with you.

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

as much as people know him as steve "the hair" harrington, he's a big fan of his hands. not just because he likes them, but he knows you like them. the way you'll stare when he's handing you a coffee, when he's had to manipulate that bat of his, the way you fluster when he's setting his hand on your thigh while he drives. the biggest and his most favorite thing about his hands, though, is how useful they are in regards to you. how would he be able to hold your hands if he didn't have any? how would he bring you flowers, coffees, treats, things that remind you of him? how would he lift you up to fuck you in the shower? when it comes to you, as much as he wants to act like he's just some man easily swayed by something like your boobs– not that he's not, he could stare at them for days, anytime you guys are about to argue and he sees them it just turns into sex instead– his favorite part of you is your neck. it should be obvious, really with how he'll give it hickies for days, he'll mash his face into the crook of your neck to provide you both comfort, the way he treats it so tenderly when you ask him so nicely to wrap his hand around it. it's the home of your vocal chords, and there's no sound he loves more than the sound of your voice, so he worships the place it originates from, obviously!

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

in the beginning of your relationship, steve tries to stay normal about this. he'll keep it safe, wrap it up and toss away the condom, an occasional load on your tongue if you've got your lips wrapped around him and won't let go, the odd time or two he missed you so dearly that the first kiss back had him cumming in his pants. now, later in your relationship and later into his development from carefree teen to tired babysitter and grown man, that greatly changes. he's embarrassed at first, to tell you that he doesn't see himself with anyone other than you. getting over that? it's a slippery slope to raw-dogging it. it's also at this time the two of you get far more comfortable; he loves when you soak his face, arm, pelvis, chest the first time he let you grind against his jungle of curls. he also loves to do the same to you, always promising and following through to clean you up after, whether it's on your thighs, stomach, just ontop of your folds, your chest, back. the first time he doesn't manage to pull out in time, though? let's just say steve discovers something new about himself. he always knew he wanted to be a dad, as many little harringtons as you'd allow him. he never thought you using that against him as dirty talk would have him going round after round in the hopes that maybe, oh maybe, it would take.

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

steve is very open about many things. you adore his lack of filter from his very obvious puppydog nature, and he never quite understands why people would hide these kinds of things. one thing he will take to the grave, however, is he knows where all your pairs of panties are going. the black lace ones you just bought that seem to have vanished in the washing machine? you'd never suspect your sweet stevie to be the culprit, you'd just assume he was being polite and the sweetest boy, offering to do the laundry this week. you know full well it's him, it's why you've gone from buying expensive pairs of nice underwear to getting slightly cheaper, so that when your stevie slips it off of you and it's never seen again, you're only down 10-15 dollars instead of 40. he can't help it, he excuses it as nothing but unwaivering love for you. how much and how greatly he feels about you effects him all the time, even leaving him to jack off holding your pretty little panties against his cock as he strokes it when you haven't been around much.

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

steve harrington is well-experienced in hook-up culture. he can fuck and chuck like a professional athlete. staying long enough that domesticity is sexy, though? a whole new ball-game for him. the longest relationship he's had was with nancy, and we all know how that ended. he's not used to being at a point in a relationship where he can say that, yes, the idea of fucking a kid into you is so unbelievably hot. give him time, give him safety, and make sure steve feels loved and appreciated.

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

steven harrington, the man that you are. he adores you, wants nothing more than to look you in the eyes, watch your face contort whenever he does something new or fucks you a little deeper. anything with you two looking each other in the eyes is his favorite, missionary the standard, a cowgirl here and now to mix things up. his absolute favorite, though? it has to be those times when your legs go from around his waist to your legs going over his shoulders, calves on either side of his head, caged in underneath him. you'd called it something weird, a mating press or something along the likes, and he doesn't care to know the name. all that matters is he swears to hell, heaven, and beyond that he can watch himself bulge in that pleasant little expanse of skin that shields your insides, can feel the gummy kiss of your cervix against his tip, and god the sight of you falling apart when he gets you both oriented like this.

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

while steve is a mostly silly guy, he tries to keep things serious in the bedroom. sure, he'll say something a little teasing that'll make you smile and giggle, maybe something that even earns a full-on laugh that he normally utilizes to press his girth inside of you. but overall? he's stone-cold serious. we've seen how intimate this man is (which i'll touch more on later), so keeping the vibe all about how much he loves and cares about you, adores making you feel good– that's the goal! there have been times though, don't get me wrong, where there are goofs that basically make the whole rest of the moment a gigglefest. the time you guys broke your bed? hilarious! steve felt a mixture of guilt and overwhelming pride knowing he– literally– rocked your world so well he broke your bed, so he offered to foot the bill for a new bed, even helping set it up and test it out. the time he nearly dropped you in the shower? not as funny when it happened, but afterwards you still refuse to let him lift you against the tile.

h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

this is another demonstration of steve's growth as a person. closer to his king steve days– when he was still pretty active on the swim team and all, mind you– he was pretty close to completely shaven. sure, he kept it just neat and trimmed down below the belt with a thin little happy trail, but that's it. now when it comes to his starcourt days, as he let his chest hair start to grow out, he did the same all the way down. it got a little ridiculous at one point– he was mortified when you got a pube in your throat and nearly threw up because it just wouldn't dislodge itself– but that was enough for him to know you love that steve prefers leaning closer to natural. nowadays? that man has a happy trail to drive you crazy, he keeps it as neat and tidy as he can near his dick without cutting himself but it's still got something there. he heard someone say it was a sign of masculinity somewhere, never really could get back to the entire bare-naked routine.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

okay. this is the fun part. we all know steve is a hand-holder during sex, that he's got chronic cling problems, and that he's nothing but a golden retriever in a human form. but it's so much worse because you return it, actively seeking him out whenever. hell, the first time you told him you loved him, he was balls deep! it's no wonder sex gets him all mushy with you; every time he sees that blissed-out look on his face, he's reminded of the fact that, yes, there are women out there who love him, and you're the one who loves him the most!

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

steve doesn't have the highest drive. i know, that's like sacrilege to say, but he really isn't he likes the touch of someone else. sure, if you left him right and riled before you're going off to work he'll quicky rub one out thinking about just how much he's gonna return the favour later after his own shift. but mainly? he prefers to get horny, seek you out, and rock your world for some time, then just get right back to life as if nothing happened. now. as mentioned in the dirty secret section, he's a little panty thief. consider this the only non-emergent exception to steve's iron-will. if he's got a pair of your panties handy, he'll need enough time to basically wear those out. he'll be exhausted and not very good at hiding what he's been doing– a big reason for why he's not a big fan of giving himself a tug– and the only shred of decency he has is the fact that he knows to keep his little tools hidden.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

praise kink. this should be a given, the man will whimper so pretty for you if you tell him just how good he's doing at making sure you won't be able to walk at work tomorrow. free-use. it takes a long time to drag this out of him, and it also happens entirely accidentally. you were just trying to wake him up on his birthday with some breakfast-and-head (he still hates that you won't just be normal and stick to breakfast in bed, but the name always has a little smile on his face), but god the way he moaned for you because you were just going for him, unprompted. needless to say, it started quite the conversation. hair-pulling. come on. look at that fluffy crown atop his head! give it a tug at those beautiful brown roots, watch him have to stop his thrusts for a minute so he just lose all composure and piston into you until you cry. breeding kink. there is no good goddamn way in hell you can have sex with this man without him letting loose inside you. if you don't? god, the whimpers that leave that man's lips. "baby, please, did so good for you-" "honey, sweetheart, please, y'killing me here-" "please, i'll clean you out after, just can't stop, you're so good to me" bondage. this is a post-starcourt development. he's still scared and felt out of control about being tied, beaten, tortured. it was actually recommended to him by a therapist to explore that, to regain control however he can, help himself slowly get over that. so when steve's felt especially out of sorts, you two will set some time aside, plan something out, usually with him in fuzzy cuffs with a safeword in place. it's really the trust that gets him going, but the fact that he has to put his pleasure entirely in your hands and you just run with it, it makes him lose his mind in the best way possible.

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

call him old-fashioned, but he mostly prefers to keep anything going on between you two with clothes off to happen at home, in either his or your bed. that's not to say you two don't have a habit of going at it whenever you both feel like it. you've done it in the back of his beamer, his pool, the shower multiple times, the backroom of scoops ahoy (a one-time venture, you nearly froze the skin on your back off being held up against the walk-in for that long), the backroom of family video (robin can't prove it, but she knows it happened), even a few parties when you were both still in school. the best place in his mind, though? eddie's van. he had no idea why his backseats were soaked, and that was alllll you.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

all alone, steve is more focused on romance and intimacy. sure, he gets a stiffy now and again, but he can mostly ignore it if he's not entirely in the mood. with you, though? the man is a live-wire, a cherry bomb– only a moment's notice away from cracking into flames, burning you with that fiery adoration. you're smiling at him? he's got last night on his mind, when that same smile was what triggered sloppy, messy, yet oh so tender sex. that pretty little sundress you've got on? the flashes of skin have him feeling like a pubescent teen again, all worked up. you being good with the kids? god, he can already picture you down the line, a little harrington in your arms while he makes breakfast, now he's hard and he needs you. basically, you turn him on in general. it's hard for him to not get all excited when you are around, so tender, perfect.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

degradation. steve is a sweetheart, already having more than enough problems with his parents, so please don't give him more. even if it's supposed to be hot– he can understand that lots of people are into that, really, but he can't grasp it for himself– it just makes him all insecure and ruins the time for him. just stay nice and sweet, just for him. inflicting pain on you. anything above a smack on your ass or– more recently– a hand on your neck is a no. he could never hurt you, seeing you in pain triggers his protective instincts and kills his vibe entirely. threesome. this one is a bit trickier, a little more of a gray area, but it's still enough to make steve uncomfy. he won't entertain the idea of bringing in another girl– he doesn't need more hands on him other than yours, that's more than enough for him– but he has, sheepishly, thought before about expanding his trust just enough to let a friend in at some point. the closest he'd gotten to accepting this as a reality was when you and him were stoned with robin and eddie, robin had run off to the house phone to call vickie, and eddie had been telling you– who had been so nicely playing with steve's hair and made him so drowsy you assumed he was asleep– that he'd never slept with anyone before. sure, he knew eddie had a reputation of being a freak, but with the growing kinship and the deep trust and understanding he started to feel for the other boy, he genuinely considered asking eddie if he'd want to give it a try with you two. he never got the balls to say it, though, but it still sits in his mind sometimes.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

king steve would never consider going between a girl's legs. he believes in the toxic male stigma, that women are just around for a man's pleasure. after nancy, his mind changes slightly, but with the long time apart he changes. now, though? steve harrington is a munch. he doesn't know if it's just because he loves the reactions he gets out of you– you get so loud and you pull his hair and your legs get hooked over his shoulders and it makes him feel so strong, not to mention he loves when he makes you feel so good you squirt and he gets a physical show of how good he did– or if it's because it's you, but he just adores it. (you know exactly why: steve harrington is a man of unwaivering service. he loves you, and he'll do whatever he can to show you that. plus you also know he just loves the way you taste, so he won't say no if you ask nicely. he's also whined about wanting to taste you before, so you know he actually enjoys it, but won't point it out to embarass him.) in regards to receiving, he won't say no if you offer, but he's not going to be an asshole and ask/demand you to suck him off. he doesn't mind being woken up with your lips around him, but he won't wake you up to handle his morning wood. he enjoys it, sure, but not enough that it takes precedence over fucking you, so he won't necessarily choose it openly.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

harrington is a very versatile man. that being said, he can do either or; he can fuck you like your lives depend on it (he can manage a quickie, or his jealous streak flaring up means he's got to pound you till your mascara's running from your pretty tears in the bathroom of the hideout), or make the sweetest, gentlest love of all time to you (nearly every time the upside-down gets him hurt or in danger, you two take the chance to affirm each other of the unrelenting love shared by the two of you).

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

while it's entirely possible, steve prefers not to do quickies often. sure, they've happened between the two of you before (see above, also at his work, your work, between picking up and dropping off the party of gremlins), but he prefers getting to take his time with you, slowly work you open and fuck you until you fall apart, then put you back together with all his love and tenderness.

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

the more steve risks his life trying to save hawkins and protect the kids, the less he cares about considering things 'risky'. fucking you bareback? psh, he nearly died from those bats, it pales in comparison. that being said, there are certain things he contemplates longer before actually trying it. one big thing is the whole idea of pegging. sure, he's heard some great things about it, even seen a couple decent pornos of it when he sneaks them from work, but the idea still spooks him; he's not sure how it would feel for him, whether he'd like it or not, how you'd react to the idea, etcetera etcetera.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

'big boy' harrington isn't necessarily booksmart, but he's keen enough to know himself. he can go 1-2 rounds himself before he gets overstimulated and the aching throb of his cock starts to hurt more than it feels good (another thing he'll think about exploring one day with you, but definitely not soon), so he gets you handled first. if he doesn't have you falling apart 5-6 times when you guys have sex, he's disappointed in himself and convinced he did a poor job. reassure him that yes, he's doing amazing, he needs to take it easy on himself.

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he'd never really thought about toys before you came around and introduced him to them. sure, the cuffs are a given (see kinks) and he knows lots of girls your age have vibrators, but when you two settle into something more serious than just a casual fling, he's letting himself warm up to the idea of them being more prevalent. things like you holding that wand vibrator of yours against your clit while he's fucking into you drives him crazy, the one time you held it between his hard cock and his balls when you were giving him head made him see stars; hell, even watching you ride that pink silicone cock had him clawing the walls like an animal! as soon as he starts getting comfortable with you using them on him, he starts going out of his way to buy things he'd find fun. they start simple enough at first; cheesy bachelorette party gifts like edible underwear, sex dice, blindfolds. eventually though, he gets things like flavoured lubes, sensory balms, gags... he starts going a little wild, to the point where he's been given a monthly budget for these kinds of splurges so he doesn't go too overboard. he's a curious man who just loves the hell outta you, let him indulge in all the weird things he sees and finds neat ):

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

steve's a stubborn, impatient man. he can handle teasing only so long; both giving and recieving. it's like a time bomb, a countdown of restraint before he gives in, relenting to whatever carnal desires the two of you will be indulging in.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

again, another instance of development; king steve would never be caught dead making noise in the sack. he's of that toxic mindset that he should be silent, only hearing his girl, and that it's just a fuck-and-done thing. the new and improved steve, though? god. i cannot even begin to explain this without going feral. it starts simple enough; he'll growl, huff, puff, groan here and there. he'll even moan for you if you get him worked up or sensitive enough! later down the line when he realizes you're it for him, he gets a little more lucid. he'll start to whine for you if he's needy, even whimpering so pretty, and you really can't get him to shut up. he can start quiet, but most of the time you two have to usually shut each other up with a liplock, otherwise you will most definitely get caught or a noise complaint. he's not even ashamed; he knows you love it, so as long as you're not too mean about him being loud, he'll continue to do so unashamed and unabashedly.

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

steve doesn't need to see you in lingerie. most of it he finds tacky and overboard– sure, there's a few sets you've tried on before that have him gaping at you like a fish out of water, but those instances can be counted on two hands– and it's just more he has to take off of you. he does love you in as little as possible, though; his sweatshirt and panties? he's hard as a rock. a pretty sundress? he's got his hand on your knee and slowly working up. don't get him started on the mini skirts you wear to parties with no panties on underneath, or when you do wear them and take them off during the night to slip into his hand.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

steve harrington has a big dick. whether that's long and average width, or average length and girthy i'm not sure, but it's big. you've gotta be stretched open and worked properly, can't just go sticking it in and breaking you, now, can he? it's also got a nice little upwards curve to it, something that your gag reflex doesn't love, but god does it hit all the right spots inside you so much easier. we've all seen steve's arms, too, so you just know that he's got some pretty veins to it. not too much, just a few small ones up and down, but one large and pronounced vein on the underside that pulses so prettily when he's worked up. he's got some big, heavy balls too, ones that are extra sensitive, even just little touches have him writhing and gasping for air. i also like to picture that his dick, much like that mane of hair, is uncut. au naturel, as the french would say.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

steve had an average-for-a-teen-boy sex drive back in his king days. now? he's a little more mellowed out. that's a total fucking lie, this man would easily fuck you all day if he could. he's just so full of love and adoration and you wreck him, so it's only fair he does the same to you! he'll settle with whatever you give him, though, as long as you know he loves you beyond anything else.

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

this is another generalization: most of the time, he'll stay awake until you fall asleep. if you won't, whether it's because it was a quickie or you have something to do, he'll stay up with you, just being lazier because of all his expended energy. now, when the exception applies, treasure it. there's nothing sweeter to the eyes than a sleeping steve harrington, conked out after a passionate encounter, hair all mussed up as he snores softly against the pillows, breathing all peaceful and tanned skin littered with hickies from your pretty lips.

#archers rambles #archers thoughts #stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington headcanon #archer speaks #archers 18+ emporium #18+ mdni #18+ only

113 notes · View notes

foreveraweirdoneslife · 2 months

Text

Like No Time Has Passed At All [icemav]

(Link to AO3 here)

Summary: The dagger mission was successful and old married icemav are having some fun in the bedroom while Bradley is in the house, too.

A/N: This is just a little smutty idea that plopped into my head after re-watching TGM a couple of days ago and which kept me from continuing with You Can Be My Wingman Anytime. But now that this one is out of my system, I can go back to writing that one too.

Pairing: Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Jake "Hangman" Seresin (only implied)

Warnings/content: 18+, porn with plot, porn with feelings, old!icemav, married!icemav, unprotected sex, rough sex, fluff and smut, domesticity.

Word count: 3.7k

The efforts of the last couple of days are still sticking in Mav’s bones but he’s home now and happy. The mission was more than successful. Bradley had asked if he could stay for a night or two before he is sent back to his squadron like the other daggers. Ice is already waiting for Mav to snuggle up in bed with him and honestly, Mav couldn't wish for more right now.

Nevertheless, Mav wants to check in on Bradley and apologize to him once again and maybe already catch up a bit on what has happened in Bradley's life in the years they hadn't talked to each other. So he walks up to Bradley's old room where he is staying now, too.

Mav finds the door to Bradley’s room standing open just a bit and he can hear him talking to someone. He can't catch what exactly Bradley is saying but he sounds happy. The voice which is answering him through the speaker sounds familiar, too, and Mav has an idea who it could be.

As nosy as he is, Mav takes the not fully closed door as an invitation to poke his head through the slit in the door. As expected, Bradley is sitting on his bed, notebook on his lap, talking to the screen.

“Wait a moment,” Bradley says when he notices Mav peeking through the door and looks up at his surrogate dad with a questioning look.

“Hangman?” Mav mouthes.

Bradley rolls his eyes at Mav but a lopsided smile appears on his face and he looks exactly like when he had his first girlfriend.

Mav smiles back at him, gives him a thumbs up and quietly closes the door behind him, leaving the two alone. He can still catch up with Bradley tomorrow.

Mav changes into his pajamas and goes to his bedroom where he finds Ice sitting against the headpiece, reading glasses on and immersed in a book. When Mav comes in, he peeks up from his book with a soft smile but doesn't say anything.

Mav smiles back at Ice and silently crawls into their bed, too, snuggling up to his husband and wrapping one of his arms around Ice’s waist.

“I'm so glad you two finally made peace with each other again,” Ice mumbles and places a kiss on the top of Mav’s head. “Have you talked to him like you wanted to?”

“Not yet,” Mav replies, mumbling against Ice's chest. “He's on a video call with Hangman. Didn't want to disturb them.”

“Lieutenant Seresin?” Ice asks back, surprised.

“Yeah, the two actually remind me a lot of us back in the day,” Mav mumbles with a smile and hoping for them that they will be just as happy with each other like he is with Ice.

“I see,” Ice replies and they fall into a comfortable silence both sucked up in their own thoughts. Mav reminisces in memories of when he and Ice had first started to hang out with each other back in ‘86.

“You don't mind me finishing this chapter, do you?” Ice asks then and it's not really a question because at some point in their thirty-odd years together this has become a routine for them. Ice going to bed earlier, enjoying a good book. Mav joining him later, quietly snuggling up to him after a stressful day at work, enjoying Ice’s loving warmth. When Ice is finished, they go over to sleeping - or sleeping with each other.

“Not at all,” Mav replies like he does every time. For some minutes, they just cuddle like this. Ice still reading. Mav cuddling with his husband.

At some point, Mav's hand drops to Ice’s thigh and he starts to draw little circles on the fabric of Ice's pajama pants. He would much rather like to go for option two today instead of simply sleeping.

Ice continues reading but one of his arms now wraps around Mav’s waist and his hand slips into the backside of Mav’s briefs. Ice keeps his hand just resting there but Mav knows that it means that he doesn't want to sleep, either. After so many years, they understand each other silently, no words needed.

As if coincidentally, Mav lets his hand softly brush over the fabric covering Ice’s limp dick. Ice breathes out languishly. “Mav,” he scolds him in a whisper but Mav knows that Ice is not serious about it because he starts to softly knead one of Mav's buttocks.

“Am I distracting you, Admiral?” Mav whispers and he feels Ice's dick twitch below his hand. He first found out that it turns Ice on when Mav drops his rank in bed when it had slipped his mouth right after Ice's promotion to Lieutenant Commander. The first promotion he had gotten after they became a couple. Since then Mav has occasionally made use of it because he knows that Ice loves to hear it from time to time and Mav loves to say it, too, because sometimes he still can't believe that he is actually married to the COMPACFLT.

Back in the day, Ice would have been fully erect by now. Nowadays, it took him longer but Mav didn't care. They both were old now and their bodies simply didn't work anymore like they did in their twenties. Mav loves Ice's body now just as much as he did thirty years ago and his own body isn't as quick as it used to be, either. So, it really doesn't matter and somehow Mav even loves it that it takes both of them longer to get there because it gives him the opportunity to tease Ice more, to slowly seduce him until he wants to take him just as desperately as when they were young.

Mav starts to softly stroke Ice through the fabric. He doesn't pretend anymore that it’s coincidental and he can feel how Ice slowly hardens in his hand. Ice lets a finger slip in between Mav’s buttocks, slowly moving it back and forth. Mav feels himself harden, too, and grinds against Ice’s thigh letting him know what he's doing to him.

Ice finally closes his book one handedly and puts it on the nightstand together with his glasses. Mav suspects that he already hadn't been reading for quite some minutes now but it's his sign of telling Mav that he’s ready for more.

So Mav straddles him, still fully clothed, and starts dry-humping him slowly. A deep moan escapes Ice’s lips but the moment it's out he covers his mouth with his hand.

“Shit, Bradley's here,” he mumbles a second later but Mav shuts him up with his lips on Ice’s, smiling into the kiss. Mav suddenly feels twenty years younger. Back when Bradley was living with them, Ice had always been so cautious not to be heard by Bradley but it had only rarely worked out. He knows that, both of them know that because teenage Bradley didn't shy away from telling them on a regular basis.

Mav’s mouth goes wandering down Ice's jawline, then onto his neck. He cherishes Ice's throat scar with his lips, one of the remnants of the terrible battle they have fought together and Ice has finally won. Mav knows of course that it can come back but for now Ice is well and that is all that matters.

When Mav slowly reaches the neckline of Ice's pajama top, he doesn't hesitate long but quickly gets rid of it and pulls it over Ice's head. Then he continues to plant sloppy kisses on Ice’s chest until he arrives at one of his nipples and twirls his tongue around it.

Ice lets his head fall back against the headpiece and he bites his lip in a desperate attempt not to moan. Mav hasn't seen Ice like this in years because normally, Ice is loud. Always has been. And both of them love it but today it's different. Today they're not alone in the house and for now, Ice seems to be determined to keep quiet.

Fully aware that it will take Ice's full willpower not to moan out loudly, Mav continues to twirl his tongue around Ice’s nipples in between kisses and while still riding him. Ice gasps and squirms underneath him. Then he’s ramming his hips up against Mav and Mav loves to see him like this. Desperate for Mav’s body, desperate for more.

Ice unambiguously tugs at Mav’s shirt and Mav gets rid of that, too. Now it's his turn to bite back a moan because Ice starts roaming over Mav’s upper body with his long, slender fingers, pulling him down to kiss him feverishly and still thrusting against him. Ice lets his hands travel down to Mav’s butt cheeks, squeezing them firmly, pulling them apart and Mav desperately needs to get rid of his remaining clothes now. So he quickly shuffles his pajama pants and his briefs down in one go and sits back up on Ice’s hips, fully naked.

Ice slowly, languishly lets his eyes wander over Mav’s body until his sight shamelessly rests between Mav’s legs. Ice lasciviously licks his slightly parted lips and Mav’s dick twitches in anticipation. Ice grips Mav’s hips and drags. Mav knows what he’s implying here. Mav smirks, their hungry eyes meet for a second and he pulls himself up on his knees.

Mav looks down and quietly sighs at the gorgeous sight in front of him. He sees Ice staring at his throbbing cock and liking his lips again. Ice takes his time and Mav loves it but hates it at the same time. He wants to be touched, to be welcomed by the wet warmth of Ice’s mouth. But Ice takes his time because he knows exactly how to tease Mav.

Ice caresses the backside of Mav’s thighs, slowly moving upwards to cup his cheeks, kneading them slowly but firmly. Like this, Ice pulls Mav just a bit closer and then he takes him into his mouth. Mav grabs the headpiece to support himself and lets out a loud moan, ignoring the fact that he should stay quiet because this feels just too good. Ice starts bobbing his head back and forth, his tongue varying between the underside and the tip of his cock. Mav is breathing heavily and Ice knows exactly what he’s doing here. He glances up at Mav and his eyes glisten impishly before his right hand moves further around to Mav’s butt crack. He pulls his cheeks apart with his other hand and lets a finger brush lightly across his entrance. Mav gasps breathlessly and already can't wait to sink in on Ice when he has prepared him.

Ice continues to work on Mav's dick while teasing his hole. After a couple of minutes, Mav is panting heavily and he has to pull away if he doesn't want to come early. Ice lets him sit back down on his hips and Mav leans down to kiss him, tasting himself on Ice’s slick lips.

“You're driving me crazy,” he whispers against Ice’s lips.

“I know,” Ice smirks, his voice deep and heavy with arousal and Mav kisses him again with all the love and passion he’s never lost in all those years.

Ice sighs into Mav’s mouth and still kissing him, Mav notices him blindly reaching for the nightstand. Mav backs away from the kiss and quickly helps him to get the bottle of lube out of the drawer.

Lovingly smiling at each other and excitement sparkling in their eyes, Ice holds out his hand and Mav clicks the bottle open, letting the velvety liquid drip down on Ice’s fingers. Ice spreads it there and Mav puts the bottle away before closing his eyes and leaning down to kiss Ice again and at the same giving him better access.

Ice’s hand quickly wanders back between Mav’s butt cheeks and he brushes his index finger over Mav’s entrance again, making Mav hum in pleasure. Then he applies a bit more pressure and slowly pushes his finger in. Mav sharply breathes in but his exhale is already a deep moan. He’s relaxed, knows what it feels like to have Ice inside him and still just simply loves it every time.

Ice starts moving, slowly fucking Mav with his finger and Mav mirrors the movement with his whole body, eyes closed, softly moaning with each thrust, their plan, well, mostly Ice’s plan to stay quiet already long forgotten. It doesn't take Ice long to add another finger, then a third and Mav becomes greedy. Ice’s fingers aren't enough. He wants Ice to fill him completely. Ice slowly pulls his fingers out and Mav whimpers for a split second but it's okay because he knows that it will only even get better.

Ice tugs at his own pajama pants now and because Mav is still straddling him, he shuffles a bit and helps him, yanking both the pants and boxers down in one motion. Mav takes a moment to impudently take in the gorgeous sight in front of him. No matter how often he has already seen Ice like this - naked, in their bed, breathing heavily and with a thick, throbbing cock just for him - he just knows he will never get enough of it, of him.

“Like what you see?” Ice smirks lavishly.

“As if you didn't know that already,” Mav replies and leans forward again to kiss Ice fervently.

In this position, Mav’s butt is already touching Ice’s dick and he feels it bumping against his crack. Mav doesn't want to wait any longer and reaches for the bottle of lube again. This time, Ice helps him to get it. Mav spreads the liquid on his fingers before he gives Ice's cock a couple of strokes. Ice hums in pleasure and immediately starts thrusting into Mav's hand greedily. Mav loves to see him like this, loves that his husband still wants him so desperately. Mav wants Ice just as much and so he starts aligning himself so that he can sink down on Ice easily.

What they are about to do is by far their favorite, most used position, that is Mav riding Ice slowly until both can't get ahold of themselves anymore. Mav loves it this way and he knows that Ice loves it, too. In earlier years, they switched positions more often and sometimes Mav actually misses to be pounded into the mattress by Ice but that hasn't happened in years. Specifically, not since Ice’s battle with cancer. It's undeniable that the disease has worn him down physically and it also has left more than one mark on both of them emotionally. And that's why Mav is grateful for every additional day he can spend with Ice. It doesn’t matter that their sex is not the same anymore as it was ten years ago because it’s still so much better than he would have thought it would be considering their age and what they have gone through. But that is actually an understatement because honestly, he can't imagine having better sex than he has now.

Next thing, however, Mav knows he's on his back, Ice hovering over him. “Tom,” he whispers and Ice looks at him with the cocky smirk he's never lost.

Mav’s heart is pounding heavily in his chest and for the first time in forever he actually feels nervous before sleeping with Ice. Excited? Yes, still every time. But nervous? Maybe the first time they had sex again after Ice's cancer treatment because it had been such a long time without and they weren't sure if everything would work out - it did in the end - but even that was already a couple of years ago now.

Ice pushes himself on his knees, Mav laid out in front of him, bare-naked and excited to be banged in a position they haven't done in years. Ice grins down at him and firmly grabs Mav’s hips, pulling him closer and propping him up a bit. Mav gasps in surprise because only seconds ago he didn't know that Ice is still so strong - or better is so strong again - and Mav is turned on by that even more than he already is, his hard cock twitching as if emphasizing his thoughts.

Ice adjusts himself and then finally, Mav feels Ice enter him, slowly but in one go. Mav can't restrain himself from crying out in pleasure and Ice groans, too. He gives both of them a bit of time to adjust to the feeling and leans down to kiss Mav heatedly for a moment, before he slowly starts thrusting. For a moment, Mav keeps his eyes open, taking in the sight of Ice hovering above him, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, moaning under his breath. Then Mav’s eyes fall shut and he’s panting because Ice is intensifying both pace and vigor now.

Ice shifts back on his knees, firmly grabs Mav's hips again and now he is actually pounding Mav hard. His thrusts are rough and his pace is unrelenting and Mav just loves it. He hasn't felt like this in years. His cock is bouncing wildly between their bodies, sometimes slapping either against his own or Ice's stomach and everything just feels so good.

He looks up at Ice, their fiery eyes meet and Ice smirks at him in such a dirty, lewd way that Mav is immediately very close to coming. Ice is still fucking him adamantly but his movements become more erratic, too. Both of them are moaning with each thrust now and Ice reaches for Mav's dick, stroking him in rhythm with his thrusts.

Then Mav squirms and arches his back. His eyes roll back into his head and with a long and languish moan he comes on his stomach in several thick jolts. Ice keeps thrusting through Mav’s orgasm but Mav is clenching hard around him and that pushes him over the edge, too, groaning loudly.

Ice collapses on top of Mav, breathing heavily. They softly kiss each other and with a loving smile, Mav gently strokes away a stray strand of hair from Ice’s forehead which has been sticking there sweatily.

Ice smacks another kiss on Mav's lips and slowly pulls out. Mav feels Ice’s cum dripping out of him and knows that he will be sore for the next couple of days but he couldn't care less because it will inevitably remind him every waking hour of how perfectly he just got railed by his hot husband.

Then they both quickly clean up themselves and the mess they’ve made before crawling back to bed and snuggling up against each other, Mav’s head resting on Ice’s chest.

“Didn't know you still had it in you like that,” Mav mumbles appreciatively, softly tracing the stripes on Ice’s pajama top with his finger tips.

“You know what? Me neither. I guess having Bradley in the house makes me feel younger,” Ice chuckles deeply and Mav feels his chest vibrating.

“Maybe we should invite him over from time to time now that everything is fine again,” Mav laughs.

“That would be so inappropriate,” Ice scolds him but can’t keep himself from laughing, too.

“Has that ever stopped me?” Mav answers challengingly.

Ice just shakes his head but smiles. “Good night, Pete,” he replies resolutely and kisses his husband goodnight.

–

The next morning, Mav and Ice come down into the kitchen to find Bradley already sitting at their table, a cup of coffee at his side and a bowl of froot loops together with a bottle of milk in front of him.

Froot loops have been Bradley's favorite cereals for as long as Mav can remember. So they had become a permanent feature in their kitchen ever since Bradley had moved in with them. Over time, however, Ice has grown fond of them, too, and so they still always keep a pack or two, just in case Ice wants to eat some out of the blue.

Sitting there like this, Bradley looks exactly like his teenage self, only that he’s twenty years older now and smiling at the screen of his smartphone whose future existence hadn't even been known back then. As soon as he notices his surrogate dads’ presence, he locks his phone, puts it on the table and looks up at them, chewing.

“If you like our froot loops so much, why don't you come over more often,” Mav suggests with a smirk that is screaming shenanigan before Ice can stop him. Instead, he just rolls his eyes at him and shakes his head but is nevertheless smiling.

“Am I right in assuming that this is not about froot loops or the fact that you missed me so much?” Bradley asks, scooping another spoon of cereal into his mouth.

“Yes,” Ice replies with a nod.

“And am I also right in assuming that I don't want to know what it's really about?” Bradley continues, obviously interpreting the look on Mav’s face correctly.

Ice confirms that again and walks over to the kitchen cupboard. He takes out another bowl and a spoon and sits down next to Bradley before making himself a bowl of froot loops, too.

The whole time, Mav just keeps standing in the door frame, leaning against it with his arms crossed. He smiles and for a moment, he just watches his two boys interact with each other and eat the most silly type of cereal in the world. Then he pours himself a cup of coffee, too, and sits down opposite the two.

“I've been such a fool,” Bradley suddenly drops in between two spoons, shaking his head and Mav just frowns at him. “For thinking that I could for once sleep here without being pestered by your old men’s noises.”

Mav immediately sees Ice’s face turn red and how he innocently shovels another spoon of cereal into his mouth.

“You’ve once lived here for years. Don't tell me you didn't know what you’re embarking on,” Mav replies with a shrug.

“Jake even asked me in what kind of filthy motel I'm staying that I have to endure those terrible noises and if he needs to lend me some money so that I can get a room in a proper hotel,” Bradley goes on, ignoring Mav’s comment.

“Jake, huh?” Mav counters and smirks wantonly.

Ice laughs, Bradley’s ears turn bright pink and it feels like no time has passed at all.

86 notes · View notes

sharkboywrites · 4 months

Note

BG3 gang with a reader who fucking hates wearing shoes for sensory reasons and just wanders around barefoot (even when they really should have shoes on)?

Bg3 Characters With an Autistic S/O That Hates Wearing Shoes

A/N: ohh boy this one’s exciting to write because when I was younger I hated shoes and refused to wear them. We were recently going through old photos and I’m literally never wearing shoes in any of the photos. This didn’t specify which characters to use so I kinda just did my faves.

Autistic reader, gn reader

Astarion

- He definitely judges you at first

- I mean how could he not?

- He made off handed comments about it, how odd it was you never wore shoes

- He wondered for a bit if you were a nature crazy person that never wore shoes for “being closer to nature” or something like that

- It took him a while to actually ask why you never wore anything

- Once you told him, it finally made sense

- He ends up feeling kind of bad for making fun of you

- He didn’t know there was such an intense reason to make you not want to wear shoes

- It wasn’t something he ever considered

- Afterwards, he defends you, making statements to how shoes aren’t exactly needed and you’re paving the way for your own sense of comfort

Gale

- To be honest, Gale didn’t even notice at first

- He was more preoccupied with his own situation, being a ticking time bomb after all

- It wasn’t until you all had started to go into public places that he actually took notice

- He was never mean about it but also never really asked why you did this

- He’d gently try to convince you to wear some shoes, but backed down once you were firm about not putting any on

- It was only after you were refused service at a restaurant, opting to sit outside instead while the read rod your party ate, he decided to ask you why you were so against it

- Hearing your reasoning made plenty of sense to him

- He understood why you would want to subject yourself to what’s basically torture for you

- He’s very supportive of you, insisting to anyone who makes a comment that you comfort is more important

- Who knows, he might even make a little illusion spell to help you out

Halsin

- If anyone’s going to understand any reason for not wanting to wear shoes, it’s Halsin

- He understands every reason for not wanting to wear shoes

- He personally saw it as a connection to nature (re: astarion’s part)

- He always defends you, even though he doesn’t exactly have an explanation for your behavior

- He wants you to feel comfortable, even if it’s something he doesn’t understand

- It’s probably mentioned in passing that you explain it to him

- Once again, he doesn’t judge you and defends you

- He sees your comfort as the most important factor

- Halsin has met a lot of people, and your not the first autistic person with odd habits he’s ever seen

- Basically, Halsin does not judge you, you’re own quirks make you yourself, and that and your comfort is the most important thing

Trying to grind out some requests today, bear with me 🙏 also the top girls is from my favorite movie and I’m needing out (When Marnie Was There) ty for reading and have a nice day :)

#sharkboywrites #bg3 x autistic reader #bg3 x reader #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #astarion x autistic reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x reader #gale dekarios x reader #gale x reader #Gale x autistic reader #halsin x reader #halsin X autistic reader #autistic reader

132 notes · View notes

artificial-transmutations · 8 months

Text

Perfectly Normal

Devon wasn't a homophobe, really. He was, and he was pretty sure about that, just a normal guy. Not "cis" or "straight" - those were completely unnecessary new words to describe what had a perfectly fine word since ages: normal.

He was a normal man who lived a normal live, had his normal share of girlfriends over the years, had a normal job as a baker and was overall just normal. Even when describing his body, he would use the word: Normal build, not too big or too small, with brown hair in a normal haircut. He wore normal street clothes and voted in the normal, conservative way.

Devon was even, according to himself at least, very tolerant of other ways of life. Sure, he would cast the normal odd look when someone told him that he or she voted for some progressive, liberal or green party, and sure, he was strictly against any of those new woke things, but for example, Devon didn't care if someone was gay.

At least, if those fairies didn't bother him. If they just kept their abnormal fetishes in their bedrooms, everything was fine. Where Devon drew the line, however, was when those people went out of their way to let everyone - Devon included - know of their weird preferences. Those "pride" parades, for example, or when two men had to kiss in public. Or hold hands. Devon wasn't opposed to gay marriage, too, as long as they didn't marry each other. No, marriage was between a man and a woman, and sure, Devon didn't see why gay men shouldn't marry women. Everything else was out of the question, of course, and Devon didn't get why people were branded as homophobic who said such things. It was just a fact: Marriage between two men was not normal.

Devon, however, was a tolerant person. He would allow the gays to exist, even though they were gross. Just keep their distance, and Devon wouldn't have any problems with them.

Everything changed, however, when Devon's best friend, Marcus one day came out to him as gay. At first, Devon was taken aback.

"Why?", he asked, and Marcus replied, "Because I love men. I'm in love with a man."

"No", Devon replied, "I meant why did you have to tell me? This isn't normal, Marcus! Why couldn't you keep your perverse preferences in the bedroom?" Devon tried to keep calm but couldn't help feeling somehow betrayed and disgusted by his childhood friend all of a sudden.

"Devon, I didn't choose to be gay. I don't get how it's not normal. Love is normal, and I'm in love with a man. That's not... not normal. Perhaps you should update what you think is normal sometimes; it's 2023, not 1973."

With that, Marcus left, agitated himself, Devon to his brooding.

This was just unfair. Why did Marcus have to be that way? It wasn't a problem until he said it. Of course, Devon had read the 'argument' of what was normal and what wasn't before, in numerous online discussions that he had been part of, but to hear it from his best friend - former best friend? - made him think. However, regardless of how he shifted the thought around in his head, Devon was unable to come to a different conclusion: Something like that, men sleeping with men, was not - could not be - normal. There was just no way, he could ever see something like that as normal.

Of course, that meant that Devon would have to re-think his friendship with Marcus, a fact that hurt him a lot.

"God, I wish he would just be normal!", he exclaimed to no one in particular. Little did Devon know that a mischievous sprite had been listening in and decided to grant his wish - although not in a way he would expect.

As some hours passed, Devon calmed down more and more. What was he getting so upset about, after all? Perhaps Marcus had been right. It was 2023, and the definition of what was normal was perhaps a bit different from what he was used to. There was certainly no reason to end his friendship with Marcus over that. Devon was straight and... Marcus was gay. That was it. Perfectly normal. It wasn't Devon's cup of tea, but, hey, it didn't have to.

Devon felt really good with that insight. So good in fact that he decided to close the bakery sooner today and grab a bit of coffee in the shop across the street.

He usually avoided the place since he had the strong suspicion that the barista was one of those homos, but suddenly, that didn't matter anymore. It was normal, wasn't it?

So, Devon ordered his coffee and when the barista handed it to him, he said:

"Here you go Sir! Might I add that you look very handsome today?"

Devon felt flattered! Sure, he wasn't gay, but being complemented always felt nice. He smiled brightly and replied: "Thanks!"

"No, seriously, you should think about wearing something more form-fitting. It would suit you well, I think. Perhaps some tank tops to bring out the guns?"

Devon looked down on himself. Yes, he could very well imagine wearing those! His arms were nice and strong from the hard work in the bakery and the colorful tank tops he wore brought that out handsomely. It was sometimes a bit cold in the winter, but since it was always warm in the bakery, those were pretty much his standard attire.

"Yeah, right? I love tank tops!" The barista looked at him as if he had seen a ghost or something, but quickly regained his composure.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that, Sir." After a short pause, he added: "Would you... mind if I touch them? Your arms, I mean, they're just so strong."

Now, Devon wasn't gay, but he couldn't see anything wrong with that request. A bit of friendly feeling up was perfectly normal, after all, so he just nodded. He was the only customer in the shop, so the barista came over and groped his arms.

"Amazing!" he muttered, and Devon wasn't entirely sure if he was still referring to his arms.

"Do you mind?" the Barista asked, but before Devon could nod again, his hands were already exploring Devon's manly chest that was only clad in the thin fabric of the tank top. After a few more moments, the barista's hands went under his shirt and felt up Devon's abs and chest, with his fingers running through the forest of hair there. This time, he didn't ask for permission, but why would he? This was a perfectly normal thing to do, at least to Devon!

When Devon noticed that the barista wanted to pull off his tank top, he helped him by holding his arms up before continuing to sip on his coffee. It was fairly obvious that the barista sported an erection in his jeans - good for him, Devon thought.

"You know", croaked the barista, "perhaps you should try something more... dangerous than a jeans. A pair of shorts would really work wonders with your ass and your... bulge."

Devon almost laughed out loud. What was that guy thinking?! It was not like he wore any other clothes. Colorful tiny shorts, with tank tops - that was all the cloth he wanted to wear. Not even socks, if he didn't have to. And the tops were optional as well - sometimes, Devon wore only stringy mesh tanks - or none at all. That was normal for him!

Devon jumped a little as the barista pinched his exposed nipples, the ones with the piercings. It was okay, of course, normal even, that's why he had nipples. It just came as a surprise. "Sorry, I flinched." he smiled at the other guy.

The barista didn't reply, he was busy pawing Devon's ass and cock through the shorts with both hands. Devon wasn't gay, but it was good to see the barista was enjoying himself. Apparently, the other man's cock twitched and pulsed within the confines of his pants.

Devon took another gulp out of his coffee and nodded towards the other man's crotch. "Glad to see you're enjoying yourself." Devon repeated the words from his thoughts.

"Uh, yeah, sorry about that." The barista said and went red instantly.

"No, no, nothing to be sorry about. That's perfectly normal, you're a guy after all." Devon said.

"Yeah..." the barista said, hesitated shortly before asking:

"Would you mind giving me a blowjob?"

What a ridiculous question. Devon was certainly not gay. However, giving other men a blowjob was just common curtesy, especially if they asked this nicely.

"Sure, no problem." He said. He took another gulp of coffee and set the cup aside before getting down on his knees. The other guy had opened his pants by now, and Devon took his hard cock in hand and began rubbing it. He knew how he wanted girls to blow himself, so even though he had never done it before, it was fairly easy for him to do it right.

The barista moaned out loudly.

"Damn, that's good! How are you so good at this?!"

Devon gave him an answer, even though it was a little difficult while his mouth was stuffed with cock:

"I don't know - it's normal, isn't it?"

"It sure is!" the barista replied and pushed his dick all the way into Devon's throat.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum! You're making me cum!"

A moment later, the barista shot a load of hot sperm into Devon's throat. Devon wasn't sure what to do with it but decided to swallow and drink it down with the rest of his coffee.

"Thank you!" he referred to the coffee and the gratis cum shot with it, of course.

"No... problem." the barista was still out of breath. "See you again tomorrow evening?"

Devon just nodded. That's what he was doing normally, right? As he exited the coffee shop in his colorful and skimpy clothes, he glanced at his clock. He really needed to hurry now if he didn't want to be late to service Marcus and his boyfriend. Of course, Devon himself wasn't gay, but this was just... normal for him.

#male transformation #mental transformation

386 notes · View notes

hey-august · 3 months

Text

A Line from Me to You - Chapter 2

Description: Buggy finds a peculiar book on his ship. Enticed by the words contained on each page, the pirate opens up. Anonymity leads to vulnerability. What else will come from this? (Chapter 1, check out the story tag for more chapters) Word count: 1.9k Warnings: This chapter is SFW, but the story will eventually be NSFW - hopefully in the next chapter. Some profanity. Buggy x afab!reader. A/N: Little more plot-building before we get to the spice. Hope yall enjoy!! Tag list: @lostfirefly @rorywritesjunk @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You read and re-read the bonus words written into your book until they flowed through your head like a real conversation. An unknown voice whispered in your ear, adding commentary, a few snide remarks and snarky responses, poignant questions, and narrative asides that you couldn’t get enough of.

The mystery of your anonymous reading buddy sat with you. It was calm and inviting. You weren’t consumed with a desire to dig inside and pull out the truth, but to let the mystery be. To let it exist like this. Yes, you did want to know whose thoughts and memories you were reading, but it wasn’t a dire need. And more than that, you wanted to keep this secret. A shared secret.

Staring at the next chapter you needed to read, the novelty plummeted as you raised a pen. It felt heavy in your hand, weighed by an awkward feeling. The back of your neck prickled, as if someone was already reading your thoughts. You felt stifled by the odd sense of visibility. Unable to connect your desire to give the story your full attention with wanting to share the book with another reader, you tried to flip those feelings and see if they would fit another way.

It was like a game of leapfrog. You read the annotations added after yours, then jumped into the next chapter you hadn’t read yet and filled in the gaps left in the margins, and, finally, you landed in a new chapter. The puzzle pieces connected as you fell entirely into the story.

Traveling with the cloaked figure, Grey, on his journey, your musings were scribed each step of the way. Phrases and words circled, emotive faces drawn near touching moments, and your own personal tidbits littered the pages. The chapter ended with Grey winning over the sullen rock golem who had been living alone as an outcast. The golem accepted Grey’s invitation to join him on a journey to save the royal family.

A few days later, Buggy was surprised to see the book peeking out of its protective hidey-hole like a mollusk. He noted its disappearance and didn’t expect such a rapid reappearance. Although it wasn’t a long novel, completing the entire journey would have taken a sleepless night or two. A small voice questioned whether the owner was upset at the additional vandalism (even if they started it) and decided to abandon the book entirely.

Filled with unease, Buggy ignored the book and went about his duties. The poisonous voice stayed quiet as the captain threw himself into work, wondering if he might avoid confronting the question and the book. A lifetime of rejection created a wide boundary of protection that the little voice hid behind, hissing unfounded fears.

The sour feelings were chased away with a mouthful of liquor later that night. While heading back to his quarters, Buggy retrieved the book and walked fast to outpace his own negativity. Although it was only the second time he had the novel, reading was easily incorporated into his evening routine. It felt familiar to him.

Growing up, Buggy was a voracious reader. Sometimes, he wondered if that’s why he needed glasses now. Maybe his eyes were rebelling against all the words he forced them to absorb - short stories, long epics, newspapers, essays, letters, tiny print, large fonts, hand-written, transcribed. Anything he could get his hands on was devoured in his spare time. Sentences were crammed into the few seconds between duties, chapters read by dim moonlight, and pages became speckled with food as he pored over the books while eating.

Over time, Buggy read less and less. People poked fun at the bookworm. They said he should be careful always having his nose in a book, it might get caught in the pages. Even lighthearted remarks about how much he read began to sting. And as he grew up, Buggy had other things to occupy his time with.

Eventually, guilt took hold in his chest. Roots grew whenever he had time that could be filled by a book, his empty hands missed the feel of pages threading through the fingers, or when he looked at the forlorn stories waiting on his bookshelf. He tried to push through the ache by buying new books that remain untouched. He even bought glasses to try and turn a chore back into a hobby, but nothing relit the spark. It all turned into dirt and manure for his remorse to grow.

The pirate never expected the pain of turning his back on something that brought comfort would be eased by a silly fantasy novel. Despite being a grown man with hair on his chest and alcohol on his breath, Buggy felt like a kid again as he sank under the covers with a good book. Instead of waiting for a tension headache, Buggy pulled out his glasses, swiped the lenses with a small cloth, and put them on. The first thing he read was a note tucked alongside his bookmark.

“Good notes! Although I disagree that the writer is a ‘self-indulgent asshat who sees the world through rose-colored glasses.’ I read ahead through the next chapter and left space for you. Please do the same and put this back in the ‘secret’ spot. I want to see if you change your mind.”

Buggy chuckled to himself. Of course you wouldn’t agree with him, you picked the book in the first place. Maybe if he pointed out more of the author’s blatant self-insert characters used to tout their poorly thought out ideals, you’d reconsider. He took a sip of alcohol and twirled a pen in his fingers.

Towards the end of the newest chapter, two things caught Buggy’s attention. First, the fucking corner of the page was folded again. Second, was a comment about the golem and “found family.” You wrote about how nice it is to find a place you belong and people you feel at home with. You felt like the golem character when you joined this pirate crew. The rock golem, named Daisy Lee, had sprouted a flower when Grey extended his hand and companionship. The little heart next to that sentence was a punch to the gut.

Buggy the Clown knew first-hand how it felt to find someplace you belonged. In fact, he’s heard that from his crew countless times. After fights, successful raids, parties brimming with alcohol, any situation full of emotions were bound to be followed with freaks professing appreciation for their captain. But this was different. You didn’t know who was reading these words. You didn’t intend to share them with the captain himself. These weren’t words of performative devotion, honeyed sentiments, or feelings brought forth by adrenaline, but inner-thoughts shared during your own personal time.

It was late and his body was tired, which meant his emotions were delicate. That’s why tears collected in the corners of his eyes before slipping down his heated cheeks. Exhaustion and alcohol. Fingers attempted to fit under his glasses to wipe away the saltwater, but the legs tugged on his ears and the frames dug into his forehead. Buggy dabbed away what he could in the confined space and rubbed the back of his hands on his wet cheeks to dry them. With a face redder than it was moments ago, he swallowed the rest of the sober emotion with the alcohol in his glass.

---

The next time you found the book, there was another note for you. A short sentiment and a gift.

“Stop folding the goddamn pages. I don’t care if this is your book, I won’t give it back. Use the bookmark.”

The bookmark guarding the edge of your reading area wasn’t anything special. It was just a bit of paper that could have come from anywhere, but the edges were carefully torn into a long rectangle. The scrap used to mark the other reader’s progress was ripped haphazardly and shaped like a squashed kidney. Rolling your eyes, you folded the corner of your new gift. You’d use it, but on your terms.

You followed the same pattern as last time, reading the new notes, the next chapter, then a new chapter. And your reading partner followed suit. Bookmarks jumped over each other, like checkers. Stories were swapped, emotions unlocked, betrayals occurred (the first of which was you creasing the bookmark, which was acknowledged with a little angry face), foes defeated, heroes injured, feelings exposed, and so much more. You wrote about leaving your family and village behind, like some of the adventurers. The other person wrote about not really knowing their family. Not in a story, but as a passing comment to what you scribbled. Unsure how to respond, you simply wrote that you were glad their journey brought them here.

Weeks passed as the book exchanged hands. One night found you hunched over in bed, following your reading buddy as you raced through the final chapter. The sea was as restless as your beating heart, each wave and thump growing erratic through the climax.

Worn down and weary, Grey and his companions approached the castle. Moss and vines decorated the worn stone structure. An abnormal breeze carried the sweet stench of decay. The rustle of leathery wings and tell-tale stomping emitted from the courtyard ahead. Grey turned to Daisy Lee and Jack, readying himself to go ahead on his own. To his surprise, Jack clapped a hand on the man’s cloaked shoulder and nodded to their stone friend, who marched forwards, toward the dragon.

You silently cheered with each blow the heroes dealt and gasped with every set-back they sustained. The fight raged on in your white-knuckled grip, with Daisy Lee crumbling into a smaller version of themself, and Jack throwing himself in front of Grey, only to be knocked out.

Grey shouted in anguish and charged forwards. Landing a mighty blow on the dragon, the fierce beast collapsed with a pitiful roar. Smoke poured from it’s mouth and nostrils, filling the courtyard. Through the fog, Grey could just barely see the large shadow shrink. As the smoke cleared, a naked figure lay on the ground - the victim of a curse. It was Prince Shaia. Grey’s brother.

The rest of the story was wrapped up in two pages. There was a whirlwind of activity when Grey rescued the rest of the royal family, revealed his lineage to his companions who readily accepted the information, Grey’s rapid ascension to the throne, and the multitude of changes he immediately put into place across the kingdom to end every single plight, hardship, and minor inconvenience he encountered. The story ended with the sun setting on a utopia, with no mention of issues implementing new rules and systems or discourse about the kingdom changing hands to a previously unknown individual.

You sat silently for a moment, mulling over the ending. It was an enjoyable story full of adventure and whimsy, but the conclusion was rushed. Very rushed. The last paragraph had a bracket drawn on the side and an arrow pointing to a little face sticking it's tongue out and a note:

“I haven't changed my mind. This wouldn’t happen so easily, it’s so unbelievable-”

Frowning, you scribbled a retort before finishing the rest of the note. “It’s a fantasy book. Of course it’s not believable.”

“-I have a book we can read next. I guarantee it’ll be better than this.”

A buzzing filled your head and reverberated down to your chest. You kept reading the message, studying each individual letter constructing the words that warmed your body. The beating of your heart stopped using adrenaline as fuel and channeled the rushing endorphins instead. You hoped that this secret relationship would continue, and to see that feeling reciprocated filled you with so many fluttery feelings that you couldn’t tease them apart.

“Okay, I’m trusting you.”

#eventual smut #buggy x reader #buggy x you #x reader #buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy op #opla buggy #one piece buggy #hey-august a line from me to you

80 notes · View notes

shakespearesdaughters · 8 months

Text

The Secret History Theories

I’m currently re-reading Donna Tartt’s The Secret History right now and I have several theories but no one to share them with, so I thought I would put them here to see what you all think!

Richard pushed Bunny.

Richard said he hates authors who skip over the grisly parts of their crimes out of shame/embarrassment/guilt but he does it.

He was not only involved in the planning of Bunny’s murder but encouraged it by telling Henry what Bunny told him about the farmers murder knowing that Henry was already thinking about killing him.

While he showed some guilt about the murder afterwards he had no qualms about going through with it and was involved in the planning of it every step of the way.

He had a vested interest in Bunny dying not just to help protect the group but because Bunny knew/implied he knew about Richard’s true background and that he was lying about having money. He would have wanted to keep his secrets. He also wanted to secure his place in the group and what better way to do so than to kill someone.

We don’t know how Bunny died, as Richard purposely skips over this information. The only thing we do know is that Henry walked towards him, Camilla checked to make sure Bunny was dead. But what exactly did Richard do? If Richard didn’t kill Bunny why wouldn’t he tell us how Bunny died?

2. Julian was more involved than Richard either was aware or wanted to admit.

I think he was the person Camilla remembered seeing at the Bacchanal. He and Henry had spoken before the Bacchanal and Julian had told him to do what was necessary.

Henry got the idea to do the Bacchanal from Julian. Henry and Francis both were interested in acquiring the land with Francis wanting to purchase the house and Henry finding the land sacred. Henry is implied to have spent more time with Julian than the others having been to his home and had private conversations.

He also calls Bunny by his nickname for the first time when it came to Bunny’s suicide note which was odd. He said he knew or was able to predict what his students were doing and with how close he was to Henry there’s no way he didn’t know what they were up to. Which is probably why he had to leave and did leave so quickly.

3. Richard was the author of Bunny’s suicide note as a confession. He spent a lot of time with Bunny and with Henry. He could have gotten the paper from either of them. The typewriter was in the study room for anyone to use.

Richard was an excellent student and could have written the note convincingly enough to sound like Bunny. It gives him the perfect out in the murder of the farmer because he’s not named once in them and it implicates the group especially Henry. Which could be Richards payback against Henry implicating him to the FBI. Also it’s the only way for Richard to confess just like he is confessing to us with the book for his guilt without having to actually atone for anything.

Richard also flip flops between insisting that Bunny was the author to it being possibly someone else. We also don’t know when the letter was dropped off because Julian doesn’t mention it. But from the way he was acting when he spoke to Richard and Francis and why he initially took it as a joke/brushed it off before speaking with Henry one could infer it was delivered after Bunny’s death.

4. Charles is the only other person who could have written the note because he was also close to Bunny and Richard notes he is an expert forger and the letter is one big middle finger to Henry and the only other person who had a reason to hate/implicate Henry as revenge besides Richard would be Charles.

5. Francis is a predator who was possibly abusing Charles and no one in the group seemed to care. He also tried to have sex/ SA Richard and foreshadowed doing it when he said “if you drank as much as he(Charles) does, I daresay I would have been in bed with you, too.”

6. A catamount killed the farmer, Henry lied about it so he could manipulate the group and to murder bunny.

There’s several hints about it being a big cat from Charles bite, to the way the body was found I mean how on earth did they rip open the stomach of a grown man and mutilate him without any weapons? They even go the catamount inn.

There would be something so deliciously ironic and really fulfill the themes of it being a Greek tragedy if it had all been a wild animal and Bunny was killed for nothing.

7. I think Richard was there at the Bacchanal and it was one of the many things he omitted.

He is a self professed liar, an excellent one at that. He has no problem going where he’s not supposed to as we saw him entering the room and calling the number to find out about the plane tickets Henry purchased. He was following the group around. It wouldn’t be a hard stretch that he followed them to the woods and saw the bacchanal/orgy.

He would have been upset he wasn’t invited because of his socioeconomic background. And upset that Bunny was invited over him.

Camilla thought she saw another person there. Henry thought he saw Dionysus there. Though it could have been Julian it could have also been Richard.

He admits he omits things and considered lying about Julian, he romanticizes Henry despite the murder, he easily went along with the murder of Bunny and has a thought of attacking and SAing Camilla and there is an implication he WAS lying about something very important. Which leads up to question what did he lie about?

He is not as horrified or concerned like a normal person would be when hearing your new friends just committed a brutal ritualistic murder. I think he was there, either as voyeur/bystander or he actually participated and was afraid Bunny might know or would find out which is why he goes along with it.

180 notes · View notes

storyline512 · 17 days

Text

Chase after the Kitty

You run after the odd kitty of shoelaces- running behind a giant alphabet block, in your attempt to catch up you nearly slip on a giant pearl necklace, but you regain your balance and burst forward, hardly paying much attention to the owner of the arms the feline had jumped into, crying in fear. You do luckily notice just in time though- skidding to a halt. You see a tall thin floating ….man? But his head was a giant eye ball w dentures protecting it-

“Gangle! What is it my dear?” Said this man, his voice sounded like a show host or something- but he wore what looked like a prince’s crown.. also it seemed a whole princes’s outfit..

She didn’t realize she was gawking till the man noticed her, as the kitty cried in his arms, babbling somethings you can’t quite understand, waving her shoelace paw in your general direction.

“Oh hello little Princess- and who might you be?”

Your cheeks blush red, mixed feelings and confusion “I.. I’m.. wait- I’m…” to your horror you realize you can’t remember! You remember being drunk, you remember a soulless job, you remember buying and playing a new VR game… but not much more-

The man can see you’re panicking, as you’re hyperventilating.

“Oh calm down! No need to worry my Sweet! No one remembers their name here! We’ll give you a new one!” W a snap of his fingers dark blue sparkling poof dropped a Magic 8-ball, he places it in her hands, telling her to give it a shake it and see what it comes up with.

You hesitantly take it, the name “Mary” shows up. You think about it, before giving it another shake, “Lollipop” tf? You try one more time- this time shaking it harder-so frustrated! “Pomni” Pomni? What kind of name is that? You try again but the man apologies, as that was her third try- plucking it from your hands, he reads it “Pomni! Princess Pomni-Perect! Always great to have a fellow royal join us!” Your cheeks turn red again against your permission.

You huff, arms crossed, whatever- not like it matters anyway she guesses. Now you have a moment to think and someone to talk to, maybe he knows something-

(Forgot to make this a week long, not one re-doing the poll)

60 notes · View notes

hyperfixatedfandomer · 9 months

Text

Billy Batson the homeless kid from Fawcett City first, and Captain Marvel second (my take)

Unpopular, and probably a bad take but as someone who read Alex Dogboy as a child and wants to re-read it asap, I like the interpretations of Captain Marvel in which Billy Batson is homeless for a good while before falling back into care. I even got a whole image in my head for why he doesn’t want to return to cps and try to get a foster family.

Let’s say his parents die, and it’s a horrible trauma and Billy is NOT okay, he’s 13 when it happens and then jumps from home to home for a while, his experiences being mediocre until he gets ONE parent that tries doing something unspeakable to him (insert social commentary on how unsafe the foster system is) and he runs away. From that point on, he lives on the streets.

And he has it BAD.

I’m not a fan of angst, and suffering of characters, especially young doesn’t bring me any kind of joy but I like seeing a character survive. Fight against the cruel environment they live in, against horrible odds, and celebrate small victoires like there is no tomorrow. Holding onto those victories to not loose yourself.

A successful shoplifting mission, something useful found while dumpster diving, nimbly avoiding criminal gangs, both big and small on his way "home" (which is an abandoned building apartment in a bad part of town).

I don’t want Billy to have it bad per ce, but I want the comics to really EXPLORE how difficult it gets, living in the streets as a child that needs love and care, but has to stay vigilant because in this world, any adult could hurt you. I want an entire comics issue just about Billy surviving in that world, getting by day by as autumn slowly changes to winter and it gets progressively colder. I want the comics to delve into his struggles before he get a a power that will make his life easier, because it’ll amplify the magic of seeing him get powers of the gods.

I want to see him be crude and swear like he so often does in the modern versions of the character, and then deliberately steal food to feed cats. He might see a flower shop owner getting harassed while she’s bringing her newly arrived plants inside and then walk behind the guy who bugs her to punch him square in the jaw. He’s not perfect, he has put up walls to protect himself, but it’s these instinctive acts of kindness (though rough around the edges) make the wizard choose him. He’s desperate and Billy is, again, NOT perfect, but he has potential, and it’s all that matters.

I want to see all of what I’ve written above play a big role and impact Captain Marvel’s every decision as a hero. Not just his childhood naivety and teenage brashness, but his trauma and bad experiences. I want to see him interact with the league in line with his background.

And I want him to fall in love with Rosa. I want to see him warm up to the idea of having a parent again, of having a family once more. I want her to be a small business owner, maybe if that’s that same flower shop and maybe it’s not going very well but she’s happy and she has her foster kids, until one day she gets harassed by a creepy stranger in front of her shop and a boy from the streets delivers him a clean left hook for it.

They see each other around, Billy is clearly homeless, and she buys him takeout. After that, he, akin to a cat, slowly eases into a friendship with her and eventually falls into this inner crisis because he’s afraid of loosing a parent again and adults have hurt him before, he’s scared but Rosa’s smile is so genuine and he feels so incredibly safe around her he just can’t resist showing up at her shop, eventually helping her out and then getting a part-time job there, which helps him get bare necessities without stealing.

I want Billy to choose to make that terrifying leap because he trusts that Rosa will catch him, and then he can have the new plot with being introduced into her family, his new siblings and dad (Victor).

Adventures of Captain Marvel, all the insane stuff he can do is absolutely cool and I totally want to read that, but I’m just saying that his adventures would feel so much more magical and amazing if the writers leaned into the darker aspects of his story more often.

That’s just my take tho idk, might delete later 🤷

(Anyway if you got any questions — feel free to drop them in my as box✨)

#dc #dc comics #dc fandom #dc au #dc captain marvel #dc shazam #Shazam #captain marvel #billy batson #Shazam Billy Batson #tawky tawny #dc billy Batson #dc comics Billy batson #dc justice league #justice league #dc fanfiction #found family

192 notes · View notes

lincolndjarin · 10 months

Text

Best Kept Secret

chapter eighteen : portrait of a man (RE-UPLOAD)

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 5.4k

summary : the mandalorian and reader do some reading

warnings, etc. : language, mentions of sex

A/N : i had to change accounts so this is a re-upload of my ongoing fic bks!!

It’s deliciously warm when you wake. You can feel his heartbeat and you can feel the soft traces of sunlight dancing along your back. You stretch in his arms slightly but freeze up as you feel him nuzzle his chin into your hair, planting a kiss against your hairline.

His helmet is still off.

And the room is completely illuminated by the sunrise.

He seems to sense your hesitancy and after some adjustment his face is concealed once more as you gaze up at him.

“Sorry sarad, I must have fallen asleep without it on.” His voice is gravelly and thick with sleep as he looks down at you. He’s acting like it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you accidentally saw.

It might very well be.

You know his creed is precious to him, even if he says he is an apostate. You don’t want him to break it just for you and end up regretting it later.

“I don’t want to see until I’m allowed to.” That doesn’t really make sense and you know it. “Will I ever be allowed to? How does that work?” He sits up as you speak, stretching his arms above his head.

“I’ll explain it another time, right now I need to get you back to your room before someone realizes you're gone.” He’s crawled to the edge of the bed and he’s already pulling his boots on.

Oh yeah.

It was easy to fall into a fantasy of staying here with him. For a moment there you had completely forgotten that you were married, and expected in other places. You stand looking for your dress as he attaches his armor.

“Don’t change yet, it’ll be easier to sneak you back in if you aren’t wearing a shimmery gown.” He’s so quick with it, in the time it takes you to even find your gown he’s completely done getting ready. “Do you have everything?” He turns to face you as he takes the dress from you and throws it over his arm.

Your eyes dart to the shelf.

Your knife is up there.

He chuckles when he catches your line of sight.

“Not gonna happen, princess. Let’s go.” He takes your hand and hastily drags you out of the cabin. In the morning light you can see what he had been carrying you over last night.

The cabin was built partially on top of the lake. It must be a pain having to carefully step over all of the water but he doesn’t seem to mind as he scoops you into his arms and looks to be contemplating something.

“Is your bedroom window unlocked?”

That’s an odd question. But you know it is, you’re several floors up so you never lock it.

“Yes, why?”

“No reason.” You can hear a grin on his face.

He starts walking, not really caring if he steps into the water as he carries you towards the castle. Once you're through the gardens and past the forest trail he adjusts his cowl to cover your face. You rest your head against his chest as he makes his way towards what you assume to be the servant's entrance. But you never hear a door open, instead he leans down to whisper to you.

“Keep your eyes closed.”

Is he about to take off his helmet in broad daylight?

You don’t get a chance to question it as you shut your eyes and you feel the cowl ripped from your face, there’s an unfamiliar rush of air against your skin and the sound of a click and a creak.

“You can open them now.” He whispers again, you aren’t sure what you expect to see when you open your eyes but it certainly isn’t him standing on the outside of your window sill, balancing you in his arms.

You know immediately that it’s a mistake as you look down and find yourself several stories off the ground.

“Maker! What is wrong with you!” You cling to him tighter but he simply laughs as he peels you off of him to set you inside.

“Sorry, hand me your clothes.” There’s a sudden urgency in his voice that keeps you from arguing, you strip to your undergarments and toss him the things you borrowed, he doesn’t hesitate to throw your dress onto the floor. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.” You’re left staring dumbfounded as he jumps off the ledge at the same moment your door swings open and Elaine’s voice fills the room.

“I’m telling you, we don’t have to knock, she isn’t here, we’ll just wait for h-“ She stops and stares at you with wide eyes and your face gets hot at the implications of her words.

“Good morning girls.” You stammer out as they both look surprised to see you.

“Apologies for not knocking my lady.” Elaine bows as she says it, cocking an eyebrow in your direction but you don’t give her a reaction as you simply walk to the mirror to be prepped.

They seem relieved that you don’t have anything to say and you’re relieved that Elaine doesn’t press further as they begin to dress you. The gown Lysa chooses for today is a soft gray color, the fabric shimmers in the light and it sort of reminds you of the Mandalorian’s armor.

Nobody seems to have anything to say to each other this morning but you truly don’t mind. In a few minutes you’ll get to see him again.

And things are okay now.

Right?

You’ve established a mutual want.

But what does that mean?

Shit.

You hadn’t really talked about that. But that shouldn’t matter, he had practically confessed his love, he had given you his name.

You need to talk about it.

But he never wants to talk about it.

This time has to be different though, things are good.

It has to be different.

You don’t even realize they’ve finished until Elaine clears her throat.

“Kriff, sorry, thank you girls, you’ve done wonderful work as always.” It’s true. As you look up at yourself in the mirror to take in another amazing job done by them. You can’t even tell that you were being carried through the forest less than an hour ago.

“Thank you, my lady, shoes?” Lysa holds up a pair of flats and you nod, taking a seat at the vanity and hiking your skirt up a bit.

Shit.

You’re still wearing his socks.

In your rush you must have forgotten about them.

She stares for only a moment, her eyes darting up to your face before she removes them, slipping on your flats. You can tell by the way her eyebrows raise ever so slightly that she sees the dirt on the soles of your feet from your barefoot walk in the gardens last night, but thankfully she says nothing. After a beat of silence you cough awkwardly.

“Thank you girls, that will be all.” They nod as they both take their leave. You give them time to make their way down the hall before you grab your journal and some pens, as you throw the door open he’s there just like always. He doesn’t look like someone who had flown you up to your window this morning, he looks exactly the same as always. There’s no sense in concealing the smile on your face as you stare at him.

“Library?” You ask as he nods, you begin your trek and he still stands behind you but closer than ever before, just a step or two back. “Can we talk today?”

“Of course, princess.” A wave of relief washes over you as he says it. This might be the first time he’s ever had a positive reaction to that question. You walk in a happy silence until you arrive. Today you do not hesitate to sit in the nook, no longer haunted by the memories of what’s transpired there.

He stands sort of bashfully, looking at you and then at a few chairs nearby.

This is why you need to talk.

It’s things like this, your relationship is so vaguely defined and in the cold light of day, just Din, doesn’t know where to sit.

You scootch over a bit and pat the space next to you.

“Sit with me?” You say softly to hopefully ease the anxiety that is apparent in his body language. He relaxes a bit as he takes a seat next to you, you fit like puzzle pieces, like the nook was made for the two of you to sit comfortably.

It’s an added bonus that it’s far enough into the shelves that you’ll hear anyone coming before they see you.

He leans back against the glass as you open your journal, uncapping a pen and lazily doodling. You can feel his gaze on the pages but you don’t mind.

“What did you want to talk about mesh’la?” He murmurs as he begins to trace his fingers along your back, drawing shapes into the fabric of your dress.

It shocks you a bit.

His blatant affection.

Nothing could have prepared you for him to act like this in the daylight.

Of course he had humored you in the markets, and when you had been “together” he had always been kind but now his voice had a certain devotion to it, and he touched you like he needed to do it to stay grounded.

He almost seems… clingy.

It makes your heart flutter.

“I guess I just wanted to talk about this,” You gesture at him with the pen. “us.”

He hums softly in agreement.

“Okay, what about us?” He tugs gently at one of the ribbons on your corset, not hard enough to pull it loose, just hard enough to grab your attention. You shoot a glare at him, there’s no actual fire behind it.

“I thought you said you’d be good?”

“And you said I could touch you a little.” As he says it you roll your eyes before turning back to your drawings. You’ve been sketching the same curved line. The hook of his nose you had felt last night. If he recognizes it he doesn’t say anything.

“Fine. What exactly are we?” He resumes his tracing as you say it, it feels like a juvenile question, it’s what you would always ask your boyfriends back on Hoth after a few weeks of screwing around, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it.

“What was it you called me in the gardens? Your lover? I could be that if that’s what you’d like me to be.” His fingers have moved to your shoulders now, the shapes on your pages have turned into rough outlines of what you remember his jaw is shaped like.

Lover feels too impersonal.

This is more than that.

He certainly isn’t your boyfriend, can you even have a boyfriend? Afterall you already have a husband.

Would Din want to be your husband someday?

Could Din be your husband someday? Kodo certainly wouldn’t just let you leave, the trade deals your family so desperately needed would be useless if you did. Is it too soon to be thinking such a thing? You have only just truly become emotionally involved but also you’ve spent every waking moment with him for several weeks at this point. And you’ve had sex.

Maker, why does this have to be so confusing?

“Is there maybe a Mando’a word for what we are?” You turn to look at him again.

He starts to say something but then he stops, seemingly changing his mind.

“How about kar’ta?”

“Kar’ta? What’s that mean?” You like the way the word feels in your mouth. His knuckles are dragging against your arm now.

“It means heart. You would be my heart and I would be yours.” His voice is warm and it feels like you’re sinking into his touches.

His heart.

You like that.

“My Kar’ta.” You say, looking down at your drawings, you have several mixed and matched faces, none of which seem to look right, you hold them up for him to see. “Do any of these look correct?”

He points to the one of the bottom left, the eyes are lopsided.

“That ones the closest, other than the eyes, none of the eyes are right.” You sigh, you already knew he would say that.

“They never are.” You flip the page and start drawing pairs of eyes. You’re silent for a few minutes, he continues tracing shapes into your back and you continue drawing, you eventually realize he’s mimicking your sketches.

You know what you want to tell him. It’s a strange pivot in conversation but you need him to know.

Your next words force themselves from your mouth. “I don’t love Kodo, I don’t even like him.” His movements stop, only for a second before continuing.

“I would hope not, I don’t know if you noticed but he’s a bit of a monster.”

“I know, I just wanted to say it. I just- I mean, I don’t think of myself as married to him, it’s more a title than anything else.” You hesitate for a moment. “And we don’t have sex. In case you were wondering.” You haven’t thought about that fact in a while.

Someday Kodo will want heirs.

It makes you shudder a bit.

Maybe Din will get you out of here before that happens.

He senses the tension you’re suddenly plagued with and he switches to just rubbing gentle circles against your back.

“Okay.” He speaks so quietly now.

“I don’t ever want to have sex with him.” You whisper, mostly to yourself.

It had always been an inevitable thing. A duty you had to fulfill. But that was before you knew who he was. Before you knew you had married a monster. And that was before Din, before your kar’ta.

“You don’t have to. I promise.”His voice is soothing but it does nothing to put you at ease.

It’s a promise he can’t keep.

But you don’t want to linger on this any longer so you nod, much to your chagrin he senses your hesitancy as he sits up.

“Hey, I mean it. If he so much as touches you again, I swear it will be the last time.”

“You can’t guarantee that Din.” He’s taking your sketchbook from you, setting it aside before holding your hands in his.

“He isn’t going to touch you. Ever again. I never should have let him in the first place.” His grip on your hand tightens ever so slightly as he recalls the memory, you can’t help but frown.

“I’m glad you let him, you wouldn’t be here right now if you hadn’t.”

That makes him go quiet.

You both know you’re right, if he had laid a finger on Kodo he would at the very least have been fired. Worst case scenario he’d be dead.

“He won’t touch you again.” He sounds firmer this time. “I’m sworn to you. No one gets to touch you unless you want them to, not even me.”

You want to believe that he could stop Kodo. That he could stop all six of his battle droids. It’ll be easier if you just let yourself believe it.

So for now you do.

You drop his hands and rest your head on his shoulder.

“Okay.” You mumble.

“Okay.” He tilts his helmet slightly to rest against your head.

You reach around to grab your book back. Opening to the page with the eyes.

“Which ones are right?” You point around the page. He analyzes them for a bit before taking the pen again, scribbling until he’s drawn messy but identifiable eyes.

“Like this.”

His drawing is crude but the eyes are nice. You carefully tear the outline of them out before placing them over the other drawing he had pointed out.

It almost looks right.

It almost suits the person you know.

He lets you stay leaning on his shoulder so you don’t bother moving as you flip to an empty page. You think for a few moments on what to draw.

The tiny toothbrush.

You think of the sketch of mismatched parts you now have of him and what you’ve been able to feel out and you subconsciously start drawing a child.

You give him Din’s nose, and dark curls. You don’t bother trying to copy his eyes, opting to instead give the little boy wide dark eyes. You scribble out several different versions of the child you’ve made up as he watches silently.

Eventually you stop and just stare at the page full of little faces staring up at you.

Does this boy exist somewhere out there?

It sort of seems that way, when you look at all the pieces of Din that don’t seem to make sense. The toothbrush, he had mentioned a kid at one point but hadn’t said much about it and now you know that he willingly showed his face to someone. Was it his child? Why did he have to say goodbye to his own child?

Can you imagine Din being a father? When you think of how well he takes care of himself it makes you worry a bit for any child in his care but then you think of how well he takes care of you.

Selflessly.

He’s probably a good father. That must be where his protective nature comes from.

His laughter breaks you out of your trance and he points to one of the drawings, the boy in that one has the largest eyes, and the pupils take up nearly the entirety of them.

“You got his eyes right in that one.” He says as he chuckles.

“What?” You stammer out.

His eyes.

“I assume you’re trying to figure out who he is? None of these are even close, but those eyes, those are his.”

Of course he knew what you were doing, nothing got past him.

You wait for more but that’s all he gives you.

You can wait longer, until he’s ready to talk about it. Based on the way he sighs you think that moment might be right now but he says something else instead.

“I don’t think I’ve apologized yet for what I said. Truly apologize.” You close the journal on your own this time before setting it down.

He’s talking about what he said.

“I was… bored. You were entertainment.”

He knows you haven’t simply forgotten about it. Afterall, how could you?

“It doesn’t excuse what I did, but I didn’t mean a word of it.”

You want to believe him terribly, but that nagging feeling in the back of your mind is persistent. A reminder that any moment he could decide to stop being Din, and go back to being nothing more than your shadow.

“Why did you say it then?”

You don’t want to have this conversation either. The last thing you want to do is relive those moments but you aren’t an idiot, your insecurities will eventually bubble up, it’s better to take care of this now before it grows into resentment. He’s leaning back again, out of your peripherals.

“I meant it, when I said that I ache.” Is he sitting like that so you can’t look at him? “None of what I’m about to say is a good enough reason to explain my actions, nothing ever could be. You control my every thought and decision, sarad. I suppose I just thought that it would be best if you hated me, that it would make the pain dull, instead it only served to make me realize that I cannot live without you.”

That’s one hell of a proclamation.

“You wanted me to hate you?” As you say it you feel Beskar rest against the back of your shoulder.

“For a while. It seemed like the least painful option. I deserved- deserve, your loathing. At first for feeling the way I did towards a married woman, a woman I was supposed to be protecting and instead was picturing naked.”

Hot. It’s hot in the library. It hasn’t been hot in the library for some time.

“And then I saw the two of you together. And I knew immediately that you did not feel an ounce of love for that thing you were forced to wed. At that point I simply needed you to hate me to soothe the ache that signified that you could never be mine.” He sighs, and there’s a moment of hesitation before you hear the hiss of air you’re becoming all too familiar with. You aren’t exactly sure what you expect, it definitely isn’t the feeling of several kisses being peppered along the curve of your shoulder but you certainly aren’t going to complain about it. “I did not know weakness before I met you, you have turned me from a man made of steel to one of glass.” His voice rings clear and unfiltered throughout the room.

He plants another kiss into your hair, there aren’t any traces of lust behind the action, just a pure adoration, he brushes a bit of your hair out of the way and for a moment you feel the bridge of his nose press against the back of your neck before he places one final, chaste kiss against your spine. When he speaks again his voice is modulated once more.

“I don’t want your forgiveness, I certainly haven’t earned it.” He finally leans forward so he’s back in your field of vision. “But I will. Someday I will be worthy of you, I promise.”

He already is. He always has been.

Will you ever get used to this? His genuine affections? It takes your breath away more than the sex did, the way he talks about you like you are not a woman, but a deity. The way he removes his helmet as if it doesn’t mean anything, just so he can feel you against his lips.

There’s no sense in telling him that’s all you needed to hear. You know him, he won’t accept that, he’s far too stubborn. So instead you opt to make things more lighthearted.

“How do you plan to make it up to me, my kar’ta?” As you say it you can visibly see some of the stress leave his body, thank the gods.

“I have plenty of ideas.” The way he says it makes your heart flutter and you nearly forget that he’s promised not to fuck you. “I was thinking I could take you to the library tomorrow.” You’d be lying if you said that didn’t sort of kill your buzz, considering where you’re currently sitting but he senses your reluctance and chuckles. “The big one, in the city, cyar’ika.”

“Oh.” You can’t help but laugh along with him now. “You know, you’re getting better at talking, about the important stuff that is.” You give him a smile.

“It’s easier when you don’t look at me.” He says it a bit abashedly.

“Why is that?”

“Before you I never felt like someone could see my face. Yet everytime you look at me it’s like I’m not wearing a helmet at all, like you’re staring right at me.” He takes your hand and brings your fingers to the bottom of the helmet, tilting his head down slightly so you can feel his lips as he kisses the pads of your fingers before withdrawing them.

Maker.

Yeah, you’re never gonna get used to that.

Eventually he gets up to find some books, bringing you a mystery romance novel, you wouldn’t normally pick it for yourself but the cover art is interesting enough to draw you in, he appears to have some kind of maintenance guide on ship engines, you have no idea how he reads that kind of thing. As he hands you the books he motions for you to stand, when you do so he sits in the nook horizontally, with his feet up on the cushions, his back leaning against one of the surrounding shelves, motioning for you to sit between his legs.

You want to protest that it won’t be comfortable for him but your resolve simply isn’t strong enough to resist as you crawl between his thighs, your back resting against his chest as you hand his literature to him. The nook isn’t really built for two people to sit like this, it’s a bit cramped but you couldn’t be more comfortable, you want to make sure he’s okay with this position but he’s already got his book open, held in one outstretched hand so you simply open yours, placing it on your bent knees.

It’s surprisingly good. You’ve always had a preference for campy, over the top romance books. The sort of books with shirtless men riding horses on the front. The more ridiculous the better. But you’re completely absorbed by the story you find yourself in, gasping every so often at the reveals.

It’s shocking once you realize you’ve already made it to the last chapter, you had completely forgotten you were lying against Din until you turn and see that he must have finished his book at some point because now he’s reading yours over your shoulder.

“Can we finish this before I take you to get your dinner?” He mumbles, leaning forward slightly.

There is a peace to this situation that you’re sure you’ve never known.

This is the kind of life you could have with him.

You can’t seem to find the words to respond, and the lump in your throat won’t let you make something up so you nod, and you lean your head back against his chest and continue where you left off.

You like the ending. Much to your surprise the story ended happily, you had even teared up a bit when you realized everything was going to work out for the love interests. You might let him pick books for you more often, as long as he lets you find him something less boring to read. There has to be at least one exciting book about ships in here.

If there isn’t, you’ll find him one tomorrow when you go to the city library.

He sits up, which of course means you also sit up. He lets you stand first, your legs are stiff from being in the same position for hours but you find your footing quickly. He seems to be having no issues as he’s putting the books back.

You’re waiting for him to take your hand so you can fetch dinner, the two of you standing in silence for a moment, when it hits you, you feel like an idiot.

He isn’t going to take your hand.

Because you’re leaving the library and someone could see.

You plaster on a strained smile before leaving, thankfully he says nothing about your hesitation as you begin walking towards the kitchens.

Leo is of course waiting for you by the entrance. (You’ve come to accept that he’s simply everywhere at this point.) And you do the same thing you always do, he asks what you’d like to eat, you tell him whatever they’ve cooked, he insists you can request anything you’d like, you insist you’d like what they’ve cooked.

The only difference this time is that you ask for seconds.

He disappears in a huff before swiftly returning with several sealed dishes, as always he hands them to Mando and not you.

✩

The two of you return to your chambers and when he steps inside you lock the door behind you.

“Sit.” You say it as sternly as possible. Like it’s an order. He sets the food on the floor before sitting with his legs crossed next to it. “You’re gonna eat, this is non-negotiable.”

He immediately begins to protest but you shush him.

“You don’t need to feed me anymore. I can take care of myself.” He starts trying to stand but you firmly plant your hands on his shoulders and push him back down.

“Clearly not, you didn’t eat once today, I’m sure of it.” You frown down at him.

“Neither did you.”

“That's because I was watching you! And now to make up for it I’m going to eat real food, not ration packs.”

He doesn’t budge, still staring at you blankly.

“Listen… if you do this, I’ll reward you.” You raise your eyebrows suggestively.

You hadn’t really planned to give in so soon but you’re only human, he had gotten you pretty fired up in the library today whether that was his intention or not.

And you certainly aren’t going to say it, but you miss being with him in that way.

“Are you trying to bribe me with sex?” The disbelief in his voice is apparent, you ignore it, dividing up the food, making sure his portion is considerably larger, they always give you too much food anyway.

“Is it working?” You set the plate in front of him, batting your eyelashes innocently. He coughs nervously, leaning back.

“No. I don’t want sex to be a currency with you, I want you to want it.” His voice is strained and you can’t help but smirk.

“That’s a shame, because you’re going to eat either way.” You stand, walking so you're behind him, sitting back to back, your plate in your lap.

“That’s a wild assumption, princess.” His voice is still modulated so you know he hasn’t made any attempts to listen.

“I thought you were trying to earn my forgiveness?” That shuts him up. He grumbles for a few moments before you hear a hiss and a clunk as he sets his helmet on the floor. “Thank you.”

“Don’t sound so smug, you can only use that reason so many times before I stop giving in.” He mumbles through a mouthful of food, it makes you grin.

“Speaking of your road to redemption, can I ask you any questions I want now?” You swallow a bite as you say it.

“Sure, I’m not going to guarantee an answer, but sure.”

“What was on the flower, the one I gave you for your birthday?” He groans the moment you ask it.

“Please don’t make me say it, I know you know.” He sounds terribly embarrassed but you’re simply furrowing your brow in confusion. Are you supposed to know? You think on it for a few minutes, chewing thoughtfully before your eyes go wide.

“Was that a piece of my nightie that you ripped the first time we-“

“Yes.”

Your face couldn’t possibly get any redder and your smile couldn’t possibly get any wider.

“I didn’t take you for the sentimental type.” You can’t help but tease, he’s so rarely flustered in lighthearted moments like this.

“There are plenty of things you don’t know about me.” You hum softly at his response. “I’d like it if you did know them.” He always has to have the upperhand, he can never just let you tease him without leaving you breathless.

“I’d like to know everything.”

“I’d tell you everything.” He sounds so sincere.

But he doesn’t sound ready.

“When you really want to.”

He’s quiet, briefly, and then he reaches back to set his empty plate down next to you, you aren’t even halfway done with yours. You turn around as he stands, you didn’t hear him put his helmet back on but there it is.

“It’s late princess, I need to go home.”

There’s undeniably disappointment on your face as you stand, following him to the door.

“You don’t want to stay? I’m pretty sure I owe you a reward.” You give him a hopeful smile and his glove covers your eyes, your heart is racing.

There’s that wonderful hiss of air. It’s quickly becoming your favorite sound in the world.

You’re practically vibrating with anticipation.

And then you feel a soft kiss on your forehead.

In an instant the glove is gone and the helmet is back in place as if it had never moved.

“Good night, sarad’ika.” You feel ridiculous as you pout at him.

“You can’t be serious.”

He chuckles as he opens the door.

“Are you really going to turn me down?” You reach past him to try and close it again but he holds it open, still laughing.

“Yes, I am. Tonight I am.” He’s got one foot out the door now.

“Din… I’m giving you permission, I swear, it’s fine.”

“I’m afraid it’s not gonna happen tonight, cyare”

For Maker’s sake you’re practically begging him.

“Then when?” As you ask he leans forward, just a tiny bit.

“When you really want to.”

And just like that he’s leaving, shutting the door behind him.

Cocky bastard.

I am no longer doing taglists so follow @lincolndjarinnotifs and turn on notifications to be notified when new chapters are posted !!

#lincolndjarin #the mandalorian #best kept secret #bks #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #din dijarin x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #RE UPLOAD

271 notes · View notes