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myhappylittlesideblog · 23 days

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Make It Back

A/N: A right of passage- sticking the reader character into the 'Andrea shot Daryl' scene :) Reader goes OFF on her, so be prepared lol. Sorry if you love Andrea

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem! Reader

WC: ~4k

Warnings: talk of Daryl's injuries, falling down the cliff, Walker attack- nothing too graphic; Andrea shooting Daryl but just grazing him; mentions of gore/blood- nothing too graphic; angst, comfort, fluff, cuddling; Daryl being sassy; reader character fighting with Andrea (yelling match)

Summary: You confront Andrea after she shoots Daryl, thinking he's a walker. With your anger taken out on her, you then comfort Daryl as he spends the night in the Greene farmhouse.

You heard the gunshot. Everyone on the farm did. You just didn’t know exactly what had happened.

Following Lori’s lead, you jogged around the house, hoping it wasn’t another accident like the one that almost killed Carl. It was a single shot. Why would anyone risk a lone round out in the open like this? On this beautiful farm.

Once you circled the house, landing in a clump of Herschel’s family and a few others from your group, all you saw was sun. Its rays were blinding yellow as they cut over the tall, deep treeline on the edge of the meadow. It was the middle of a gorgeous day.

You heard Rick scream. It was a booming, worried thing. Then he screamed again.

“What the hell is going on here?” Herschel bellowed.

You moved closer to the field, the gravel of the driveway turning to grass under your feet as you neared the van. Dale was standing beside it with his hands on his head, panic clear in his figure as he looked out to the scene in the pasture.

“Shit,” Andrea said as she hastily climbed down the ladder from the top of the van. She started whining, more to herself than anyone else. “No, no, no, Daryl.”

“What?” you asked, a cold shock running down your spine from the back of your neck to your heels in the dirt. “What? What about Daryl?”

“I-I thought he was a walker,” she said.

Your head whirled to the cluster of men at the treeline. You tripped, your feet rooted to the ground in horror and misunderstanding. Was Andrea actually saying-

“I shot him.”

You bolted at her confession. These days, you were used to running, having done plenty of it through the woods to escape walkers. Then, you had to be careful of roots and puddles and dead bodies and the trees slowed you down, making sprinting difficult. Now, as you watched Rick fall to his knees in the distance, reaching for Daryl’s head after it hit the ground, speed came easily to you. The open meadow of freely growing grass under the clear blue sky was practically a racetrack.

Andrea panted behind you and the useless coins in Dale’s jeans clinked together, but you were faster, your feet agile in their swiftness. Your boots didn’t pound into the dirt like theirs. You sped to Daryl, only slowing when Rick threw one of Daryl’s arms over Shane’s shoulder and took the other one over his own. Daryl’s body fell limp against them, his feet dragging.

As the men caught their balance, you took Daryl’s face in your hands, seeing it drenched in blood.

“He’s unconscious,” Rick said to you. “We’ll get him back to the house.”

You nodded, otherwise silent.

Andrea, however, let loose her apologies and worries in a shrill voice that made everyone around tense up like their limbs were attached to drawstrings.

You didn’t listen to her words. Or T-Dog’s or Glenn’s and you didn’t notice Rick pull something from Daryl’s neck. Only the grass had your attention as your mind ceaselessly spun. Your boots pushed the tall blades around, making them sway with your every step. The shades of green were glowing in the slowly setting sun until they were marred- darkened by the looming three-headed shadow making its way across the field. Daryl’s blood dripped with every step, leaving red droplets behind with the last of the dew.

“I’m sorry,” Andrea said. When she touched your arm, you jumped, jarred back from the peace of the meadow and into the grisly present.

You didn’t answer her.

Daryl was still unconscious by the time Rick and Shane laid him down in the bedroom. While they’d carried him into the house, you beelined straight to Maggie, asking for a rag and some warm water. You ducked into the bedroom and dodged the panicking men so you could sit on the bed and wipe as much grime from Daryl’s face and hands as you could manage before leaving Herschel in peace to bandage his wounds.

When the door to the bedroom closed you out, you sat on the floor in the hall. Earlier, you had wondered if what Rick told you was true, if Daryl was only unconscious. If the bullet had truly only grazed him. You only fully believed Daryl was alive when you washed his face clean. His brow even crinkled when the wet cloth touched it. He was in there still.

Lori sat down quietly next to you in the hallway. She patted your knee. She didn’t have to say anything. You knew her well enough by now to know what she thought. You’re a good friend to him, she’d say. And he doesn’t have many.

You leaned your head back against the wall with a soft thunk and closed your eyes. It was tranquil there for a moment before a familiar, unwanted voice interrupted.

“Can I talk to you?”

You opened your eyes to see Andrea standing above you and Lori.

“Now’s not a good time,” you said. It was awkward and uncomfortable. “I’m waiting for- for some word.”

“I’ll be quick,” she asked, sliding down the wall and sitting beside you.

Andrea had a knack for rubbing you the wrong way at the worst times. You wouldn’t call yourself a ‘strong personality,’ but she certainly was. Whatever it was deep down in you was constantly butting heads with whatever lived in her core. You disagreed with her most of the time, but tried your best to be patient and gracious given the losses she’d suffered and the emotions clearly wracking her. Still, you couldn’t help but feel she went about most things all wrong.

Like insisting she speak to you now.

So you stood up. You asked Lori to come find you when Daryl woke or when you could go visit him- whatever came first- and you left the house. The turmoil in your chest almost made you scream. But instead of letting it rip through you, you sucked in a deep breath and walked down the front steps. To be alone.

“(Y/N), wait.”

You could tell it was her by the sound of her voice.

“Andrea,” you warned, “I’m not in a place to talk right now.”

“To anyone? Or just to me?”

“Does it matter?” you asked, spinning around in the gravel to face her. “Can’t you just respect that I’m- I’m trying to-”

“What?” she shouted, hands in the air. “Trying not to yell at me? What if I want you to? What if I want you to scream at me? Tell me I’m reckless! Tell me-”

“Tell you what you need to hear? That’s not my job.” You were calm, considering the outburst in front of you. “Just leave me be.”

“No.” She ran in front of you, standing with her feet spread wide, blocking your path from the farm house. Like a child. “I need to… I need to apologize. To you. For what I did to Daryl.”

A laugh escaped you. “Apologize to me?”

“Yes. And-”

“You know who you need to apologize to, Andrea?”

“Daryl, I know, but-”

“And Herschel and Rick and Glenn and T-Dog, and everyone else you put in danger when you decided to not do what you were told.”

You watched her jaw clench and set in place. Lowly, she said, “I don’t need to be told what to do.”

“Apparently you do. Apparently you don’t have your head screwed on straight!” you said.

“What’s that supposed to mean-”

“No, Andrea!” you cut her off with a stabbing shout. “You’re gonna follow me around like this and beg for a piece of my mind? Let me give it to you! Lord knows no one else here will.” You took her arm, leading her away from the front of the house where your temper- or loss of it- wouldn’t disturb Herschel’s family. When she tried to talk over you, tell you she knew what she was doing with that gun in her hands, you snarled at her. “Shut up! I’m speaking now.”

***

You didn’t realize that the hidden spot you led her to happened to be just below the bedroom Daryl and the other men were in. You had no clue that your every word rode the breeze up and through the window above where Rick, Shane, and Daryl could hear you as clearly as if you stood right before them.

And you didn’t know Daryl was already awake.

Shane, arms crossed over his chest, peeked out the window at the sound of Andrea’s voice. He whistled to Rick. “Catfight.”

“What?” Rick asked. He followed Shane’s gaze and shook his head when he saw you. “Nah, (Y/N)’s good. She’ll keep her head.”

“Wouldn’t be so sure,” Daryl grumbled. “Girl’s got a temper.”

“Never heard anything out of her,” Shane said.

“Thas ‘cause you ain’t never heard her complain ‘bout you.”

“Man, shut up,” Shane growled over Rick’s chuckles. “If (Y/N) gives Andrea a talkin’ to, that’s one less thing on my list.”

Daryl violently shifted the pillow under his head. “Dun even wanna know what’s on yer list.”

Shane shushed him, spitting on the window screen, and nudged Rick. “Wanna listen to her.”

***

You stuck an accusing finger at Andrea, keeping her staring at you and squinting into the low sun. “You need to understand, there’s no ‘girl jobs and boy jobs’ here. It’s not that simple. Just because you don’t like doing laundry and washing dishes doesn’t mean you get a gun to flaunt around by default.”

“They’re wasting my skills!” she hissed.

“Those guys,” you pointed out to the pasture, where Daryl went down, “Rick, Shane, Daryl- those guys are trained with those weapons. They were fucking cops and hunters, Andrea! That’s why they get the guns right now, not because they’re better than us, or whatever the hell story you’ve told yourself.”

“Then I should be trained the way they were,” she said. “Before they took it from me, I had my own gun for years-”

“After what you did today, I hope you never get your hands on another gun! You put every one of those guys in danger today. What if your aim was further off, huh? What if you shot Glenn? Or Rick? You could have killed him right in front of his boy! Right after Carl got back on his feet, doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Of course it does!”

“Are you sure?” The sun was beating down on your back. The heat of its rays added to the roiling in your gut, making sweat drip down the side of your face and pool on your lower back. Its slick had your t-shirt clinging to you. “Are you really sure? ‘Cause if your shit aim was a half an inch better, you would have killed him today! One of our own. And you’re acting like you barely care- you’re here apologizing to me?”

“You’re closest to him,” she grumbled. “I was trying to be-”

You spoke over her meaningless words. “Daryl is an asset to this group. He keeps us safe, feeds us- he was coming back from looking for Sophia and what thanks does he get? A fucking bullet to the head. You took down a good man today-”

“I thought he was a walker!” Andrea screamed in defense.

“So what?” Your throat ached from its work and Andrea flinched. You forced a calming breath before you continued slowly and deliberately, hoping some of your words would actually stick in her head. “We are so lucky we’re allowed on this property. That we found this doctor.”

“I know.”

“And he asked one thing in return. No guns. You were told by Rick, by Shane- no guns. You saw- you thought you saw one walker and you waste a bullet on it? That one gunshot could have led a whole herd to this house, Andrea. What would have happened then?”

“I get it, okay?”

“I don’t think you do. Four men went out there to take down that walker. They explicitly told you not to shoot that gun. And you did it anyway. And for what? Pride?”

She stared at you. Then she shrugged flippantly. “I wanted to do it. I knew I could do it.”

“Well, I hope it was worth it to you.”

***

Shane whistled again from his spot in the window. “If we ever need a lawyer, she’s the one.”

Daryl laid his head back on the pillow after holding it in the air to listen carefully to your argument. His cheeks, ears, neck and chest were hot and flushed from your words about him.

“She still down there?” he asked.

“No,” Rick said. He rounded the foot of the bed and walked towards the door of the bedroom. “I’ll go check on her. She’ll wanna know you’re alright.”

“He’s red as a tomato,” Shane said, slapping Daryl’s foot, “but alive, right Daryl?”

“Barely,” he grumbled.

***

It was Lori who found you first. She grabbed your wrist and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Daryl’s okay,” she said. “You can go up and see him now.”

You ran your palms up over your cheeks and into your hair, feeling the sweat that had gathered. You sighed. “Maybe later. He should probably rest.”

“He was askin’ for you,” Rick said, appearing behind Lori with a hand on the small of her back. “Go on up.”

At that, you nodded and headed for the bedroom.

Miraculously, you didn’t run into anyone else as you made your way through the house. You would have been embarrassed to see one of the Greenes after what had gone down today in the pasture or even after scolding Andrea, whether anyone had heard you or not.

You couldn’t quite get yourself to open the bedroom door, even as you stood before it, hand on the knob. There was no talking or snoring or shifting of sheets from the inside and you debated if you would be a disturbance or a comfort to whatever mood you’d meet inside.

Finally, at length, you pushed it open.

Daryl was shirtless, legs tangled in the thin sheets on the large bed. He only took up a small portion of it, though he was laying almost diagonally across it so he could watch the door. Of course he and his tracker’s ears had heard you open it. He looked at you with narrowed eyes.

“Hey killer,” he said.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t even.”

You stood in the doorway, watching him. His arm was tucked tight under his head as he looked away from you and down into the sheets. He tucked them up all around him, blocking his injury and most of his skin from view. You knew why, but ignored it. You instead stared at the bandage tied around his head. It made his short hair stick up wildly, like a bloody coyote in the woods.

“You wanna be alone, or you want me to stay?” you asked, hanging onto the doorknob.

He shrugged. “Dun matter ta me.”

That was the closest to a yes you were ever going to get. You closed the door behind you with a soft click and walked to the emptier side of the bed to sit on its edge. “You need anything? Water, or-”

“Got it,” he said, blindly pointing to the nightstand beside the bed.

“Kay.” The air in the room was hot, but since the sun was setting lower and lower each minute, you knew there’d be a breeze blowing through the lacy curtains soon enough. You wiped your brow again. “How are you feeling?”

“‘Bout as bad as I look.”

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

You breathed out a laugh. “You looked like death itself before, though, so this is an upgrade.”

He glared at you, but it was playful. For him, you knew it was. “Well, I was shot.”

“Yeah.”

You swallowed hard at the reminder. Next to his glass of water was the bowl and cloth you’d brought to him earlier. You reached for it now, wringing it out some before bringing it to his forehead which was as damp with sweat as yours was.

“What else happened out there?”

“Nuthin’,” he said, shrugging off the cloth.

You didn’t budge and asked again. “You look rough, Dare. Herschel said there was something with your side too? I saw all the blood.”

He was quiet, attention again on the sheets as you dabbed at his forehead and cheeks. There was still blood on his chin and grime on his neck- mud and something else you didn’t care to guess at. You stopped at his shoulders. It was clear he didn’t want you looking anywhere near his chest or back, buried in the sheets.

Then you noticed him watching you.

“You…”

“Hm?” you pushed.

“You were worried? ‘Bout… ‘bout me.”

“Of course I was. Still am. You’re one of us, we’re all worried-”

“I fell. And a couple’a walkers found me.”

Panic shot through you like lightning, branching through your veins and up your limbs. “Walkers?” No one told you. No one said anything about a bite or scratch or anything- “Is that, the injury on your side, it’s from a walker?”

“No,” he was quick to correct. “Nah, I fought ‘em off. Didn’t get me.” “Christ,” you whispered. You squeezed your eyes shut, desperate to keep the unshed tears stuck in your eyes.

“When I fell down the cliff, I took an arrow through my back.”

It didn’t-couldn’t-register. “You fell down a cliffside?”

“Twice.”

That was all you could take. The emotion, the stress and panic of the day, of the weeks past, caught up to you in one drowning swell. You felt your lips tremble and tried to keep them shut up tight, tried to count the bumps in the washcloth still in your hands, dripping on the knee of your jeans.

“Ay,” Daryl said, gruffly. He took the washcloth from you and smacked your arm with it before tossing it near its bowl. “Dun do that. Dun- dun cry fer me-”

“Argentina?”

“Wha?”

It made you laugh. It was a wet, snotty laugh and the curve of your cheek pushed out a fat tear that carved its way down your face. “It’s a song,” you said.

“Don’t start singin’ neither.”

You chuckled again, losing more tears and the fight to not cry in front of Daryl.

With a painful grunt, he moved himself on the bed, opening a spot for you. He patted the empty space, mumbling. “Come on.”

You kicked off your boots and laid down on the bed, mirroring him. One arm supported your head, while the other tucked tight against you, keeping to your own space as you looked at him. His teeth dug into his lip over and over as he studied the hair and freckles on his arm as if he’d never seen it before.

“Were you scared?” you whispered.

After a long while, narrowed blue eyes met yours and he nodded.

“Out there alone.” Your voice broke, shaking with the tight breath in your chest.

“S’alright. M’back now.”

You flopped on your back, away from him for a chance to breathe. You were losing your grip and you didn’t want to break in front of him. You were there to support him, not force him into comforting you. But the thought of him in fear and suffering alone was stubbornly lodged in your throat.

“When I was out there climbin,’ that’s what I was thinkin’ ‘bout,” Daryl said. “Thought ‘bout comin’ back. Seein’ ya. Knew I had ta get back.”

His words hung in the air. They were soft and open, his voice less harsh than usual.

“That’s right,” you said. Using the collar of your t-shirt, as sweaty and dirty as it was, you wiped the tear tracks from your face and cleared your eyes.

“Now we both look bad as I feel,” Daryl said.

“Shut up,” you said. But you laughed.

The air felt clearer now. It wasn’t so stifling hot and you watched the transparent curtains dance in the breeze coming in through the window. Again, you turned to him, laying on your side, able to study him more. Daryl, however, seemed like he couldn’t bear the attention. His flitting gaze fell on just about everything in the room except you until he seemed to settle upon the safety of the bare ceiling above, studying it as if it were a map to a hidden treasure. Like a cure to the world’s mess.

“You okay?” you finally asked.

“Did you mean it? What ya said?”

“When?”

One of his hands flew up, gesturing toward the window. “Earlier. To Andrea.”

You hummed, lips glued together for a moment. “You heard all that?”

He chuckled. “Loud and clear. She deserved it.”

“Mm. Just lost my temper.”

He grunted, agreeing. “But’cha- what ya said ‘bout me.” He struggled for the words, throat and mouth working for the right thing to ask. “Said I was a good man, ya mean that?”

“Of course.” You sat up, moving your face into his line of vision. You made him look at you. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it. And I wouldn’t be here with you right now if I didn’t think it.” Your fingertips grazed his skin, tickling down his cheek until they turned the other way, your knuckles running the same path for good measure. “You are a good man. I see you. I see the things you do and no matter how much you like to hide it, I know you have a big heart. I’ve seen it.” You gave him a soft shove on the shoulder, teasing. While you were there, close to him, you brushed the hair off his forehead before returning your hands to yourself and laying back flat on the bed.

He grunted and pressed his lips together, staring at where your face had been, the spot that was just the bare ceiling now. Then he shrugged away from you and turned to the opposite wall and grumbled, “S’not what I asked, girl.”

“Gave ya some extra bang for your buck, that’s all,” you said. When he didn’t turn or even chuckle, you bent towards the floor for your boots. “Want me to go? So you can get some rest?”

He gave you nothing in answer. You at least hoped he heard what you said, took it to heart. But, you thought, that’s what you get for blubbering all over his bed. Only slightly bothered, you leaned towards the nightstand to see if he had enough water for the evening. Then, you’d leave-

“Dun haf’ta go,” he mumbled.

“Oh.”

“So long as ya don’t go all girly ga-ga on me again.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as he peeked at you over his shoulder. “You mean telling you that I actually care about you? Then don’t go tryin’ to die on me again.”

He flopped over. “Ya think I wanted to fall off the damn cliff? Fuckin’ horse threw me off.”

Setting your boots back down, you settled into the bed next to him. “Horse shoot you with your own crossbow too?”

“You shut your mouth, girl.”

“Mhmm.” you hummed, grinning.

Like two parallel beings, you laid opposite each other, close, but not touching. You used your own arm for a pillow and tucked yourself under the sheet of the bed. Daryl looked past you, as if watching the door as another breeze blew through the room.

“Here,” he said, shimmying up towards the head of the bed and sliding the arm of his uninjured side under your head. You laid close, tucking your arms into your chest so only your elbows and your knees crossed over into Daryl’s space.

At least, it was that way until he leaned down into you, resting his chin on your forehead and letting his other arm drop over your side. You let loose a sigh at the touch- he’d made it back.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead daryl #twd #twd daryl dixon #daryl twd #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #the walking dead #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead Daryl dixon #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead Daryl dixon x reader #my writing #daryl dixon comfort

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greatooglymooglyyy · 2 months

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Family Ties (Chris Sturniolo)

contains: fluff, kissing, general sweetest, meeting y/n's family, cussing, a bit of suggestive language, 900+ words

a/n: hehe the brother is so based on mine. i hope y'all like this cus i think it's cute.

“What do I get out of it?”

My little brother gives me a smug little grin that I’m just dying to wipe off his face. But sadly, I need him on my side tonight. I cross my arms and give him a death glare.

“20.”

“50.”

“30.”

“Make it 35. Isn’t your boyfriend rich or something?”

I roll my eyes at his stupidity and stick out my pinky finger for him to shake. He glances from my finger to my face for a couple of seconds in disbelief. “God, you’re such a nerd.” He mutters before latching pinkies with me and shaking once.

“Okay, dickhead. No bringing up my exes. No scaring him off. And if Mom or Dad start getting too embarrassing, you throw me a Hail Mary.”

He rolls his eyes but nods. “Poor guy. He’s gotta wait a little longer to find out you’re a freak of nature, I guess.”

I buck at him and he flinches causing me to grin. “Eleven years old and still a bit-”

“I’m thirteen, you asshole.”

“Aren’t you a little short for a twelve-year-old?”

“Thirt- You know what. Just for that, I’m telling the story about when you pissed on that roller coaster.”

“Alright. Chill-”

********************

I hear a knock on the door and jump up before my parents can bombard Chris. I swing it open and he’s standing there looking calm as ever. God, I wish I had his energy right now. I step outside and close the door behind me, stepping into his arms and reaching up for a kiss. He smiles against my lips and then pulls away, brushing my hair from my face.

“You look nervous.” He teases lightly. I tilt my head and give him a duh face and he laughs. “They’re gonna love me.”

“Well, of course. How could they not? You’re just so humble.”

“And handsome-”

“And down to earth-”

“And so in love with their daughter.” He gives me his best cheesy smile at this and I roll my eyes, pretending that didn’t almost take me out the game.

“Okay, come on, you fucking cornball.” I joke, slipping my hand in his. He tugs my hand, stopping me before I can open the door, and leans down to kiss me again quickly.

“Alright, now we can go.”

*******************

“Do you want to see her sixth-grade talent show?” My mom says excitedly, reaching over to turn the page of the photo album Chris is holding. I look over at my brother giving him my “help me right the fuck now” eyes and he interrupts before Chris can respond.

“Chris, you game at all?”

I breathe a sigh of relief and remind myself to go extra hard on his birthday gift this year. Chris sits up a little straighter, clearly excited, as my brother and he start up a conversation about “prime Fortnite.” Losers. My dad chimes in about how they haven’t lived until they’ve played the Nintendo 64 and my mom and I share a long-suffering look. She stands to head to the kitchen and I follow her out, leaving the boys to talk.

I stand next to her by the sink, watching her start to rinse off dishes for a second then nudge her shoulder with mine so she looks at me.

“So?”

She turns to me smiling brightly. “He’s sweet. I can tell he’s a good kid. And you look so happy. Every five seconds, you’re smiling up at him like he hung the stars, my love. But the best part? He’s looking right back at you the same way.” I look at her stunned for a second and drop my head on her shoulder, a little embarrassed.

“I love you, mom.” She pats the side of my head, pulling me closer.

“You played hockey? No shit! I damn near went to the NHL, I was so good in my day. C’mon. You, me, field hockey outside right now.”

My dad’s booming voice pulls me right out of the moment and I spin on my heels to go rescue my boyfriend.

**********************

“It was so nice to meet you guys,” Chris says with a genuine smile, reaching to give Mom a hug.

“You just come right on back whenever you want that ass-whooping, son.” My dad says, throwing a fake haymaker which Chris fake dodges with a laugh. He turns to my brother and daps him up. “You got my gamertag, right.” My brother gives him an enthusiastic nod, looking the most excited I’ve seen him in a while.

“Hell yeah, bro. Hop on Fortnite later.” Chris nods and I pull him to the door before they can start back up. As soon as we step outside, I jump up into his arms and pepper kisses all over his face. He laughs, wrapping his arms tightly around me and walking us to his car.

“Thank you for being a good sport, Chris. They love you.”

He lowers me back to the ground and smiles down at me throwing me a fake cocky shrug.

“I told you, I’m good like that.”

I roll my eyes, step closer to him, and whisper low, “You want to see what I’m good at?”

He raises his eyebrows and then picks me up again, carrying me to the passenger seat as I shriek and laugh.

"Hell yeah, I need a full demonstration.”

#sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo oneshot #sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo oneshots #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo x you #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo fandom #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo

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yxami · 4 months

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RAAAAH my first request omg

ethans reaction to reader cheering him on one of his games and even wearing his spare jersey that he "forgot" (oh so conveniently) at their place the last time they hung out

- 🐰

Hope u enjoy!! Sorry for the wait

description: yandere jock x gn reader, somewhat of an established relationship, more like a undisclosed “we fuck each other but can’t get with anyone else” type of thing, fluff with yandere jock, he isn’t really yandere yet other than jealousy issues, I had to google football things 24/7

(I’ll also include this ask since I got so many Ethan asks that are pretty similar or able to combine in one story)

Even from afar you could still see how Ethan basked in the attention, the support of his many fans, and the harsh football lighting. You wondered if he was any different from when you first met him.

Yeah he softened up, a lot actually, but did that mean he’d stay loyal to you? He could’ve gone with anyone, it was a little odd for him to go after the person he’d tease and torment for fun.

It could’ve been for a different reason of fun, something quite deeper than that, a sort of emotion you wouldn’t be able to predict that he felt. Love.

Love for you? That’s ridiculous, this was just a friends with benefits type of thing, right? You internally groaned at being lost in thought over him. Just enjoy the game, you came here to watch him, not worry about whether he likes you or not.

Even proudly wearing his freshly washed jersey for the occasion, you could notice a few jealous and envious glares at the familiar number that many would dote over it. 2 was your lucky number, ironic that it was his jersey number.

He coincidentally left it at your place a few times, but you had always given it back much to his hidden dismay. And today, you were finally wearing it, it made his heart jump when he first saw you.

“Aaand Ethan Cortez making a run for the end zone, will he get a touch down?? It looks like number 10 is sneaking up on him as we speak!!” The speaker boomed dialogue about the game, quickly allowing the game to resume without it until an important event would unfold.

His lungs pounded with demand for air, something that he ignored until he was inches from the zone, desperate to impress you he made an effort he wouldn’t usually go as far to do when he’s this tired.

He managed to slip out an enemies grab right before he made the last winning touchdown. He slammed the football down, almost hitting himself in the process but it flung right next to him instead.

Ethan was crowded by his teammates in the matter of seconds, as quick as they could come they started hollering about how good he was, almost ready to carry him up and run around the field with him on top.

After he dabbed up what seemed to be all of his teammates he looked around. Where were you? Now that his eyes weren’t focused on you for as many seconds as possible, he couldn’t find you. He had forgotten where you were sat.

Until you popped up behind him, slinging your arms around his neck when he turned around, his expression was switched in the matter of seconds when he saw you.

“You won! I’m so happy” You relished in being carried by him with one arm around your back except for when you noticed people were staring so you laughed and told him to put you down. You didn’t want to receive anymore stares that you were already getting in the hallways for being so close to him.

“What? You shying down on me?” He curls his arm around your waist, bringing you up, and with a tilt of the head kissed your cheek. “I think I deserve a few more moments after I tried so hard for you” He pouted, sly behavior now dying down to a puppy like one.

“Alright, how about we go to the concession stand?” You compromised, looking at the bright decorated area, with pictures of what they sold. You were craving a drink and some snacks after watching the game for such a long period of time.

He nods, setting you down back on the soft grass, letting you escape from the embarrassment of people judging, even though it would still continue even afterwards. As the two of you make it to the stand, he remembers something, he had forgotten his water bottle on the bench, the one you had given him.

“I gotta go grab something, do you mind waiting for a quick second” He frowns in a displeased manner, surprised that he left it there, he hoped nobody would try snatching it just because he was drinking from it throughout the game. He knew he had some irregular fans.

You shake your head, getting a kiss on your forehead from him before he jogs off to go get it.

While you waited you looked at the menu placed above the stand, you stood a bit away as to not disturb the small line. You felt an arm tap your shoulder, you turned to the source just to realize it wasn’t Ethan but a different guy.

Looked like some other gym lover judging by his muscles that were more defined with his plain black t shirt.

“Hey, sorry to bother, but I thought you were really cute and I wanted to ask for your number” He smiled, a toothy grin popping out, he was cute, you’d admit that, but you were sort of taken?

“Oh, I’m sorry I’m umm.. sort of with someone? It’s kinda complicated” You attempted to elaborate but it just came out as jumbled words in your mind so you closed your mouth after.

“Complicated? So you’re not officially seeing someone?” He pushed his lips in a way that extenuated his curious look, eyebrows raising slightly.

“Well, not officially but.. I can’t really date anyone in the moment because of it” You hoped that was a good enough explanation that would make him lose hope and walk off. You knew that Ethan was definitely not the patient type of person when it came to other guys.

“So not with someone though? Surely you won’t mind having my number?” He seems relentless, and it didn’t seem annoying at first but now it did, why couldn’t he just accept that you couldn’t?

“I would” Ethan appears, now towering over you and the guy. “If you gotta push for a number that means it’s a no, you’re not that dumb are you?” His scoff only furthers his annoyed demeanor, crossing his arms and eyebrow perking on whether this guy would try something.

“I don’t think I was asking you was I? It’s not your fucking business anyways” The stranger laughs, sizing him up and down. You knew this was going to end terribly so you say Ethan’s name a couple of times, wanting him to notice the worry on your face and just leave with you before this escalated but he just ignored you.

He would never ignore you on normal circumstances, but right now this guy was pissing him off and he couldn’t help but deal with him before he listened you.

“And if I make it my business? What’re you going to do? I want you to do something about it” He laughs, daring him to try something when he clearly had the advantage, skills and fighting wise.

“No, I’m serious. throw a punch, see what happens” He speaks up again, clearly amused for what this guy might attempt to do.

A few moments of silence goes by, just a small chuckle from the strange guy who approached you before he swung on Ethan‘s face but being blocked by his forearm.

A quick fist fight is ensued, Ethan knocks his opponent right off his feet, he managed to land a punch on his face before he beat the guys face in. The crowd that immediately formed around gasped and recorded, suprised laughter ensuing throughout.

The fight or should you say beating ended quickly after, Ethan ended up getting pulled off by two of his teammates, the two being his best friends.

After that, you didn’t see him or that guy, you were worried that he got in trouble and it might’ve made him look bad because he immediately won and it could’ve looked like an unprovoked attack.

You texted him a few times but soon realized he probably didn’t have his phone or it was silenced, maybe already getting a scolding from the principal and his parents. You really hoped he would be alright but you couldn’t help but be angry at him for not listening to you when you practically begged him not to fight.

Once he finally turned up you made sure to let him know you were mad.

“Cmon, please look at me, I’m sorry..!” He begs, now shifted on his knees as he presses his lower half against your legs hanging off the side of the bed. “I know you told me to not do it but I was upset and.. and all worked up cuz’ of the game and winnin’”

He had hardly any bruises on his face, just a bruised lip formed into a pout and a faint one on his cheek so you knew the other guy had it worse.

“You should’ve listened to me, but I’m not that mad, I was just worried about you” You softly sigh, patting his head as he still continued to hug your legs, looking pathetic on purpose so you’d take pity on him.

“Really? I’m so happy, I’m sorry I’ll listen to you next time I swear” He rambles, almost knocking you down as he stood up to hug you, heavy but comforting, you let him lay on you for a more few moments. He definitely learned his lesson.

#yxami’s yam #yandere #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #male yandere #yandere imagines #pls request #yandere scenarios #gn reader #soft yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x gn reader #yandere x darling #yandere soft #yandere jock #yandere jock oc #ethanmyoc

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cryptotheism · 1 year

Text

Lilly: Good morning New Babel, you're listening to Screw Loose, your favorite early-morning exo rig and rig maintenance rig show this side of the white river, I'm Lilly.

The Bear: And I'm the Bear, and you- are on the air. What can we help you with?

Caller: Howdy girls! Togen, from the South Teykile. I've got a bit of a mystery for ya, I was hoping you could help me solve it.

Lilly: Oh lovely! I think we're ready to sleuth.

The Bear: What the problem doll?

Togen: So I'm a boatwright. About a month ago, I'm on the job in a Wylan Mastiff UD-940. I'm lifting a panel of ship-chitin that weighs maybe 1000 kilograms, and I can feel the exhaust channels getting hot.

The Bear: Uh oh.

Lilly: Uh oh indeed.

Togen: I figure I'm overcycling, but the Mastiff can pull 1000kg easy right? So I put down the panel, and suddenly, BOOM! Radiator explodes right out of the chassis! I can hear the I-bolts ping against field tech's facemask!

[Both hosts begin to laugh]

Lilly: Huh!?

The Bear: Okay okay hold on a second-

Togen: I've got an insulated undersuit, but the radiator is just full-on burning at this point. Now, I'm not about to jump into the Occimedian with my rig on, so I slam the emergency kill. So now I'm lyin there, facefirst on the dock, hollerin for the other idiots to put me out!

The Bear: You had an extinguisher right?

Lilly: Maybe someone had a drink?

Togen: Well...Okay so get this. The yard has an extinguisher. That's union. But before someone could grab it, one of the boys uh, relieves himself, on the radiator.

[The hosts are silent for a moment, but can't keep it going. Lilly snorts loudly as she laughs.]

Togen: Hey it worked! Problem is, the damn thing hasn't been running right ever since. I replaced the radiator that evening, but for some reason I'm only getting about 70, 80 percent torque when I lift, but its only from certain positions. I've taken the thing to two different shops at this point, and they both said that everything looked fine. I’m at the end of my rope here ladies, can you help me?

Lilly: Sleuthing hats on!

The Bear: Well sir, I think I know what your problem is. You set yourself on fire, and then someone pissed on you.

Lilly: Yeah! Just tell the boys at your local rig shop, they'll know what to do.

[The hosts pause for a moment, deliberating]

The Bear: Well damn Togen, you've given us two mysteries for the price of one.

Lilly: First, we gotta figure out why your radiator exploded. Then, we gotta figure out why your lift capacity is damaged. Okay, replacing the radiator was the right call, did you have them look at the recycler?

Togen: Yeah, when the first guy said it was fine, I took it to the second shop, and they said the recycler was probably running cold in the early morning air, you know, building up heat in the radiator.

[lilly scoffs]

The Bear: That guy didn’t know what he was talking about. The recycler generates a ton of heat. While your rig is live, they’re actually floating in coolant because they generate so much heat.

Lilly: Hmmm. Did you have any custom work on the Mastiff before it exploded?

Togen: Yeah. Lets see…I had the 8-cell replaced with a 10-cell, added a fluid circulator, and full weatherizing. Tubes, seals, soles, the works.

The Bear: The weatherizing, synthetic or biosynthetic?

Togen: Biosynthetic ma’am.

The Bear: Here’s what I think happened. Whoever shopped your rig under-tightened the bolts, and used overripe sealant. See, the biosynth sealant that Wylan uses is self-repairing, and it feeds on heat. I bet that when they replaced your power supply, they left a gap, so the sealant started growing into your radiator channel, sealed it up like a pressure cooker and BOOM.

Lilly: Okay love, when you try squatting to pick something up in the rig, is there chugging from the leg hydraulics? Or is it more like the force just hits a wall at 70%?

Togen: There’s definitely chugging.

The Bear: Have you checked the tubing rings? You might’ve vented some heat onto them during the explosion, caused a hairline breach?

Lilly: Bearie dear I have a hunch. If he burned the rings he’d know. They’d pop right out as soon as he tried to squat. Follow me here.

The Bear: Uh oh.

Lilly: [starting to laugh] No! Listen! Okay you said you added a fluid circulator right?

Togen: Yes ma’am.

Lilly: Listen! Okay! Love! Here’s what I think happened! So urine has both salt and uric acid in it right? Both corrosive substances. I’d bet my bonnet that when you hit your kill switch, it took a moment or two for the circulator to spin down. There was probably already some urine in your radiator. That urine had enough time to get circulated into your hydraulics, where it’s been sitting, corroding your internal glide sheathes.

The Bear: [laughing] Oh my lord that has to be it. Yes. Yes! That has to be it! Here’s what you’re gonna do, doll. You’re gonna take it to the local garage. You’re ask them for a total flush. Your biosynthetics should heal within a week.

Lilly: And while you’re there, have them check the I-bolts on the new radiator chassis!

The Bear: How’s that sound doll?

Togen: Well gosh ladies, I’m gonna be honest. The boys at the shop yard have a betting pool on just what was wrong with the rig, and I think all of us might owe the two of you some money. Thank you so much!

[The hosts laugh]

The Bear: Good luck doll!

Lilly: Thanks for your call!

[The show transitions to commercial]

(If you want to read the full novel in this universe, Amber Skies is linked in my pinned post)

#amber Skies #Screw Loose

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

Text

Anhedonia 1/2

Word count: 5,5 k (part 1) and 4,4 k (part 2)

Pairing: Ghost x F!Reader Tags: SMUT 🔞🔞🔞 Literally just unadulterated, deranged filth, plot is there for decoration. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Mutual pining, sexual tension (duh), blood & injury, p in v sex, oral sex (m receiving), mutual masturbation, cum all over the place, light humiliation, dirty talk, some praise, swearing, mask stays on, fluffy/reconciliatory ending. Summary: Reader is a Task Force 141 operator and a terrible brat (and suffers the consequences of it later). Enemies to lovers/toxic relationship that takes a healthy turn in the end.

"Think you're smarter than your lieutenant? Is that it?"

"No sir."

You coat your voice with steel. Stainless, similar to the knife he has strapped to his thigh. You would lick that blade clean if he asked gently, but he's not gentle. You'd flatten your tongue on his thighs too, if he asked nicely, if there was a chance he might pet your hair while you do it – but Ghost doesn't take pets.

He only has soldiers. Subordinates.

- - - - - - - - -

He's a mountain you want to climb.

A peak you wish to conquer.

But there's no basecamp, nothing to hold on to. You learn that relatively quickly, during your first weeks under his command.

And he's good. You find yourself wondering how on earth the man's not a captain by now. Perhaps they want to keep him on the field, because he earns his alias every day. He's a shadow no one sees before it's too late, he impregnates his enemies with bullets. Dead silent as he does it, or if he's in the mood, prefers to drive thick, sharp steel between the soft spot behind the collarbone.

It's ridiculous how your eyes steal their way to his left hand as soon as he rids himself of those skeleton gloves. To catch if there's a ring, a warning sign that he's taken.

He's not.

He notices – you're caught red handed. Caught like a fly in a web.

So you decide to go cold on him. Prove that it was just a sweep of a gaze, not a probe, a giveaway.

"Think you're smarter than your lieutenant?"

You're doing it now as he questions you, tries to bully you into submission. You guide your eyes right behind the top of his head, which makes it seem you're looking at him although you're not.

And it drives him crazy.

"Is that it?"

It's the first time you're here, in a silent office booming with his barks. But you know you're under scrutiny from now on. Caught his attention, just like you wanted to with that little stunt of yours.

"No sir."

You coat your voice with steel. Stainless, similar to the knife he has strapped to his thigh. You would lick that blade clean if he asked gently, but he's not gentle.

You'd flatten your tongue on his thighs too, if he asked nicely, if there was a chance he might pet your hair while you do it – but Ghost doesn't take pets. He only has soldiers. Subordinates.

You pull your gaze down to his at last, allow him to see the yawning hunger in your stare before you blink it away.

He draws air through the mask, and you wonder if the skull he's sewn onto the black textile came from a real human.

"Dismissed."

- - - - - - - - -

At some point, you notice that Ghost isn't just a good commander. He's a man on a powertrip, and a fucking bully.

He treats you different, like you’re made of glass. You’re a fresh arrival, but you’re also the only woman on his team, so you figure your Lt is just a good old “gentleman”. You’re always the last to enter a stormed building and the first to get back on the plane. You almost hope there would be some hazing, a rite of passage, but there’s only plentitude of cold shoulder, a roaring lack of trust in your abilities.

You pull more stunts. Clear his upstairs, take some bullets for him - and he doesn't even notice. It’s just that you didn’t know there would be a bomb planted in there as well. The warning comes right after you’re done cleaning.

"Wha' are you doin' - get outta there…!" He does forget to swear, and you notice too late that his accent grows thicker when he's worried. To the marrow of his bones, you would say, but that assumption would be even thicker than his Mancunian – to expect that he cares a single flying fuck about you.

He only wants to stay out of it. Doesn't want blood all over his hands, go to sleep with the knowledge that some kindly relatives get a death notification of a soldier that used to belong to him.

Maybe that's why he's the first to arrive - how the hell is a man so huge capable of being so quick? - to assess the damage.

"What the fuck have I told you-" he starts before he sees the state you're in. Half of your left sleeve blown and burnt off, revealing second-degree burns and jagged skin. The side of your hip bruised by shrapnels, some of the fragments tickling inside the flesh, ugly debris that will soon cause an infection or worse. You'd still say you got out lucky.

"I dunno. What have you told me?"

I did well, didn't I?

You lie there like it's nothing, back against a half crumbled wall and a spoil of bodies around you. Victorious, because your body is the only one that's still breathing. If anyone else had done this, he would praise them on a job well done, on the site, on the spot. With a lighter tone to that charred voice. Then call for a medic.

But inside, you're feeling cold. You disobeyed orders, so there will be no praise for you. Creeping shock takes you with it as the ice seeps further into your chest and your arms start to tremble.

By the look of it, you'd say he's infuriated.

But that doesn't stop you from laughing when you see the look in his eyes, the only part of him that shows skin, shows emotion behind all that gear and ombre of his mask.

Blood bubbles on your lips, coating pearl white teeth in crimson froth.

Shit… Things are far worse than you thought.

And he blinks. Scans what you can't force your own eyes to look at. The reason why you're gurgling blood.

A tiredness spreads through your limbs, so profound that it surpasses even his usual state of exhaustion. You barely discern how beautiful those pale, almost white eyelashes are against all that darkness.

Something inside you breaks, gives in to the cold. It allows his stare to pass right through. It grips your heart and soothes your wounds.

You almost tell him he would be a fine leader if he wasn't such an asshole.

"Haul me back, will you, Lt?"

He's struck silent, like the blood on your lips and the manic laughter had weaved a spell that binds him mute.

His arm twitches, disguises the jolt into a motion to reach and lift you up, not in a fireman's carry, but close to his chest; bridal style, like you're his heart's chosen one.

You tell yourself it's only the shock speaking. He carries you like this because of the gut wound.

- - - - - - - - -

"You tryin' to get yourself killed or you just wanna end your career?"

He sits next to your bed while you wake up, high on opioids and tied to an IV.

Nice to see you too.

He leans on his elbows, legs spread wide, and with an annoyingly soft look inside the sockets of that skull. It almost fools you: that he might actually care. And of course he does. Just not about you. Only about his own reputation as a superior who almost had their KIA count crawl up by one soldier.

"Hey? You still wi' me?"

You know you passed out in his arms. Only to wake up to the sound of his voice: in a bed less staunch than his embrace, as you notice to your horror.

You wonder whether he had ever even left you. Whether he had sat on that chair as a hulking sentinel for hours. Or days. The thought makes you more drowsy and content than the morphine running through your veins. The odd intimacy falsely makes it seem that this is not an interrogation, but a hushed discussion between teammates. Friends, dare say.

"What have I done wrong this time," you sigh, more as a statement; but he answers a question.

"You didn't obey orders."

"I did, I tried to get out as soon as-"

"Don't get me started on how ya ended up there in the first place." He raises his voice, an order for you to stuff your explanations up your arse. Under his breath, he continues. "A fuckin' poor excuse for a soldier..."

Bright, searing light flashes before your eyes as you hear what he never even meant to be a silent whisper for his ears only.

"You're a fucking bully," you croak a weak, dry rasp, voice coated with tension like a string about to snap in two.

And it shuts him up. For a second or two, at least.

"If that's what it takes to get you to obey orders then I'm happy to be one."

"Happy?" You feign a laugh, then wince when you feel a blunt pain between your ribs. "Do you even know what happiness is?"

He leaves.

- - - - - - - - -

"You feelin' better?"

He stops you at the base as you brush past him like he doesn't even exist. He's standing wide and tall as you turn, hands clasped in front of him. Over his cock, you can't help but notice.

Some distant voice tries to tell you that he only tries to offer you a truce. But even the idea of Ghost worrying about your health makes your stomach turn.

"Yeah, had a nice little vacation from your barking. I'm feeling splendid."

He gives you a once over with a gaze turned steel.

"You better quit with that tone, soldier."

"Or what?"

You take a step, and notice he has to fight some urge – to back away, or to take a step forward to meet you, you cannot say. It encourages you to start some shit. It makes you want to throw caution to the wind and rip out his throat.

"You better quit with the fucking bullying 'cause it doesn't work on me. Try something else for a change. Sir."

The hallway echoes with your piercing spurt of words. You sound childish, but he takes it all in like a sponge. Stands taller still, looks down at you like a dark, unwavering maw.

You expect more barking. Furious shouting, spit flying if it wasn't for his mask. You expect a slap – no, a fist to your face, or a giant hand clamped around your throat to remind you of your place.

You expect him to threaten you with being dismissed for fucking good.

But instead, the wide blown eyes get half covered with heavy lids, smudged paint running to the creases to reveal how pale his skin is under all that black. The liquid in his stare turns to solid glass, but not before you catch a flash of chutzpah.

- - - - - - - - -

The following week is horrid.

He treats you like a princess. And not just when you're alone with him – precious few seconds, barely a minute every now and then – but when you're at work. On the field.

He humiliates you in front of your teammates. Showers you with attention and praise.

Tries something else for a change.

You come back soaked and shaky, barge into your room only to send fingers down as soon as you're out of your gear and cleaned up. You think about his hands, the forearms covered in faded ink and bulged veins and the muscles that bunch as he tucks a gun against his shoulder. You think about his stare that locks gazes with you as he leans back against the hull of a plane, you replay his voice in your head, the thick smoke that loses all blaze and cools down into soft embers as he asks if you're in position.

Everyone else can hear his purr, everyone is thinking by now that the two of you got something going on. Everyone else gets unemotional distance and professional sharpness.

You come against your fingertips, so wet that it's difficult to rub through the afterwaves with precision. You're near the point of tearing up as you stifle the moans which threaten to echo all the way to the hallway, betraying your desperate longing for his cock.

You would get in position for him if he was just a tad nicer, if there was any promise of those cruel arms holding you after.

After only a few days of hearing his feigned care and concern through the comms, you march into his office.

"I'm fucking done with you," you slam the door shut so no one else has to hear how you unload weeks of frustration on him.

"Is that so?"

You feel like you're a storm, an entire tornado in one woman, but he remains calm, doesn't even bother to get up from the leisurely position he's in – on a chair far too small for him. Plucks you like a chord, nibs at you like a wound that tries to heal into a scar but is not allowed to.

"You just want me to quit this shit, don't you? Is it because I'm a girl?"

You hear yourself breathe, know he's thinking you're hysterical. He asserts dominance simply by not taking any part in this absurd little fit of yours.

"What the fuck have I ever done to you?"

You think it's a reasonable enough question, that he is a man who would welcome tearing down every last scene of this stupid charade too. But he merely stares at you, calm as he ever can be. Spreads his legs further apart, and you catch a bulge – it's difficult to tell, because he's wearing field pants and not jeans, but you can almost swear the motion is meant to disguise a swelling erection.

And even the concept, the idea of him getting off on you screaming at him and making yourself a fool after he has just humiliated you, causes something to crash and burn.

"You're just a psycho," you accuse, not being able to come up with anything better. His eyes narrow with a smile, tired pools of brown that tell you he thinks the exact same thing of you, especially when you're the one who's freaking out here. Getting wounded and losing your shit during the first few months on the job.

The look could be mistaken as affectionate, but you know he's just tired. The smile makes him look slightly drunk – and not with love.

"Then what does that make you?"

You blink and stare, blink and stare, just like you have always done with him when he's being a dodgy asshole.

"The fuck do you mean?"

"No need to play games with me, luv."

Your chest is heaving. Your heart is pounding. Saliva pools into your mouth before you send it down with a throat-wrenching swallow.

Luv.

You're caught, wrestling and strangling in his web, and you know it – he knows it.

"What games," you still try, try your all to make him break first although you already know that's not going to happen in a million years.

"I know ya want my cock."

"Huh- wha-..." You stutter like a moron at first, then find your English again. "Excuse me?"

"Want it so bad I bet you're wet even now."

It only adds to your shame that it takes you a moment.

"I'm out of here."

He laughs.

He fucking laughs as you go.

The waves of darkness follow you to the door. And the thing is, you're unable to leave. You march away with horror in your chest, with weak legs and an aching cunt and a burning heart, but none of it makes you turn the knob.

"You forgot something?"

His voice is molten, burning velvet, and your stomach lurches, your pussy throbs.

"It's right here if ya want it."

You quiver a sigh, turn slowly, the sound of squeaking boot soles on the vinyl floor being a fitting melody to how your will finally breaks in half.

Everything bends under his searing gaze, and you're still breathing like you had just run a mile, your heart pounding in your ears instead of your chest where it belongs.

"What happens if I do? Want it?"

Your heart can be heard in your question which shimmers between you until he drops one giant hand on his thigh, just a fingerbreadth away from the thick tent between his legs.

"You get fucked. Hard."

You're not smart enough to suppress the faint breath before it escapes through your teeth. The creases at the corner of his eyes deepen, they reach under the mask.

"What if I want you to be gentle?"

You sound pathetic. Weak. He doesn't buy it, doesn't understand that what you're asking is actually part true… No, your most secret wish.

"As if."

"What?"

"As if you wanted it gentle." He mocks you over and over again, and it pricks at the back of your neck, like an itch you cannot reach.

"You don't know shit about me."

"You're making it pretty hard to get to know you, sweetheart."

The term he uses eats its way through your skin like a worm, starts to fester like a spreading plague right beneath your heart.

"I'm not your sweetheart."

He cocks his head, only slightly. A gesture that reminds you of an anaconda trying to decipher whether the animal in front of them is a plaything or prey with teeth.

"Hurts my feelings when ya say that."

You don't take the bait: ridicule or point out that he has no feelings.

You just wait. The time of prancing and dancing is over, and you're tired. Worn out.

The tension of weeks, the restlessness of sleepless nights and adrenaline induced faps do not end with a seize of a wrist, a hungry kiss or him smashing you up against a wall. It all ends with him rising from the chair with a rustle of fabric and a creak of wood, and you hear yourself swallow.

I never meant to hurt your feelings, the little girl in you whispers with a puny voice, the girl who believed in fairytales as a child.

But the grown ass woman knows the man before you is only here to take what he wants, which is nothing more than to drive his cock inside your cunt. There's nothing romantic about it, he just wants to empty himself into you like he would empty a gun into unsuspecting flesh.

Still, you search for some emotion as he walks to you, some cue or clue that he has feelings too – and you want to slap yourself for it.

You square your shoulders and bring yourself down to his level, which means you have to transform yourself into a cock thirsty slut. Not that it requires much of an effort. It comes fluidly, far too easily, especially when he looks at you like he has already stripped you. Like he has done it a hundred, if not thousand times before: took your clothes off with his eyes. Traced the way your ass and breasts swell inside camos and field shirts and how they press against concrete as you take support for your aim or sit down on a plane, how the fabric stretches to curve and hug the flesh he wants to sink his hands and teeth into.

He stops a breath away, the breadth of his shoulders looming over you like a tower. A summit you can't reach.

You remember a name, something not uttered around the base, even if everyone knows it.

"Simon," you breathe, and he staggers – takes a ghost of a step as if answering a call. It turns into switching his weight on the other leg, but technically, he's closer now, close enough to drown into. "Why are you so mean?"

You can hear his teeth clash together as he clenches his jaw. You're walking on a tightrope, and you're faltering, far more wobbly than he. That question is tender meat, it allows him to see a glimpse of the girl, silken soft, innocent and plush, trusting. It causes a glitch, confusion he's not familiar with.

Then he lifts his chin, just a hair's breadth.

"Thought you wanted me to be."

It's almost sentimental, what he says. How he says it. Equally soft… Tentative, inquiring. He's still bone and steel and tendon, but his eyes and voice are not. They're a relic from a distant past, and you stand there, agape.

You dare to hope that there's more to this man, that he isn't here to retaliate. That you're not here to be punished. You risk a flutter of lashes as you scan his face – his bone charade, a prison – up and down, then swallow a decision with a solemn intake of air.

"Where do you want me?"

You're sanguine, almost flirty, but your offer hits nothingness.

There's no additional giveaway to him having any kind of longing, other than the longing to insert himself inside you and take whatever sick pleasure he gets from torturing you. The brief slant was just a fish hook to be sinked into your lungs and carry you to the shore for him to gut and roast. Feast upon.

"Desk."

It's too late to back down now.

Not that you even want to.

You stuff your heart down your throat before it spills up in tears, then slip past him, to the furniture he wants to be your marital bed.

He watches, shoulders rising with heavy breaths as you undress. Shoes and pants end up in the same heap you soon step out of. You enjoy the flash in his eyes at the notion of you wearing strings – something so impractical and uncomfortable yet sultry under all that durable, heavy canvas. A woman emerges from the waves of thick fabric meant for a soldier. Some Aphrodite.

Well, it's something for him to think on after this. Something to torment himself with while on missions if this is to be just a one time only slip.

The bulge in his pants is even more visible now. Demanding, and it adds to the warmth already pooling down below as you set yourself up on that desk, near the edge, for him to feast upon.

You don't spread your legs for him, though. You want to make him work for it. You simply shiver as the cold wood meets your skin, but even more shaky you get when he doesn't have to go through the same ordeal as you. He simply opens the front of his pants and tugs the fabric down, just enough to allow the hefty thickness to spring free.

And it doesn't exactly spring, because it's so immense that you have to do a double take. It simply vaults, bounces up once when seeing you on that desk. You throb at the sight of him, even if he doesn't give you much – he's still fully clothed, with his mask on, only cock jutting out and hands liberated from black gloves with bones printed on them.

His balls hang heavy beneath the veined weight of his cock, and you instantly think about how you're going to fare with at least a week load of cum about to be stuffed inside you. You've had a hand down your pants almost every night for weeks on end, while he has been staring at you with a thickening haze of lust and what seems to be a pair of heavily encumbered nuts.

You don't even notice how your mouth drops open in hungry astonishment.

"Have seen that look before," he brags, and you snap your mouth shut.

Fucking manchild.

He grabs the veined girth like it's his favourite weapon, something he's proud of, and your legs part by themselves for him to step in between. He doesn't have to work for it after all.

"Knew you wanted it," he rubs it in your face like someone who has passed an IQ test with genius scores.

There's nothing ceremonial about the way with which he spreads your lips with the thick tip, slides up and down to coat himself with your wetness, ample amounts of it. It only takes a probe or two for him to find the right angle, and you help him instinctually, offering yourself to him as he slips inside.

The hungry clench grips him immediately, making it a long, arduous journey for the both of you as he has to practically force himself in. But it's worth every thick inch, and your head tilts back with a moan.

"Yeah… Sing f' me, just like that," he cheers you on, and you feel a trickle of hot, wet cream run down your ass. Your slickness is probably running down his shaft by now, too. He adjusts his stance, comes closer, so close that you feel like you are sheltered by his upper body, the shoulders that form a warm cave around you.

And your body betrays you. His praise makes you tight around him, and he groans. You bite your lip at the sound while he takes his time with a few exploring thrusts, then settles fully inside, like you're his new home.

"Nice 'n' snug, just like I thought," he turns toward your ear, the edge of the jarred skull brushing your cheek and making you flinch. He sounds appreciative, relieved, like you're his little treat after a hard day. He's been thinking about you, imagining how tight you'd be for him…

"Didn't take long for you to spread your legs for me."

And he has to be an asshole about it. Has to tear you down a bit for every inch of vulnerability. Your teeth sink in the inside of your lip from the sheer heartache, a little too hard.

"Didn't take long for you to offer your cock to me," you cut back, tasting blood on your tongue. He chuckles.

"An offer you couldn't refuse," he muses, satisfied with himself.

His hand comes to cradle your shoulder, then slides down your back. It feels… feels like a caress. A fond, loving touch. Paired with the thickness spreading you open for him, it also feels like hell.

You grab hold of him, fingers curling around the slippery fabric of his jacket. He allows you no skin, and you try to hold on to the sleek shield you can't get past.

"No," you admit with a panted sigh as he slowly glides in and out of you. "Is this how you break in all your new recruits?"

He doesn't offer a witty comeback, but the silence is stretched further by the fact that he stops moving.

"’S not about breakin' in," he finally answers, resumes to thrust slowly. Agonizingly slow, like he wants to commit this moment deep into memory. Not a quick rut then, as you had expected, hoped, even. But the feeling of thick heat, the brush of his pelvis on your clit, has you clinging to him like he's your knight in shining armor.

And he's gentle with you.

Gentle.

It makes you want to kiss him, lift that mask just enough to have a taste of his neck, see his mouth just before it opens to devour yours.

"You didn't- ah- answer the question." Your shaky breaths must be music to his ears, but you decide that's all he's going to get. He knows now that you're jealous of his attention and his cock.

"Not here to answer your questions," he says, but you hear a lacing on top of it: amusement. "Just wanna hear your pretty cries."

Even if he's far more tender than you had expected, his cock soon pounds into you seamlessly. Fat, urgent. You stretch around him, hear the slickness and an occasional squelch guide him through the thrusts with ease. A lewd fucking that has his shoulders shaking as he reaches for a better hold of you, almost enough to call it a hug. His tightening balls hit against the hard edge of the desk instead of your flesh, but he doesn't seem to care at all.

"C'mon… Let's hear 'em," he coaxes, begs, almost, but you don't sing on command. Much less cry for a man who's tormented you for weeks on end.

"I'm not giving you anything," you utter while giving him loads of hungry cunt and tugging of clothes. If he was naked, he would have scratches all over his back by now.

"You drive me fuckin' insane. 'N' that's sayin' somethin'..." His hiss of an outburst causes you to recoil from him, or perhaps it’s the cause of his hands which thieve their way under the hem of your shirt. But he doesn't probe or squeeze. The touch is far from carnal, even if the palm hovers warm near your breasts. It settles against your ribs, a featherlight caress across the healed wound you suffered not too long ago because of him.

Tears burn at the corners of your eyes.

Fuck… You might open your legs for him, take gunshots for him, but you're not going to cry for him.

"Good, then we're both crazy," you whisper while trying not to choke on a flood. He hums – it's a rumble that rises from his chest and ends in his smoke-burned throat. And for every bit of weakness, he allows you a peek of his own fragility. It's a transaction, you assume, only used to trap you further into the abyss.

"You've dreamed of this, then?" The shadows sigh into your ear, ravenous.

"Mh," you nearly sob. You tell yourself it's just a noise that happens to erupt, not a confession. But he's the jury and the judge, decides your whimper is a full-scale avowal.

"Mmh…" he mocks with a satisfied rumble in your ear, overjoyed with the bare minimum of a moan you just gave him.

For a moment you fear you're dealing with a starving narcissist. He's praise-starved, love deprived, but good at what he does, and you feel yourself clench around him again. It's an increasing grip this time, not a throb or a suck. The first sign of an approaching orgasm, and it drives him over the brink far too soon.

"Fuck– I'm close," he pants, slightly alarmed. "What about you luv?"

"Not yet," you lie, and he believes you because it dips right inside his deepest fear, like a finger poking an open wound.

"My cock's not good enough for you?"

He discloses something precious: women are usually writhing in his arms by now, but you're not screaming, you're not crying and coming. You're not coming at all, because he's too greedy, too lost in the solace of you.

It's kind of sad, how fiercely you've masturbated at the thoughts of him, only to get the real thing and have it end too soon. You want to surrender and lean back on the cold desk, show him how good you can be as you wrap up around him and make lots and lots of noise just for him, only for him…

But your fingers find an opening, they steal their way under the mask and trace his blood heated neck, and you know he's not going to last – and you have to tear him down while he's at his weakest.

"It's good enough..." you give him the truth and a Judas kiss, knowing he will gobble it up like cake. Slowing down isn't going to do shit, the man is a split second away from heaven, and you tell him what's the matter with a whisper.

"...but you're not."

He comes right then and there with a throaty moan, the most agonized wail you've ever heard leave him. His back arches as he tries to bury himself deep, sweat breaks upon your fingertips from the shame and fury – caused by your words or the fact that he came before giving you your peak, you can't tell.

You feel him throb inside you, like a pulse of a powerful heartbeat before his shoulders cave in, rendering him fragile. A crumbling colossus, too heavy to bear his own weight.

He allows himself only a breath or two. They break upon your skin, somewhere between neck and shoulder, the humidity of his torment nestling in the valley behind the collarbone where he usually shoves knives in. Then he withdraws like a wounded soldier, leaves you emptier than you were before you even knew him, leaves only a fat trickle of combined cream and cum behind. It begins a steady trail down your perineum, ends up on the desk, like a proof that this is all you two are good for.

You're on display, your destroyed and hungry cunt winking against cold air, mourning the loss of his thickness. Your skin aches for the callus of his palms, the touch of them far more reverent than you had ever imagined.

He tucks himself inside his pants without sparing a single glance your way. An injured animal that needs to seek shelter to lick his wounds.

You feel terrible pity, a sinking fear and a blast of guilt upon noticing you might've been wrong. You want to apologize, not as a heartbroken, scorned woman – but as a girl who only wanted everyone to be happy.

"Simon…"

He zips his pants – an audible hint meant to tell you that he got what he wanted, and nothing more. It's like witnessing a giant's limp, and you want to fall on your knees and beg forgiveness.

The voice that follows cuts deeper than the bullets you took for him.

"Dismissed."

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley x reader #ghost x you #ghost x female reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x female reader

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mondaymelon · 6 months

Text

— 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 ♡

໒꒱ || :feat~ albedo, kaeya, zhongli, childe, ayato, thoma, alhaitham, kaveh, wriothesley, neuvillette x gn!reader:

໒꒱ || notes: a new nation joins the mix !! please help there are too many what do i do when natlan appears?! ITS OKAY RAAAAH FLUFF FLUFF RAAHHH FLUFF CHILDE COMMITS MANSLAUGHTER AGAINST A FUCKING PUMPKIN RAHHHH @anonbinaryweirdo CHILDE IS BEING A SILLY ALL FOR YOU MWAH HApPY OLI DAY!!

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open!) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @solxima, @poweredbyghostadventures, @haliyamori

⤷ the seasons are changing, so let’s have some fun, shall we? ♡

"Klee, don't run so fast..."

ALBEDO sighed, yet his mouth curved upwards into a faint smile, one that could almost be mistaken as a laugh. Maybe it was. “Klee, if you’re going to run off like that, the Acting Grandmaster will certainly throw a fit about it.” There was little hope in soft threats against the child, but he had succeeded in capturing her attention, and she whipped around to look at the two of you, her bright beam dimming to a small pout.

“But Jean isn’t here! That means I can boom everything and she won’t put me in solitary confinement, right?” She gazed up fiercely at the two of you, her bold ruby eyes sparkling with daring excitement. The three of you had decided to take a little excursion to a nearby pumpkin farm at Jean’s insistence, saying that you especially had been overworking yourself with the new influx of tasks to do and that now they had stabilized, she could manage them for a day or two. She had been a little suspicious about it though, beaming the entire time and occasionally laughing at moments that weren’t remotely amusing. Her distracted gaze also kept glancing at Lisa, who had been shelving books with a devious smile. Just what is up with those two? You blamed it on the lack of sleep.

“Although…” she tilted her head, looking very thoughtful for a brief moment. “I’ll let you decide!” She ran over to you, clinging to your clothes with sparkling eyes. “What do you want to do? Just today, Spark Knight Klee will let you lead the adventure, ‘kay?” She was bouncing on her feet now, her expectant gaze a little too earnest.

“Klee, let’s be respectful…”

“Eh?? But… I want to be nice to your sweetheart!!” Klee pouted, cheeks flushed.

“S-Sweetheart…” Your mouth dropped open as the tiny girl let out a little ‘ah!’

“Oh no, I forgot I wasn’t supposed to tell you that! Shoot, Kaeya is going to be sooo mad!! Shhh, you didn’t hear anything, okay?? He definitely didn’t tell me that Albedo liked liked you, so please don’t snitch!” Klee held her hands over her mouth, looking rather apologetic as her round eyes threatened to burst into tears. Albedo sounded like he was choking.

“K-Klee, why don’t you go over and look at the pumpkins for a while? I’ll let you take home the biggest one you can find…” Albedo was clearly startled, his smooth speech interrupted with a stutter. As the girl eagerly dashed away towards the fields, he let out a long sigh. “I’m very sorry about that, it seems the Cavalry Captain has been saying some strange things to my little sister.”

You shook your head with a smile. “No, don’t be. It’ll be funny later on as we look back on it, although…” Your voice trailed off as what Klee had said flashed through your mind. In a voice barely above a whisper, you glanced up at him, “Is it true? Do you… feel that way for me?”

His breath caught in his throat, and he did not speak until three beats later. “I didn’t want you to find out this way, but now that it’s come to this…” He cleared his throat, returning his averted gaze to stare at you, his brilliant teal eyes meeting yours. Every movement of his lips entranced you, and you could feel the way your cheeks grew warm as his words slowly sunk in.

And it was true, he meant it. His body was living, breathing proof, even if his life wasn’t meant to exist in the first place. That was okay. He was okay with it all. If he could have you, then the origin of his life didn’t matter. At the very least, his existence could be filled with your warmth.

“I wish to be your partner.” ♡

“Hm, this should be fun~”

KAEYA appeared amused as he hummed with delight. The reason? Something a wine-lover like him was sure to enjoy - a winery tour, not Diluc’s, to ensure the maximum happiness of both brothers. The wind lightly breezed by, rustling the warm colored leaves that resemble tongues of fire. All around you, people trailed after the tour in front of the group, aimlessly chattering amongst themselves or dutifully nodding to whatever information the guide was saying at the moment. Did it really matter? In all honesty, you knew that Kaeya had come for the sole purpose of wine, and now that the two of you were here, nothing else really mattered. He glanced at you with a beam. “C’mon, what’s with the grouchy face? Don’t you think this will be fun?” Without much of a warning at all, he grabbed at your face, pinching and stretching your cheeks while he quietly laughed to himself.

“Hey, shtop-” You manage to wrench out of his grasp, rubbing your aching cheeks with a pointed glare directed towards the male. “You know I’m not a good drinker. I’ll pass out and then you’ll have to go through the trouble of carrying me all the way back…”

Kaeya blinks, then laughs. “Hey, it's only a winery tour, who said anything about actually drinking the wine?” He chuckles into his fist, tilting his head with a swift motion. “Although, I suppose it can’t really be helped…”

“Exactly. So if you see me drinking a little too much, you better tell me, alright?” You stared him down in the eye, a failed attempt at looking the slightest bit intimidating. “I don’t want to be all intoxicated and babbling all my secrets out for the world to hear. That’d be utterly mortifying.” Just the thought of you made a shiver course through your body, a detail Kaeya’s diligent gaze didn’t miss.

He let out a cheeky laugh. “Ah, I don’t know, wouldn’t that be funny to look back on later?” The two of you were walking side-by-side on the stone-pebbled path, and he skillfully swept your hand into his, fingers intertwined in a motion so fluid it almost felt like the two of you had done this in your past lives as well. “You know, you’re really cute when you’re drunk.”

Your mouth falls slightly ajar at his bold words, whipping your head to the people around you just in case they heard. They didn’t, and continued blabbering about the most useless things in the world - the ripeness of apples, the types of long grass that was near the fields, all that significant information that one typically could do without. “Kaeya!” Your voice is panicked as you whisper shout at him, eyes wide. You know your face is red, you can feel it, and it’s something that’s too easy to spot with an eye as trained as his. “Don’t say that kind of stuff in public! Besides, it’s not even true!”

Kaeya pouted like a little child, fake crocodile tears threatening to spill from his eyes despite his voice giving away his clear amusement. “Awww, but love, why not? Is it such a crime for me to profess my love to you in the great outdoors?”

“Ugh…” You sighed, turning away in an attempt to hide your flushed cheeks. “Kaeya, you know what you-”

Too late. He had grabbed onto your chin with a grin, carefully examining just how red he was able to make you.

“Haha, you don’t even have to drink wine, love. Your face is already red enough just from my presence!” ♡

“Be careful. It’s hot.”

ZHONGLI passes the cup to you with a soft smile on his lips, one that makes his amber eyes glow with warmth. “If I had known you liked tea, I would’ve brewed you some more often.” He holds his own teacup with a gloved hand, seeming indifferent to the heat he had just warned you about. “It’s a fine day, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.” You took a sip of tea, reveling in its rich flavors that danced across your tongue. “A hot drink like this is a good way to spend it.” Zhongli’s smile was one of fondness as he nodded to your words. “On days like these, you can find solace in a book by the windowsill and a drink in your hand… Although I’d like to learn more about you. How do you like to spend your time?” You glanced up from the fluid in the cup and locked eyes with his gilded ones instead.

“Are you curious?” You answered with a nod, and the male let out a low chuckle. “Honestly, while I’m knowledgeable in a few areas, how to pass time isn’t exactly one of them. If you asked me about Liyue’s traditions and legends, however…” He paused as he swirled the cup’s contents. “I could likely go for weeks on end.”

That was the kind of man he was. Stoic, yet warm-hearted, and with a surprisingly in-depth view on Liyue’s history and culture. Where he learned all of this, you had yet to figure out, but his presence in and of itself was something soothing you couldn’t quite describe. At times, you feared his tranquil way of speaking had been inflicted upon you, but that wasn’t a bad thing in the slightest. The way he spoke was like verses in a poem, well thought out, wise, experienced, and with gliding tones like the reddening leaves on the wind. The way he was able to move even the most cynical crowds with the sway and caring truth in his words was but one of the things you admired about the man. Someone like Zhongli must've been a person who had received the favor of Morax, considering how well-versed he was. It wouldn’t be a shock if it were true.

You smiled, propping up your chin on your elbow. “Then, amuse me.”

He shook his head gently, almost in a reprimanding manner. “I’d rather see you to your residency before the sky turns dark. It’d be a shame if I were to take up all hours of your day.”

The words flew from your mouth before you even had the chance to consider them. “Who said I wouldn’t want that?” With a panicked gaze, you watched as Zhongli’s expression shifted into a startled one. For once, the stone-firm man seemed to have been given the slightest of shoves.

It was a moment before he responded. “Saying such things…”

“They are the truth.”

“...Very well, then shall I tell you a story?” Now, his eyes glittered with a distant, deep sadness that had appeared in the short instant of silence. You nodded your head, and he continued onwards, his words forming one great melody, one intertwined with a knowledge that transcended the earth yet persisted with a harmony of tightly knit feelings that you could never begin to unravel. “One about the god of contracts, and the god of dust, a very, very long time ago. Did you know how far Morax’s love went for the goddess? He held her with much reverence in his heart, yet one day, she flowed through his fingers like the dust she was. He was never able to tell her the truth that lay in his heart, and fell into a deep sorrow.”

He fell silent, and you cocked your head. “Then… Then what happened?”

Zhongli’s somber face brightened as he smiled at you, his shining umber gaze one that held something clearly important. “That…”

“His heart has healed, with the help of someone dear.” ♡

"Against a pumpkin? Hah, that'll be an easy duel!"

CHILDE’s arms are raised, hefting up a… weedwhacker? How’d he get his hands on that?? From what you heard, it was a newly designed kind of weapon, though for some reason used to cut grass, of all things, that had been recently shipped from Fontaine to various influential people around the globe for its first use. Apparently, Childe qualified as one of those people. That, or he had just beaten up someone who had, then plucked it from his grasp. Either way, it was certainly not a welcome sight. You just barely managed to wrench it out of his hands, though with grudging certainty you can tell that it’s only possible with him going easy on you. He laughed again, his shoulders raised in triumph. “C’mon, just let me at him!”

“‘He’ is a pumpkin, Childe. You are challenging an inanimate fruit to a duel.” You deadpanned at the sight, making sure to place the weapon far, far away from his reach. “We came here with a job to do, let’s not forget that. These are going to be important Halloween decorations around the harbor and Jade Chamber, remember? Lady Ningguang commissioned us… or rather, me, herself, and I’m not about to present her with a gouged out collection of gutted and ravaged pumpkins.”

The male pouted, visibly upset. “But. It was looking at me strangely! That thing clearly is itching for a fight, and all I’m doing is giving it one it deserves!”

Yet another cause for a long sigh. You could feel your willpower slip away with your exhale. “Childe, it’s not looking at you. Those were the guidelines I drew with ink. Please, for once, cooperate with me.”

He pauses, then his eyes twinkle, and you know with reluctant confidence that he’s thought up something stupid. Surprise, surprise! You receive your big, fat, green checkmark as soon as he opens his mouth to speak, his lips raised in a mischievous smile. “Only if you give me a kiss~”

It was better to agree now, then change the promise afterwards. You nodded exasperatedly, “Alright, alright, now let’s-”

“Ah ah ah!” Childe tutted, raising his fingers to your lips to shush you. “Sorry, but I only receive upfront payment~!”

You resisted the urge to slap him in his painfully handsome face. His features were so perfect it hurt, with his deep ocean eyes and freckles dotting his skin like stars in the night sky. “Come here.” Instantly, he perks up, and you can just imagine him with dog ears and a wagging tail, a sight that almost makes you like him. “Mmmmwah.” You plant a kiss directly on his cheek, only leaving your lips on his skin for a brief moment before pulling away, trying to hide the growing red on your face. “There.”

“Wh- Ah, no fair, you can’t do it on the cheek!” Once Childe snaps out of his initial ecstasy, there of course comes the complaints. “Do it again, do it again!”

“You never specified where. Now get to carving.” It’s hard not to laugh when you see the growing, childish frown that crosses his expression.

“C’mon, kiss me just one more time?” ♡

“Are you enjoying the view?”

AYATO’s eyes twinkle with amusement, his light hair swaying gently in the cooling breeze. The wind had grown chillier in the weeks prior, but you had luckily dressed enough for the occasion, and the warmth of his and yours intertwined fingers was far enough sufficient to dispel any chills far, far away.

“Mhm. It’s beautiful.” You weren’t lying, the courtyard garden the male had invited you to view was certainly a marvel to behold, the warmly tinted leaves dangling like fiery ornaments from the great wooden branches, yet at the moment your eyes could only linger on the light smile that graced the man’s lips. The corners of his mouth tugged upwards, a soft expression that made the colors around you seem all the more vivid. His lashes fluttered close, then blinked back open, his seas of violet underneath a breathtaking wonder more than anything else in this world. And the beauty mark the archons themselves had painted with such delicacy, just beside his eye.

Simply put, Ayato was a man of majesty.

Your man of majesty.

It still astonished you how someone like him had chosen you, out of all people. The way your heart beat faster and words grew hastier when he was near was something you found impossible to deny.

“You say that, but continue gazing at me all the while.” He lets out a low chuckle, speaking nonchalantly. “There’s no need to needlessly flatter me like those Inazuman officials, who are always ever so desperate to gain my attention.”

“Ayato, that’s not my intention!” You pout in protest, jokingly offended that he had dared compare you to such foolishness. “Besides, it’s in no way ‘needless’! Your beauty must certainly be admired, or it’d be a waste of that pretty face of yours!”

His eyes widen a fraction as he stares at you with a slightly dumbstruck expression, that is, until he breaks into an uncharacteristically loud bout of laughter, one gloved hand over his mouth failing to mask his beam behind it.

“Ah-Ahahaha!” Ayato smiles into his fist, grinning to himself. This was what he loved about you, apart from everything. Your laugh, your smile, the abrupt way that broke apart from his somber lifestyle, all of it. “Beloved, sometimes I wonder how you’re able to come up with such things.”

“Why are you laughing? What I said was true.”

“Just like that, right there.” His smile only widens as his eyes twinkle at the sight of you.

“You're not finding this funny, are you??” You squint up at him accusingly, frowning. Ayato locks his gaze with yours, his lilac eyes against yours a captivating sensation.

“Funny? No, I could never. Beloved, you’re the most endearing of them all.” ♡

“Now mix it together…mhm, just like that.”

THOMA has a firm grip on your wrist, aiding your motions as you gently stir the fluffy batter. He’s standing behind you, his taller stature the slightest intimidating - that is, if you didn’t know Thoma at all. He’s one of the sweetest people you’ve met, especially in an originally hostile Inazuman environment. His spring green eyes sparkle as he releases his fingers, slowly taking the bowl from your grip. “Okay, I think it’s ready now!” He’s excited, and you can tell by the way the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. “Let me just adjust the fire, put it in, and then we can wait until it’s over. It should only take 10 minutes or so with this fancy new furnace Master Ayato installed the other day…”

He rambled onwards, skillfully multitasking spreading the batter on the pan, adding more fodder to the fire, and checking its temperature, all while still talking. Another fact about Thoma - he had much to say about people he admired. Although it was rather awkward to admit, it seemed that you were one of those, as Ayaka told you with a sheepish smile on her face how Thoma had chattered all about you while briefly cleaning her room. Well, not awkward, per se. It was a feeling that was hard to put a label on, just one that made you feel warm inside. Oh… was it because of his pyro vision? Perhaps that was why your face felt so hot at the moment, listening to him talk in his smooth voice and seeing the genuine interest in his gaze. “You’re pretty.” It hasn’t even struck you that you’ve said those words out loud until you realize that he’s stopped talking, and is now staring at you instead with round eyes and a mouth slightly ajar… that, and the growing red on his cheeks.

“I-I…?” Thoma can’t even speak with how hard he’s stammering, like something out of a cartoon, and his face is completely flushed, to the point where you think he might be feverish instead of embarrassed. “Wh-Why are you saying things like that, all of a sudden…” He coughed into his fist stiffly, readjusting his posture and taking his oven gloves off. “Besides, between the two of us, no, out of all of Teyvat, you’re the prettiest.”

Maybe he hasn’t realized that he’s said those words out loud either, because his gaze is casted to the floor that’s going to burn from how hard he’s staring at it.

“You heard me, right?” Oh, it seems you were incorrect, he had meant for you to hear it. Is that why your heart was beating so fast?

“You’re the prettiest one.” ♡

"You didn’t have to come.”

ALHAITHAM’s sharp gaze is locked onto you as he gently holds his hands in yours - per your request. His skin is cool to the touch, just like the chilling air that’s causing his hair to ruffle. “I’m here on official business, so I’ll be here awhile. Are you certain you don’t want to head back home?”

“And listen to a sleepless Kaveh rant about building structures for the next four hours?” You scoffed playfully, leaning into his frame with a smile. “No thanks. Spending that time with you is absolutely the better option of the two.”

Al Haitham’s brows furrowed the slightest bit, and he turned his head away with a brief exhale. “If that’s what you want.” He’s acting with a mask of indifference, but you know him well, well enough to discern that he’s not being truthful to himself. There’s the slightest lean in his posture, how his eyes are just a little softer, and how his voice isn’t as stony as it should be - telltale signs that he was hoping for your presence in his long work shift. Whilst the blonde architect you knew complained day and night about the two of you’s shared roommate, he wasn’t unbearable at all… although, perhaps it was unfair to compare the two. After all… you thought with a faint smile. We’re lovers.

The ashen-haired male turned to you upon seeing the change in your expression. “Is something amusing?”

“Nothing, Haitham,” you replied, beaming innocently. “You’re just very handsome, is all.” The Haitham you knew was right here, at this moment. The way his eyes widened a fraction and the way his lips twitched, the way his cheeks remained pale but you knew his ears were painted rose under his headphones. It was a person the people around him who only yearned for his attention and status could never dream of seeing. A Haitham that was for you only.

“...What has you saying those kinds of things? I’ve already told you not to mess around, and here we are.” Al Haitham sarcastically sighs, and you know its a fake. The negligible hesitance in his usually quick-witted response has his words trailing a half-second behind, a detrimental mistake enough to determine his flusteredness. Reading Al Haitham is like a game, where the answer key is provided to onl you.

“You looked like you wanted to hear it.” You smile sheepishly, clinging tighter onto his sleeve. He’s not radiating warmth by any means, but the faint heat that rises from his body is satisfactory enough for you to feel warm.

“Hopeless.” He says, yet doesn’t move to pry you off his arm. “Utterly hopeless.”

In his gaze is a hidden secret that his mouth wouldn't dare speak.

He was the hopeless one. The fool hopelessly in love with you. ♡

"Don't be scared, I'm right next to you!!"

KAVEH certainly looked the part of a fearless boyfriend, with the way he’s clinging to your body and shaking like a leaf. It’s no secret that he’s utterly terrified, but you’ll let him live his fantasy that he’s fooling you, at the very least. The flickering bravery in his eyes had long disappeared the moment you stepped foot into the haunted castle, a surprising suggestion coming from his roommate Al Haitham, of all people. You had heard the rumors, and heard more than a couple mouthfuls of curses directed towards him on nights where Kaveh stumbled into your place, completely wasted and reeking of booze. It was only now, with begrudging admittance, that you could confirm their truth. To tell the architect of this “romantic” and “couple-bonding” journey through a new Sumerian attraction was all it took for Kaveh to completely jump on the idea. “H-Hey, stop walking so fast, I can’t keep up…!” The blonde looked quite pitiful, holding onto your shirt with tears pooling at his eyes as he struggled to keep up with your average-paced speed. “H-Haha, you must be terrified, to be running like this…!” His awkward laugh was quickly strangled into a high-pitched screech as a person dressed in ghosty blues and greens dropped down from the ceiling and dangled there ominously with a cackle.

Moments like these made you question how you had even become acquainted with him in the first place.

“C-C’mon, let’s run, I-I’ll protect you!!” Despite his outward appearance being disheveled as could be, with his usual properly groomed hair strewn and sticking up all over the place and his sleeves bunching up near his elbows, he managed to wrestle his way behind you while sprinting away, so at the bare minimum, if they caught you, he would be the one to fall to their claws first.

Ah, perhaps this was why. The ever steadfast desire of his to make sure you, at least, were safe. That astounding selflessness that remained apparent even through the tears that clouded his wavering gaze. You resisted the urge to laugh as your dash slowed to a brisk pace, and instead pressed against Kaveh’s side with a smile.

“H-huh?” His voice was airy, out of breath, startled. Kaveh glanced at you, crimson eyes round and expectant. “What’s wrong…?”

“I’m scared.” Lying through your teeth was guilt-inducing, but the brightening beam on Kaveh’s newfound flushed expression just about swept it all away. “Let me hold you like this, o-okay?” You even added a stutter for an extra effect, which just about drove the arrow through his poor heart. Where was your oscar? You held onto his hand fearfully, staring up at him.

Kaveh, all of a sudden, seemed to have been invigorated like someone had pumped adrenaline directly into his system, that is, an energy called “l-o-v-e!” “A-Ahem! If-If that’s the case, very well! Stay behind me, and I’ll protect you! Ahahaha! No demons would dare even set foot near my… elemental powers!”

“Oh, thank you Kaveh…” If he noticed the evident sarcasm in your voice, he pretended not to, and there wasn’t a single change in his dumbstruck expression.

“No need to thank me! If I were unable to shield you, what use of a lover would I be?” ♡

"Look what I got...! It's for you."

WRIOTHESLEY’s eyes sparkled as he presented a glossy red apple for your viewing, its smooth, unblemished exterior being handled with the most delicate touches in direct contrast to the silver studded gloves he usually wore. “Here, c’mon, try a- Ahem.” He cleared his throat, carefully straightening his posture. “Please take it.”

It always amazed you how his dignity still tried to uphold somewhat of a “professional” view on this entire situation. Puzzling, indeed. Perhaps he was just paranoid that he’d be seen so giddy like this and be absolutely clowned on once word got around and he went back to work at the Fortress of Meropide. The prisoners must be harsh to control on a daily basis, considering how on more than a couple separate occasions the man would come home with cuts and bleeding knuckles, to which you’d scold him (gently) for a good half hour while bandaging them up. His personality shifts were nothing but unusual.

“If you insist? Thank you.” You took the apples from his hand, fingers brushing. It was a light contact, yet Wriothesley flinched all the same, able to contain the red on his cheeks but not the dusting of it on the tips of his ears. Lucky him, it was more or less covered by his white streaked hair anyways. He could only hope and pray that you didn’t catch the sight.

Spoiler alert: you did. His fingers were warm, despite him being a cryo user. Not unpleasantly warm, like a sweaty hand that makes you feel all gross inside, but a pleasant version of it, one that makes you want to pepper kisses all over his pretty face for just existing within your realm of life.

You had to hold back on indulging in those thoughts, however, as the currently posing as stoic Wriothesley was gazing into the distance with a dramatic expression. Ooh, should you compliment him? Perhaps he’d invent a new shade of red, then! It’d be a sight to see. As silly as the idea was, you didn’t exactly what to tease him right now, not when you could taste the crisp sweetness of the apple he had picked for you on your tongue.

A smile flitted across your face and he took notice of that, giving you a small smile of his own. “Is it good? Let me have a bite. Aahh~” He leaned forward, and opened his mouth, which slowly closed in the silence that ensued. It was hard not to laugh at how sheepish he looked, rubbing the back of his head with a silly grin that escaped his usual patrolling of expressions. Who would’ve thought that a man who worked at a prison day in and day out would be so into… cheesy things? No matter, it made your heart race all the same.

Wriothesley had expected the crunch of an apple, if he was lucky and you didn’t leave him hanging in your confusion. What he hadn’t expected was the sweet taste of your lips against his, your warmth blending with his own, your arms around his shoulders and his around your waist. It’s warm, hot. Yes, he felt like he was burning, from the inside out, from every touch of your fingers to every movement of your mouth. Sweet.

“So? How is it?” You pulled away, wiping your mouth with a cheeky smile that made him want to kiss you again.

So he did.

“Sweet. Impossibly sweet, yet nowhere near sweeter than you.” ♡

"Do you feel warmer if I hold you like this?"

NEUVILLETTE has found his arms wrapped around your smaller frame before he can even come to his senses. Yes, that’s right… the two of you had decided to go on a brief outing, with promises that you’d show him more of the outside world and that he’d, in turn, accompany you on this little adventure. Except… the two of you hadn’t accounted for the weather to be this chilly, and while there was no rain, as there was never when the two of you were together, the sun’s stale light wasn’t sufficient enough to warm your frozen body. You said you were fine and that the two of you should just stop by the next sightseeing point in the trip, but his gaze is certainly nothing to laugh at. In an instant, you’re in his arms, and he finds you in his. You’re shaking, quivering, and he’s fucking upset at himself that he didn’t do anything sooner.

“Y-Yes, it’s warm now… thank you.” Your shaking has evidently subsided, and now you lean against his chest, rising and falling with every heave of his chest. With how close you are, body pressed together with his, can you hear his heartbeat? It’s loud in his own ears, and he’s paranoid you’ll hear it - the rise and fall of the water on the ocean shores, the choppy, erratic waves on a midnight black sea. He’s afraid you’ll hear his jumbled symphony and leave him before he can say what he wants to say to you the most.

Oh, but does he even mean it? He wished he could provide the question forever poisoning his thoughts with an answer, but no matter how much he inquires of his all-knowing archon, no matter how much he judges the cases of the land, no matter how much… he still can’t find a solution that will resolve his quaky heart. It’s a problem that lies in him, that’s something that’s at the very least certain. It cannot possibly be with you, you who is as bright as the sun and whose warmth is that of a clear summer day. A beautiful disposition that is unmatched with his gloomy one. Still, he’ll yearn for you until he makes sense of it. Neuvillette cannot bear himself not to try. He will make the scale just, so that the two of you may…

“Neuvi?” The call of your name for him snatches his wandering attention in an instant. He gazes down at your figure, wrapped into his coat tightly. “Are you okay? You’ve been looking distant for a while now.” The concern in your eyes lessens the concern in his heart, and he smiles softly at your words.

“Yes, I’m alright. If you want, should we stay like this the entire trip?”

“W-What?? No, I couldn’t possibly…!!”

Verdict complete. He’ll wait. Wait until the days pass and bring the months with it, he’ll watch the leaves sink to the ocean floor and he’ll wait for his heart to decide.

Oh, if only he could know the verdict of yours.

“If it’s for you, know that I’d be more than willing.” ♡

(a/n) this reached the fucking image limit and i had to get rid of the dividers. i am so upset

anyways gotta love how they're all so romantic and childe is just like: mmm... murder... pumpkin... mmm.. screw chiscara and zhongchi . childe x pumpkin ftw (this is a joke) eek wrio feels so ooc im goinng to sob

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50cal-fullauto-astarion · 9 months

Text

hot in sarajevo i

[ part two ]

könig x f!reader operator (no use of "y/n") / 4k words / NSFW

cw: assassination, dubcon (not really bc reader is into it and consents, but better safe than sorry bc ymmv), unsanitary conditions, rough sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, fingering, creampie, brief mention of burn injuries, pre-established relationship a.n.: no excuse for this, indulged a brain worm on my day off bc i wanted to write something nasty. enjoy!

It’s been a blistering, miserable six hours out in the hills outside Sarajevo proper. The height of summer, surrounded by dead-brown grass blown about sadly in the weak breeze. You cook in your ghillie suit, knowing it could very well be another six hours under this heat with zero shade, just waiting on your target. Sweating. Searching. Souring.

König is your spotter, and he’s already not pleased with the fact. He’d much rather be the one wrapped around the Steyr HS .50, instead relegated to the seemingly miserable role of binocular jockey. But the fact is, he’s better at recon, and you can stay planted in one place without moving even when your lower body burns with numbness.

“I’m hard,” he announces in his way—no preamble, no fanfare, moderate expectation.

“Christ,” you snort, pulling away from the scope only enough to throw a glance at him. He’s still pressed against the oculars, jaw working on sunflower seeds because they can’t smoke without setting the tinderbox field around them on fire. Otherwise, you can barely see the shape of him in his own ghillie suit among the grass. “Clench your legs and your torso, or hump the fucking dirt.”

“Not going to get the job done,” he laughs darkly, dumping back another mouthful of seeds. You can hear them crack between his molars as he bites down hard.

He’s going to be a fucking handful after this.

Going back to your scope, watching the highway, you promise him, “If you’re good helping me with this assassination, we can play when we’re done.”

Another hard bite, another gravelly laugh. Sing-song, he warns you, “Better hope he drives by so-oooh-oon, Schatzi.”

“Always nice to get a visit from mean-König,” you hum back, trying for unaffected, even as your cunt floods and clenches around nothing.

It’s just hitting golden hour when the target finally deigns to bomb past your scope in a civilian vehicle trussed up in subtle armor. You and König slot right into the predator drift, bodies left behind to fall into the hunt. Working like extensions of one body, he confirms a PID, and throws calculations your way, sharp and sleek, and your blood turns into straight adrenaline, pupils dilated to pitch black.

You work like the sword of god, lining up your crosshairs, allowing for lead, allowing for wind and elevation, and when you exhale and give the trigger what it wants, the sky cracks in half with a sonic boom, big gun bucking brutal against your shoulder. With one shot you take out the target and driver, vehicle careening off the road.

König’s low, restrained laugh blends into yours, your teeth chattering under your face covering. Two more shots cut the blood-and-gold colored sky, killing the remaining passengers, and something vile in you shrieks with delight when one of them staggers around without a head a few steps before falling backwards stiff as a board.

Your eyes catch his as you throw the safety, pulling the massive rifle into your arms to flee the scene, and he looks blood-poisoned with arousal. The normal blue-gray of his eyes are gone, sore, unblinking pink sclera around inkwell pools of black. His back heaves with his breathing, body rigid and clenched, hips grinding against the ground. He is going to fucking tear you apart and eat the pieces. Saturn Devouring His Son, König Devouring His Lover.

Without a word, you both force your bodies around in the tall, dead grass, ghillie suits blending your belly-drag crawl to the treeline.

There’s a five mile hike between your abandoned perch and the exfil vehicle, following back the steps you took this morning, with a staging site in the middle of it. Small clearing, deep enough that no one could stumble across it, a temporary home for your rifle’s case and minimal necessary equipment.

The moment you’re both upright in the treeline, König’s got a vicious hand under your camo, gripping your belt, dragging you close and up, forcing you on unbalanced tiptoes. “You’re going to fucking give it to me,” he demands.

You turn it around, snatching a hand under his hood, gun sagging in your arms. Your fist wraps around the jaw strap of his helmet, knuckles pressing into his jugular–his pulse is fucking racing, booming, screaming through his veins–and your teeth are shards of glass as you command him, “Fucking heel. You’re not being a good boy.”

That makes him pant, almost reeling, eyes blinking out of sorts, pulling you closer, almost against him.

“That is not how it’s going to work today,” he says, slow and damning. Turns your blood into lava, thick and slow and lethal pumping through your heart as it fights for its life. He pulls the rifle from your hand, and it weighs nothing to him. Nearly looks like he’s got more to say, and he’s trying to figure out how to word it, but his brain is too clouded with lust to put it in the right order.

Hefts the gun over his shoulder like a bat, and shoves you back by the pelvis, releasing you. Time to go, the moves say, leaving you no dignified way to hold onto the authority that’s slipped through your fingers.

You know he’s burning frustration, anger, and resentment as fuel for this mood. You were the designated sniper, he was a lowly spotter. In his mind, that position belonged to him, and you took it. It didn’t matter that you were the superior choice, that he was invaluable to the kill.

No. Not at all. You stole from him, and he’s taking something in return.

If you weren’t thinking solely with your pussy, you would admit that it would probably be wise to exercise caution with him at the moment. But you’re not. You’re going to get your brains fucked out and painted on a tree.

At the staging area, scant gold light is cutting through the trees as the sun lumbers its way to setting, and the woods are humid and dense. Your boots crush fallen beech nut pods and pine needles. Could almost be Thoreauvian, if there was a lake, or not a gun big enough to kill god in the arms of a sexually frustrated Austrian maniac.

König is fast and quiet, ripping the mag out of the gun, emptying the chamber, dropping the gun on its case. You’d seen him piece apart a pistol to base components in ten seconds many times, he’s making himself take time with the rifle, leaving it barely touched.

You’ve got enough time to just prepare for him to grab you around the middle so you aren’t thrown off balance, leaning into his momentum as he hauls you to an enormous beech tree, his back sliding down the trunk. Keeps you pinned in his lap, laughing harsh and ugly as you deal with your belt, button, and zipper, “Good girl–good fucking girl. Know what I’m going for.”

“You’re easy to predict,” you bullshit him with a sharp edge. He’s going to get his way, and you’re going to deliver unto him whatever the fuck he pleases, but you’re going to keep your teeth through it. “Could’ve taken the suits off, could’ve really given you a show.”

“Cute that you think I’m in a rush. You’re in the suit on purpose,” he grates, thrusting against your ass, forcing you open with your legs over his knees. “Keep being mouthy. Only fucks me up worse.”

“Stiff breeze gets you fucked up,” you snort, but when he hooks his gloved thumb in your zipper, you lift your hips to help him pull your pants down your thighs. Leaves you exposed, drenched in sweat, and wet in his lap. “Goddamned freak.”

He bypasses the true and mutually reflective accusation completely, grinding the forehead of his helmet against the back of yours. Still looking for affectionate closeness, even when he’s out for blood. “Can smell you, good god,” he growls, sliding his huge hand into your underwear, grabbing your sex in ownership. “You and the military issue drawers–typical. Been a while since I fucked you in gear. Still wearing the boxers because you wish you were hanging dick, or is it just to match the attitude?”

“Commissary ran out of crotchless combat thongs. Waiting on a restock.” The rough fabric of his gloved middle finger splits your lips, teasing your hole, and for a flashfire second you think he’d better not give you a UTI with those dirty fucking things, before it burns straight out of your head.

“Better luck next time,” he taunts, jaw tight. You can hear the wolf-fanged smirk in his tone. “Start going commando. Make it easier.”

“Maybe there isn’t a next time,” you volley back, “best you make the most of this.”

“There’s always a next time. No one else could fuck you like me. Little whore you are, you’d get bored.”

He blots all the thought out in your head, adding his ring finger to the mix, pushing both huge digits into your starving cunt. Rips a bark right out of you, arching off his chest and pushing against his hips for leverage, trying automatically to fuck down on them even as the pain of the fabric feels like it’s rasping your insides. “Jesus fucking Christ,” you gasp, going hot-cold-and-blind all at once, nipples pulling tight under your gear.

He throws a heavy arm around your stomach, pulling you back down, merciful or mindful enough to know he needs to go slow, or this isn’t going to go anywhere except the infirmary. “Take it, Liebes, swallow them down with that pretty cunt,” he commands, his English as sharp and scraping as scythe blades felling harvest in wide, practiced strokes, “I’m not even close to done.”

You can already feel his fat cock straining against his pants, even through all the layers between you, and you rut back against it, at least trying to get some torture of your own added in. That just makes him stupid and animalistic, pushing his chin over your shoulder, trying to butt into your jaw. He wants to bite your lips, but there are too many impediments blocking the way.

His fingers squelch down to the last knuckle, your pussy spasming around them, soaking the fabric. He’s a pervert to such a degree that you know he’s going to leave them unwashed, and he’s going to wear and suck on them while he beats off when you’re not there until there’s no flavor left.

For now, he’s slow, rocking them into you in a curve, his sense of touch dampened as he searches out your g-spot. The exploration makes you feel filthy, and just a little humiliated. Used. Faceless and disrespected. It’s so opposed to his usual dogmatic worship, fresh and frightening.

He gives a little something extra, grinding the heel of his hand over your clit, telling you to use it. You do, finally feeling something physically pleasurable, even though it’s too dull and not nearly enough.

König is segmented; you’ve known that for as long as you’ve known him. Don’t know if he did it to himself, or if it was an after-affect of all the bad shit he didn’t die from. He’d let you in on enough to know that his best days are numb neutrality and boredom intercut with adrenalized high-chasing. His worst days are lost dogs and veils of blood floating through his mouth.

He almost clicks over from one facet to another when you push against his arm, hissing through your teeth as a stitch on his glove catches a fold in you. For a microsecond, lover-König surfaces, shifting you around against his body, repositioning his fingers so you aren’t hurting too badly, and then he’s gone again.

With a rough hand, he shoves the tan boxer-briefs down your thighs, and bucks your ass off his pelvis, going to release his cock.

You push your shoulders back against his chest, plate carrier digging into your shoulderblades. “Only two fingers, aren’t you acting like a fucking prince today.”

“You’re lucky you got that much,” he snaps back, groaning when his cock springs free of his trappings, and he strokes it beneath you. Monster fucking thing it is, long enough you can see the swollen, leaking head between your legs, even as you’re still hovering. There’s no give in the skin, and the head is a needy red with arousal, completely slipped from his foreskin. “Put it in.”

You ignore his order, writhing against him, your discomfort only ramping up your arousal. It’s nightmarish how badly you actually want his cock fed into you, desperate to have anything to fill the void his fingers left in you, and, shit, it would be so much sweeter and smoother than the gloves. Hot and throbbing, his precum mixing with your slick–it’s going to be so loud.

“It’s your dick, you figure it out,” you hiss, wrestling your shoulders up just enough to piss him off. His other arm moves up to your ribs, slamming you back down against him.

“Nein,” he seethes, as close to your throat as he can get, and you hear him suck back spit. Wonder if you busted his lip on the way down. Trained himself too hard not to do that otherwise, because of the harelip he’s hiding under the hood. “I said put it in, Schatzi.”

His laugh is airier this time, when you cuss him and comply, thinned out with need. He shudders into you as you brush your fingers over the length–teasing bulging veins and hot, thin skin–trying to scoop him up. He squeezes you tighter, letting out a furnace-bellow breath, as you tease the head through your wet folds, stupid fly-by-night sex-trigonometry screeching through your head as you find the angle you both need to get him in. He drops his free hand on your thigh, pulling you further open, giving himself a handle to hold.

As soon as his big cockhead plugs your hole and seals a seal with the wet, you fly to grip both his wrists, nerves on high alert. For good cause, as well, because instantly, he starts fucking up into you with harsh thrusts, constricting all around you with bruising force.

The sheer mass of him is over-fucking-whelming, and white spots crackle in your vision as you pant, trying desperately to relax and accept him into your body. Usually–when he’s sweeter and taking his time with you, not punishing you for a perceived slight like he is now–he is slower, considerate, almost hesitant until you dig your spurs into his sides, demanding he cut loose.

This time he’s forcing you to ride him, emptying and filling you in deeper and deeper strokes, forcing you to take his cock. Somehow it still feels right, just being full of him, aching with it, pussy hungrily sucking him in, wanting more and more and more.

But, god dammit, you can’t just let him get away with this. You fuck back down against him, trying to meet his rhythm with the little movement he affords your bound body, the sound of his boots grinding for purchase in the substrate, your combined dead-sprint breathing, and his balls slapping wet against your ass breaking the utter still-life quiet of the woods.

“Insertion specialist,” you bite, throwing your head back against his shoulder to belt out your whimpering laughter, and, oh, that burns him.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he snarls, his helpless thrusting turning focused, dragging you down in hard thrusts, hitting your cervix with every deep, powerful stroke. It knocks the wind out of you, and you’re left speechless, probably what he wanted.

It puts you in a trance state, your eyes unfocused looking up at the canopy as he uses you. A wet, liquid-gold heat starts building pressure behind your pelvis, and a frantic harebrained thought tells you that you have to piss. It only gets worse when he drops his hand back between your legs, putting a finger on either side of your clit, his intent clear.

“Wait,” you wheeze, barely surfacing the trance, rolling your eyes wildly toward him, finding his focus is between your legs. “Wait, König, I–”

“Just fucking take it,” he cuts you off, and it’s not entirely cruel. He’s forcing an orgasm on you, maybe the thought crawled up out of the part of his heart where his empathy lives, the part he hides until his real-boy-skin-suit has fallen away in tatters. You know what’s underneath. You love him for what he is.

You squirt when you come, pouring down his cock, soaking your thighs. Your cunt tries to push him out, but he belligerently stays buried, riding it out with you, and he whimpers as you spasm and ripple around him, biting your shoulder through his mask and the gaiter beneath it. It’s a dull pressure, and you wish it was sharper.

“Oh my god,” you keen, trying to turn and hide your face, trying to draw your legs back together as wave after wave of pleasure rock your body, your stomach turning in benign shame. König praises you, “Good, good, good, good,” his words falling away into a German blur that you have a hard time translating.

“Arch your back, curl up,” he tells you in his native language, his command voice withering, getting lost as he gets closer. He’s gotten fatter in your swollen cunt, and he throbs against your walls. His balls are pulled up so tight, you can feel them against your lips on the upstroke.

All you can do is listen, lifting off of him and curving like you’re living through an exorcism.

Doesn’t that make him lose his goddamned mind. Moans like a shocked virgin getting his first piece of pussy, in tandem with the cry you release, sliding in at a new angle. He can’t even help himself, he’s just stupid with pleasure, chasing it. All the bite and venom he had floods out of him, and he’s just a panting, greedy, whimpering mess, holding on to you because he needs an anchor, because he needs you.

He pushes up onto the balls of his feet, leaving the tree completely, forcing you back against him in the cage of his body. Your legs slide open over his thighs, and you’re dependent on him to keep from falling face-first in the forest floor and eating shit. He keeps you up, clutching to you, fucking you with short, fast thrusts, the soaking wet sounds of his cock demanding everything your cunt can deliver obscene, carnal.

Your idiot hand grabs for his hood as it hangs over your shoulder, spilling dumb swears and nonsense, “Fuck–oh, fucking–god dammit, König, you’re. I can’t,” that he meets with simple begging, “Bitte, bitte, Schatzi, bitte, Ich brauche, bitte, Ich brauche–”

His form staggers, and he takes a knee, locking up tight, letting out a thin, high-pitched cry of shock as he cums, flooding you completely in big jets. The pressure is uncomfortable and delirious, but you try to tighten around him, hold as much as you can.

Both of your heads ring in the immediate aftermath. You can suddenly tell that both of you reek, the scent of twelve-hours worth of stakeout body odor mixing with musk, sex, and cum. You can tell by how his mouth sounds as he pants and tries to collect himself and work through his intense but inescapable post-nut shame that he’s dehydrated. You are, too, your head pounding. And, just because you know him, and you know how you work as a team, you don’t need to look at either of set of your shaking hands to know both of your blood sugar is utterly fucked.

Slowly, he lumbers back up against the tree, his touch turning softer. You flop back against him, winching when his cock slips out of you, hanging glistening and messy between his legs. He buries himself in the crook of your neck, trying to steady his breathing. His arms come up again–not to pin you in place, but to hug and hold you. You pat the scant sliver of bare skin between his gloves and the cuff of the ghillie suit.

Only occurs to you right now how stupid you two must’ve looked. Like a monkey fucking a football. Or maybe two bushes getting battered around in a storm. You snort a weary laugh, and he shakes his head, nosing deeper. He’s asking for quiet. You give it, letting your eyes slip closed as his cum drips out of you.

A few minutes later, he stirs, kneading your sides with his fingers. Mean-König has fucked off, you can already tell. It’s not KorTac-König, either, the one that’s nasty and loud and abrasive. This is just König. The slice of him that you know the first and last name of. The one that takes you on dates, and to go grocery shopping at Lidl–who lets you kiss his harelipped mouth, who lets you moisturize and massage the gummy wads of keloid burn scars eating up the left side of his face and neck, from when he was burnt by boiling sugar as a child, when they feel tight and miserable.

For convenience, and knowing you’re both going to seek it out, you unclip your helmet straps, letting them tumble off your heads. Further, you reach back and pull the hood off over his head, dropping it over your thigh, and pull your mask down as he pulls down his gaiter.

He helps you shift enough that you’re lying on your side over him, wet, soft cock pressing into your naked thigh. He sighs when you kiss him, light, quick, over and over, never really leaving his lips. He’ll be needy for the rest of the night.

His pupils are slowly going back down to a normal size, and the blue is coming back, all puppy-eyed and wet as he presses your foreheads together. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I had fun.”

“I shouldn’t have been that rough. Or mean.”

You shrug. “You know I thought it was hot.” You give him simple facts, easy to chew and swallow while his teeth are hurting from his harshness. You think he’d probably ask you to pull them so he couldn’t do something like it again in the future, but that is simply not in his nature. Fanged, or not, his moods will come and go.

His hands tremble, going to his thighs, and he digs up a zippo and a pack of cigarettes, pressing them into you. “Could you light some for us, please.”

You do, giving him another kiss before you break to try to attend your given task. He helps stabilize your hands, and you end up with lit menthols, popping one between his lips. He inhales deeply, shuddering as he relaxes a physical notch.

You heavily pet his face, traveling his bone structure, and then down his neck. Start to focus on his chest and shoulders, because it will help him down the easiest. Even though he took charge today, you still readily slot into the process of leading aftercare, truncated as it is by being in the field. Almost literally.

“Think you’ll be up for more later?” you ask, digging your fingers into the spot behind his ear that always makes him lax. “Safehouse would let us take our time.”

He makes a grumbling noise, touching your noses together. “Want to love you. Not fuck.”

“Yeah, no. I couldn’t take another fuck tonight,” you snort in agreement, and, finally, he snorts back. “We need to get moving. Sun’s going down, and we need to report.”

He gathers you up for a final, lingering, sloppy kiss before he unwinds from you, knowing that you’re right. And, besides, there’s a safehouse looming on the horizon.

#konig #könig #call of duty #cod mw2 #mw2 #konig mw2 #konig call of duty #konig x reader #konig smut #my work #ngl i just wrote my oc in second person pov so like sorry but honestly not that sorry lmfao everyone still gets to eat #but there's no use of names or nationality markers it reads pure reader

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wishuroses · 1 year

Text

.⠀ ݁ ⸜⸜ 𓂃 𓇼 oh say it ditto, aonung.

✶ pairings: aonung x sully!reader

✶ warnings: fluff, fighting, reader is awkward, flirty and touchy aonung, spicy tension if u squint hard enough maybe idk fuck around and find out, reader the ultimate brozoner, reader and lo’ak evil twin agenda, not proofread whatsoever, uppercase intended!

✶ word count: 2k

✶ na’vi glossary: kenten – fan lizard, paskalin – honey, skxawng – idiot.

✶ a/n: me vs stealing kpop song lyrics to use as titles LOL i literally had to rewind some scenes like a thousand times to get everything down right hehe.. happy reading! >:-)

After nearly weeks of traveling on your ikrans, your family had finally arrived in Awa’atlu, desperately seeking Uturu to get away from war. You were standing beside your brother, Neteyam, your lanky arms hanging awkwardly in front of you, tense hands clasped together in a poor attempt to ground yourself.

You felt even more awkward when an–admittedly attractive– boy and his friend entered the crowd. Once the two of you made eye contact–his being a thousand times more intense than yours, burning into you like a hundred suns– you immediately brought your hand to your forehead, a sign of respect.

Instead of him doing the same like you thought he would, he flared his nostrils and looked you up and down with a narrowed glare. His stare made a feeling flutter deep in your stomach, like someone alerted a field of colorful kenten.

Oh. He was sizing you up.

With an inaudible inhale, you shuffled closer to Neteyam, his heavy arm immediately coming to wrap around your tense shoulders, thumbing at scarred skin, effectively grounding you. Your big amber eyes never broke away from Aonung’s baby blue ones, furrowing your eyebrows and flicking your ears upward in embarrassment from being blatantly ignored. He would definitely be a problem later.

It was when your dad whispered an “it’s alright, be cool” that you finally broke his gaze, opting to look at the ground beneath you. Your thick braids curtained the sides of your face, beads clicking together harmoniously–the feeling of being watched intensely from a crowd of na’vi made you feel nauseous, dizzy, and even more alienated; your nose twitching as the the saltiness of the air nearly intoxicates you.

The sand felt weird, foreign, incredibly unfamiliar to the dark soil you already missed digging your feet into. The waves crashing against the shore, however, sounded lovely. The wind blows, it passes over, beneath, and between the mangroves, one after another, never to return. Though, it wasn’t enough to fill the void. You hoped that after all this blew over, you and your family would be able to go back home–but the gnawing voice at the back of your head knew that would never happen.

“These children are not even true Na’vi.”

You harshly blinked away the tears that threatened to spill when you felt the Tsahìk rip one of your clasped hands away, only to hold your four-fingered hand up for the scrutinizing crowd to see. Her voice boomed with authority.

“They have demon blood!”

The only thing you could hear were ringing in your ears, your own pulsing heartbeat, and the scared gasps of the na’vi surrounding you.

Welp. This is your life now. Your home.

.⠀ ݁ ⸜⸜ 𓂃 ✿̅

“Hey!” Lo’ak yelled, striding up to Aonung and his crew with you following closely behind, “Back off, fishlips.” Kiri took a few small steps back, looking between the both of you in a slight panic; you nodded towards her and she nodded back with a small, yet obviously forced smile on her face, the look in her eyes gave you just enough to know she was fine.

Aonung’s face quickly morphed into a smirk, his tone criminally sardonic. By Eywa, this boy is evil. “Oooh, more four-fingered freaks!” He cackled wickedly, lightly shoving Lo’ak–almost playful– like he wasn’t tormenting Kiri a few moments ago. Him and his gang started to crowd around your twin, pulling and touching the thin tail that flicked with annoyance.

“Leave us alone!” Kiri chorused, the plea sitting desperately on her tongue.

With an exaggerated sigh, you ran up beside Lo’ak and shoved Aonung with as much strength as your lithe body could muster at the moment, running off of pure adrenaline. The push wasn’t that strong, but strong enough that it made Aonung take a few steps back, admittedly flustering him a little. “Dude, don’t touch him!” You emphasized, your frantic, honeyed eyes as wide as can be, staring back into his.

Time seemed to stop for Aonung as he took in your appearance like he did the first time you two saw each other, yet you were even beautiful up close. His eyes looked between your left eye, your right, and then to your lips. Before his own mind could even register, he wrapped his big hand around your wrist, indulging in how it nearly engulfed your entire hand. Once his thumb caressed your skin, you felt your heart jump.

“Beautiful..” Aonung whispered– his voice low and deep– so that just the two of you would be able to hear it. His tongue swiped at his bottom lip, effectively distracting you from what was really important at the moment.

It seems that he was too caught up in taking you in, narrowly missing the way Neteyam was currently striding up to him with vigor, shoving him with way more force than you ever had, resulting in everyone going quiet and shifting their attention towards him.

“You heard what they said.” Neteyam started, pointing an accusing finger at Aonung. “Leave them alone.”

“Back off, now.”

Aonung raised his hands up in mock surrender, looking off to the side as Neteyam continued to stare holes into his head.

“Smart choice. And from now on I need you to respect my sisters.”

“Let’s go.” Neteyam gathered you, Kiri, and Lo’ak like sheep, ready to walk away and get whatever the hell was happening over with.

“Look at them. They’re all freaks, the whole family.”

Lo’ak sighs deeply at this and makes his way back over to Aonung and his friends.

Watching him with wide eyes, your heart panged as you figured out what would happen as soon as he steps into their vicinity again. “Lo’ak..” You chided, hurriedly looking back towards your twin and the snickering guys behind him.

“I got this, sis.”

Lo’ak, in fact, did not have it. A huge fight broke out between everyone, excluding Kiri of course. What kind of twin would you be if you didn’t jump in?

.⠀ ݁ ⸜⸜ 𓂃 ✿̅

You all were definitely about to get the lecturing of a lifetime–or, you and Lo’ak, at least. Lo’ak had his hand wrapped around his arm, Neteyam rubbing at his bloodied nose, while you had your arms crossed, nails digging into your elbows. All with Jake trailing behind, practically seething with anger.

“What was the one thing I asked? The one thing?”

“Stay out of trouble–” You and Lo’ak chorused, Neteyam looking off to the side.

“Stay out of trouble, right.”

“And you,” Jake started incredulously, turning his stern gaze towards you. He knew you and Lo’ak were alike, down to a T, so maybe he really shouldn’t be surprised, yet he still couldn’t help but feel a semblance of disappointment pang in his chest as he watched the pinkish hue of Aonung’s blood stain the tips of your teeth and the cracks of your bruised lips. “You bit Aonung!”

“I did not–” “Yes, you did! Oh, so now you’re starting to lie to me?” Immediately, your ears cast downward, the loudness of his voice making tears brim your eyes and your bottom lip tremble. He was right, you actually did lie, the taste of iron fresh on your tongue to further prove his point. But how you hated when your father spoke to you like this–the weight of shame and disappointment dripping down your shoulders like hot syrup.

You felt Lo’ak and Neteyam’s stare burn into the side of your head like hot coals, their hearts heavy as they both watched their little sister get scolded for something she didn’t start.

Neteyam pursed his lips before stepping in front of you and Lo’ak, ready to defend. “Sir, it is all my fault–”

“I don’t think so. You gotta stop taking the heat for these two knuckleheads.” Your shoulders were pinched as a tear ran down the slope of your rounded cheek, hand coming up to quickly swipe it away. Neteyam stepped over to place a hand on your back.

“Dad, Aonung was picking on Kiri.. called her a freak.” Lo’ak said softly, as to not make your father raise his voice any more than he already was. Jake’s stern gaze softened at this, looking off to the side. He sighed audibly before looking back to the both of you.

“Go apologize to Aonung.”

“What?” You and Lo’ak said in unison, both of your eyebrows furrowing.

“He is the chief’s son, do you understand? I don’t care how you do it, just make peace. Just go.”

And with that, Lo’ak sighed and shook his head, stray braids swinging with the movement, walking off to go find Aonung with you scurrying behind like a lost, pitiful puppy. You didn’t dare look back when Jake called for Neteyam, only focusing on controlling your own harsh breathing. This had to have been the worst day of your life.

.⠀ ݁ ⸜⸜ 𓂃 ✿̅

“Run that by me again.”

“..Whatever that means.”

“Repeat what you said.”

“I said, if you allow me to court your sister, you will be pardoned.”

“Dude, I am not prostituting my sister. Are you nuts or something?”

“Not prostituting, I just happen to like her.”

Well, you thought, so much for trying to apologize.

You were currently hiding behind a nearby tree, ears alert as you listened in on their conversation. Lo’ak told you to stay put, that he’d go apologize to the dude himself since you didn’t have anything to do with it; technically you did bite him, and his friend.. and two more of his friends. But that was because you had teeth, so why not use them for what they’re made for?

By the time Aonung blinked, you were already at your twin’s side, amber eyes glancing into amber eyes before peeking into his blue ones. “I am very sorry, Aonung, but I don’t think Kiri is interested in you. Like, at all.” You said with a tilt of your head, beads thudding almost mockingly.

After an awkward beat of silence, Aonung cleared his throat. “No, I’m not talking about Kiri..? I’m talking about you, (Y/N).”

Lo’ak gawked at him as if he had grown fifteen heads, eyebrows raised incredulously. “Bro–” “I accept your offer.” Now Lo’ak was staring at you as if you were crazier for even accepting, mouth open cartoonishly wide. Aonung, however, looked extremely pleased at your response, glancing at Lo’ak in a way that screamed ‘she said it, not me’.

“Whatever. Let me know if you need me to beat him up, okay? And you, bring my baby sister back before eclipse.” Lo’ak huffed before turning to set off along the shore, shaking his head in the procress.

“Not a baby, Lo’ak, we were born five minutes apart!” You complained in English, making Aonung’s ears perk up at the foreign language that spilled from your mouth.

Lo’ak turned to you, flipping you off with both hands raised in the air–even with his thumbs out. Disrespectful. “Girl, bye!”

You watched your brother walk further and further, his silhouette getting smaller and smaller. Blinking, you turned to Aonung, only to find out he’s already staring you down intensely. Acknowledging him with a nod of your head, you felt your cheeks flush at his attention, a fluttering feeling took over the pit of your stomach.

Aonung crowded you, tucking his fingers under your chin to make you look up at him. “Just so you know, I would have courted you even without your brother’s permission, sweet girl.” His eyes were even prettier up close, a striking narrowed blue boring into your honey ones. You felt your heart violently palpate at the name, and with a nervous exhale, you shied away from his hand.

“Come.” You quipped sweetly, skipping ahead with Aonung following close behind, his eyes trailing down your form, stopping at the pretty woven bow that sat right at the base of your tail. His gaze snapped back to your face when he saw you face him in his peripheral, heart thudding against his ribcage. “Do you call everyone ‘sweet girl’?”

“No, only you. You are very pretty, by the way.”

“Thanks bro.” He internally cringed at the choice of label, it was a habit, obviously, but Aonung didn’t seem to mind it very much; he knew it would change over the course of time. “You think the same about Lo’ak?”

“By Eywa, no, he doesn’t look half as good as you, paskalin.”

“He is my twin, skxawng. We look the same.”

Aonung went silent for a few moments, scanning your features before responding. “.. Not necessarily. The shape of the hair over your eyes are both the same, though. I will give you that much.”

Your laugh fluctuated throughout the air, singing harmoniously with the crashing waves. You desperately trying to ignore the way your entire body felt like it was lit up in flames when he placed his hand on the small of your waist, thumbing at the skin, you were sure he could hear your heartbeat threatening to jump out of your chest.

Looking up at him, you noticed the small multitude of bite marks along his shoulders and arms, your ears lowering in guilt when the phantom taste of iron filled your mouth, remembering what your dad told you.

“Also–uhm– sorry for biting you.. so many times.”

“It’s okay, I liked it, sorry for calling you a freak.”

“No hard feelings. I’ve said worse about you with Lo’ak.” Aonung decided he would ignore that last part, while you decided to ignore the first part of his statement, feeling your face flush for the thousandth time today.

“I really did like it, by the way, you biting me. Do it again next time.”

“.. Jesus christ.”

“Who?”

You didn’t really like it here at first, but since the Olo’eyktan’s son currently had his hand digging into the skin of your waist with full intent on courting you, you guess you could make it work.

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smuthospital · 7 months

Text

⭐️Yandere Miguel Ohara⭐️

Premise: You're a scientist, and Miguel is struck with a strange virus while out on the field. It's up to you to help him

Warning: Non-con, aphrodisiac, biting, fem reader

Minors DNI

You fiddle with your handbag nervously as you walk into the large building, entering the main foyer. You walk up to the main desk to see no one manning it. Just before you were about to look for an employee, a hologram flashes before your eyes. "Ah, you must be here for the interview. I'm Lyla, Miguel's AI assistant. Miguel's office is on the top floor. The elevator is to the right. Good luck!" You nod, thanking her before scurrying off. "Grumpy pants is really gonna like this one. Just his type," she chuckles, just out of earshot before disappearing. You're sweating bullets as you enter the elevator. You hope no one can see your sweat through the clothes you carefully selected for today.

You press the top floor key and wait. The ride to the top is agonizingly long. The doors opened to reveal a long corridor with a set of double doors at the end. You hesitantly knock followed by silence...Maybe he's not in? "Ugh. What now!?" A deep voice booms from the other side, the door immediately swinging open to reveal a very, very large angry man leaning over you. Surprise paints his face as he looks down upon you. He forgot he had one last interview for the day. Lyla snickers behind him, purposefully withholding your arrival for this scene. "O-oh! My apologies, please come in. (Y/n), was it?" He moves out of the way, allowing you to walk into his spacious office. He takes notice of the way your hips sway as you walk. He shakes his head, trying to dispel his unwanted thoughts. "Yes, that's me. It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Ohara," you say, smiling up at him.

He chuckles. It's adorable and strange at the same time to see someone so cute trying to be professional. "The pleasure is all mine. Have a seat,(Y/n)." He enjoys the way your name slides off his tongue. He sits at his desk and you take a seat in front. He crosses his arms over his chest, making his biceps bulge. It's as impressive as it is intimidating. You feel like a small bug before him. Your hands are clamming up. You barely make eye contact with him, opting to stare at the ground. Your resume was a good match for the position and his team of scientists were looking for a helping hand with experiments. It also helped that you were required to submit a photo with your resume and he liked what he saw. He must admit that you look even better in person. More promising candidates came before you, but you had his favour, not that he would ever admit that, even to himself. He asked you a few questions about yourself, knowing he'd hire you as soon as you walked in.

"Your resume was quite impressive. We could use a hard worker like you around here," he says as his eyes drift down from your pretty face down to your sexy collar bones...and accidentally land on your slightly open blouse that shows a delicious amount of skin. "Thank you. I admire all the work you and the scientists do here and I wanted to be a part of it." His eyes snap back up to yours. He inwardly shames himself for allowing himself to indulge in your appearance so much. It looks like you didn't notice his perversion. He smiles down at you, still having heard your response.

He stands up from his seat and outstretches his large hand towards you. You blush furiously and take his hand in yours. You watch your hand disappear as it's completely engulfed by his. He relishes the feeling. Chills of pleasure go down his spine. your hands are so delicate and smooth in his. He gives it a firm shake. "It was nice meeting you. Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Ohara, " you say smiling up at him with that same sweet-as-candy look from before. So Polite! Miguel has already taken such a liking to you. He hesitantly releases your hand, missing the feeling of your soft skin on his. "I'll be looking forward to your help around here, (Y/n). Have a nice day." He curses quietly to himself as he watches you leave the room, finding his eyes land on your ass once again. The spider in him is telling him to do awful things to you. Those stupid instincts of his.

Your first day of work comes and you're welcomed by the senior scientists instantly. You're the youngest member of the team. You now have the important task of assisting the other scientists with their tests. Venom testing, finding antidotes for said venoms, and going on coffee runs! You worked very hard in school to get this position, studying tirelessly day and night so you were a bit disappointed when the majority of your tasks were just coffee runs and grunt work, but you're still very grateful to be able to at least watch them at work.

A few days pass and you get the hang of your duties. The scientists usually appear extremely tired and overworked. That's when they wore their pyjamas to work and you went on the most coffee runs. Your co-worker appears before you with a stack of documents and a box of test tubes and tiredly sets them down before you, causing the table to shake. "Here, girl. Take these to Miguel. He was struck by a monster that's given him some...unwanted side effects. The antidote and ans the originally tested venom are in here. He's expecting them very soon so hurry...And bring back some coffee!" He doesn't give you a chance to respond, going back to his desk where a larger pile of papers lies before him along with four empty cups of coffee. Afraid of angering your exhausted senior, you quickly take the papers and make your way to the elevator. You begin to get nervous again, not ready to see the large muscly man so soon.

Miguel paces around in his office, quickly taking a seat behind his desk when he hears you knock. "Come in," he shouts. You notice he's a bit off when you enter. He seems nervous.. and he's blushing. He can't stop his eyes from focusing on your most intimate parts. Try as he might, he can't look away. The way he's looking at you is...frightening to say the least. His hands clench and unclench as beads of sweat roll down his neck. He swallows hard. He's using all his willpower to stop himself from ripping your clothes off. The priapism mixed with his spider instincts is not a good pair. He is so painfully hard. He already came twice before you came in, the underside of his desk splattered a white mess. "Mr. Ohara, I've brought the test tubes and documents you request-" He cuts you off before you can finish. "Hand me the antidote."

"Yes, sir!" His cock jumps when you call him that. He grunts and digs his palms into the wood of his desk. To you, he just seems upset. You read the labels on the tubes. They're written in classic doctor's handwriting, but from what you can see, one of them is severe priapism and the other is the venom he was injected with. You quickly hand him the tube which he downs immediately. He's quiet for a moment, waiting for his bothersome symptoms to go away, waiting for his swollen cock to finally calm down. He breathes heavily, tapping his foot with his eyes closed. He can't bare to look at you, feeling so very embarrassed. He hopes you haven't picked up on what's wrong with him.

Suddenly, he stops his body going completely still in his seat before he tumbles out of his chair. You have no idea what's going on. You don't even know what he was infected with. "Mr.Ohara!? W-whats wrong!?" You approach the desk, about to look over at him. He's oddly quiet. You're scared. Is he that hurt? Was there something wrong with the antidote? Did you give him the wrong tube? Oh god, you need to inform the lab and the infirmary. "I'm gonna get hel-" He leaps over the desk and lunges at you, an animalistic growl escaping his throat. you let out a scream and dive out of the way just in time. You crawl away from your boss, your heart pounding against your ribcage like it wants to escape.

You look into Miguel's eyes. They're different now. Instead of their usual red-brown colour, they're red with slits. You feel like you're facing off with a jaguar. You have a feeling that the second you move, hell attack. Tears border your eyes as you sit there in fear. Lyla appears once again, but the calm look is wiped off her face at what she sees. She looks Miguel up..and down and realizes what went wrong. She covers her mouth in shock and looks over at you. "(Y/n)! You have to get out of here! Miguel isn't himself!" You look back at her, feeling your limbs go numb. You know you have a limited amount of time to sit there and do nothing. On three, you'll force your body to get up and make for the door.

One...

Two.......

Three!!!

You scramble up from your spot on the ground and make a mad dash for the door, not even looking back. You don't need to though. You can feel him behind you. You can feel his claws barely grazing your back. You can hear his footsteps right behind yours. You open the door and slam it behind you. You know that won't hold him and just as expected, he bursts through it and starts chasing you on all fours. You continue running down the hall and slam your hand on the elevator button. By gods grace, it opens immediately. You think it may have been Lyla.

You waste no time getting in the elevator and pressing the emergency shut button a second before he would have joined you in there. You breathe a sigh of relief and click the button for the lab floor. Hopefully, in his animalistic state, he doesn't know how to operate an elevator...You were right, he doesn't, but it doesn't matter. You hear a loud slam and see a dent form in the elevator. then another and another. You scream and cry as he pries the doors apart before the elevator could start moving. Your only chance of escape is getting past him and using the stairs. Right as he gets the elevator doors wide enough, you slip between his legs and run towards the stairs.

He grows and chases after you. You've never been more scared in your life. In your panic, you trip over your own feet, sending yourself tumbling down the stairs. although it hurt, you fell faster than you could run. You lift your head from the concrete to see Miguel jumping six steps at a time. You get up as quickly as you can and enter the floor below Miguel's office. Spiders are looking at you questioningly, wondering why a scientist is running around crying and screaming like a lunatic. their confusion is cut short when they see Miguel burst from the stairwell, knocking over everything and everyone in his path to you.

"P-Please! Help me!" you scream. Spiders immediately get between you and him, but it doesn't last long before he's throwing them around like rag dolls. You take the opportunity to run down the next stairwell, hoping to find somewhere to hide. You make it two floors below and hide under a desk. You curl into yourself and cover your mouth with both your hands, trying to muffle your ragged breathing and whimpering. You shut your eyes and take deep breaths, trying to calm yourself when you feel a tap on your shoulder. Your soul nearly flies out of your body when a hand rubs your knee followed by a hush. You look over to see that it's just a spider. They lean in and whisper "Shh it's ok, love. I'm Hobbie. We have to get you out of here. We're going to capture boss man. Follow m-" The desk over the two of you goes flying. Miguel stands there with heaving shoulders, eyes just as wide and animalistic as before. The Hobbie takes your arm and crashes through the side of the building, swinging down and crashing down into the main atrium.

It looks like your arrival was prepared because a large team of spider people and the science team are already there waiting for you. You remind yourself to thank Lyla later. You scream as you and Spiderpunk continue to be chased by a very persistent Miguel. Spiders try to stop him, shooting webs and attacking him but he just busts right through them again. He's unstoppable. Your legs are getting tired and your lungs are burning. You can't take much more of this. Miguel is used to this sort of activity, but you're just a scientist. Miguel bars his fangs at you. He's gone completely feral. What was he even infected with?

An electric red web shoots out toward you. You think it's over for you, but open your eyes to see that Spiderpunk got in front of you. "Go! Keep running! Jess will find you!" He shouts. You reach a dead end with a bathroom. With no other choice, you run in and hide in a stall. It's silent for a moment. No footsteps, no sounds. Just as you think you lost him, you feel a hot sticky liquid hit your cheek. You look up in terror. It's Mr. Ohara. It finally clicks what he's been affected with. The liquid came from the bulge in his suit. He jumps down from the ceiling, landing on his feet and towering over you. You fall back, immediately clambering out of the stall through the bottom gap. He breaks the door off its hinges, following right after. Just as he's about to reach for you, a red light flashes. Miguel is caught in his containment device. Jess helps you to your feet. "(Y/n), are you ok? You did a good job leading him to a closed area." That was a complete accident, but you don't have the breath in your lungs to tell her that. You look over to Miguel to see him snarling and slashing at the red cage with the sharp attachments of his suit, his eyes never leaving your form. Your face is red for all sorts of reasons now. His cock is still visibly leaking arousal,

Finally. He's contained. The science team could help him from in there. After the sudden events, you let out a sob. You were chased through HQ by the strongest man in there. If it weren't for Jess, he would've... You sniffle. You're led back to the science team by Jess. They all look at you like they've seen a ghost. You assume it's because of what happened. Jess pulls them to the side and whispers between themselves. You can't make out what they're saying. After they split up, the scientists get back to work, sending you suspicious glances now and then. You must be in trouble. Jess walks into the room and whispers to the scientists, who suddenly look frantic. Jess grimaces. She pauses in her spot, looking at the ground before walking over to you. "Hey, sweetie, we got Miguel back to himself. We gave him a double shot of antidote to counteract his double shot of venom. He'd like to apologize to you now if that's okay with you." She extends her hand and you take it, feeling reassured. You're happy the nightmare is over. Jess helps you up and leads you back up to Miguel's office.

You look around at the wreckage. Miguel has caused quite a mess. The doors need to be replaced. All of them. You arrive at Miguel's office door, which seems to have been repaired with webs. You're about to enter when you hear a soft growl from the other side. Your heart rate accelerates. Jess shoves you through the door and uses her webs to stick it shut before you can even think of running. You bang on the door, not even facing the monster you're trapped in there with. "I'm sorry, (Y/n). This is the only way we can calm him. He broke through his containment device before we could make an antidote strong enough and he's too dangerous to let him roam free." You continue banging on the door, trying to push it open in vain. "No! Please! Let me out! I'm begging you, please!"

Your heart sinks into your stomach as you hear her footsteps fade away. A shadow encompasses you from behind. You're ripped away from the door and thrown to the floor, knowing the wind out of you. You scream as the monster known as Miguel Ohara climbs over you, his arms holding yours sown and jaw snapping towards your neck viciously. You're screaming uncontrollably, ducking away from his snapping teeth, missing him by a hair. "Mr.Ohara! Please stop!" you cry, trying to appeal to his long-lost humanity. His claws dig into your arms, bringing your torso up and smashing you back into the floor, winding you for a second time.

He latches his mouth onto your neck, his fangs sinking into your soft flesh. You cry out in pain as blood leaks past his lips before you feel a cold liquid enters the wound from his fangs. Slowly, you lose the ability to move any part of your body. You feel his ginormous bulge press into your clothed crotch. He grabs onto your waist, grunting while violently humping into you until you feel a hot wetness explode onto you. He came through his suit, soaking you.

You're helpless as he releases your arms and inhales your scent, moaning as he breathes out. He sinks his body lower on yours, pausing at your chest. He raises a clawed finger and begins tearing it in two from the center. Once off, he does the same to your bra, exposing your breasts. He doesn't hesitate to lick your nipple, lapping at it and tweaking the other with his fingers. He sinks lower on you and digs his nose into your crotch, pressing in and inhaling. The clothes protecting your pussy from his hungry eyes don't last long, falling to the floor in pieces.

He licks a stripe up your pussy and stares into your eyes. You try to tell him to stop, but your lips and tongue won't move the way you want them to. Noises slip past your parted lips in a pathetic attempt at begging. Your face burns bright. He grunts as his suit rubs against his throbbing cock. He rips his suit at the crotch to free his painful erection and climbs over you, his monstrous cock rubbing against your cunt. You whine in protest. as he lifts your thighs and puts them on his shoulders, leaning over you to lock you in a mating press. Tears run down your hot cheeks. This will kill you! Or render you handicapped at the very least!

He hisses as he pushes forward. You squeeze your eyes shut. Oh god, it hurts! He's stretching you open on his cock. Inch by inch, he sinks himself in. With nowhere else to go, his cock forms a large bulge in your lower stomach. A pained moan escapes your throat. he rears his hips back and rams forward, punching your cervix. He lets out short animalistic grunts and growls. He grunts as he finally manages to bottom out, your cervix screaming for help as you're fully stretched over his massive cock. He doesn't give you a second to adjust, ramming himself in and out rapidly until he thrusts in one last time before you feel hotness shoot inside you. There's so much that your stomach rises from the sheer amount before escaping past his cock. He bucks his hips forward as if to taunt you, forcing his cum deeper inside your already swollen insides. He pants on top of you before slowly unsheathing himself from your abused hole.

Your brain isn't able to process anything but the feeling of your insides and that he's finally done with you. He roughly flips you over on your stomach and pulls your hips back, forcing your back to arch up before him. He presses his thighs to your ass, lining his cock up with your entrance. You whimper, tears leaking from your eyes. He sheathes himself within you again, leaning over you and growing right in your ear. His hips piston in and out of you ferociously, his hot, ragged breath fanning over your neck. Your walls begin to clench around him again. His hands grab your hips, pressing your ass flush to his hips. The height difference causes your knees to lift off the ground. you can feel every inch of him inside you.

Your eyes cross. You can't take much more of this. You're getting drunk off the feeling of being raped by your boss. He ruts faster inside you, smacking sounds echoing through the room. You feel shame pool in your gut along with the same hotness from before. You feel it flow into you before running out of space and running down your thighs. His claws dig into your flesh, causing rivulets of blood to leak past his fingers. You feel your energy drain from you as you come down from your high. He continues pumping in and out of you as you succumb to sleep.

#lemon #non con #x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse

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boozenboze · 1 year

Note

141 and male reader who is angry and when he’s angry, he goes in the gym area they have and just punches the punching bad with bare fists for hours on end and basically breaks the punching bags but keeps putting new ones up. his fists are bloody and bruised and everyone is looking for him and they can’t find him so they search everywhere and find him with blood running down his hands from the countless hours of punching and they have to practically drag him out of the gym and they make him lay down which he wont go down without a fight but YA

SORRY ITS LONG💗😭

Calm Down!

Summary: After a certain soldiers constant slip ups and slacking off Lieutenant Rage gets angry.

Females She/Her and She/ They DNI

Today hadn't gone so well, in fact it went terribly. For starters two of the new recruits lost the files that the team had been sent to retrieve. Secondly, one of the same men had flunked out during training, only to later be seen running about with some of the other soldiers. And the cup of tea to pull everything together he did something he shouldn't have. That thing being talking about one of the higher ups, Lieutenant Rage, also known as M/n. The h/c haired male had his eyes on the recruit since the beginning, knowing that he'd be trouble from the start. The childish acts, the constant slacking off, and always holding everybody back by getting injured. It was clear as day that the man shouldn't be in the military for those exact reasons. The mans carelessness for himself and others would get them all killed.

"Captain do you not understand what i'm saying?" The h/c haired male asked as Price hummed, showing that he was paying attention to the males words as he filled out some papers.

"Rage look, I understand your concern but I haven't seen anything wrong with the seargent." Price explained as M/n glared into his skull.

"Besides maybe your overreacting-"

"I AM NOT OVERREACTING!" The male finally snapped as that cold glint in his eyes that would normally only be seen on the field was now visible. Price flinched at the males change of tone, it was hot yet scary.

"That bastard could get us all killed at some point and your sitting on yer ass like that's ok. THAT IS NOT OKAY!" The male yelled as Price shook slightly from the males booming voice. He was the males Captain, he shouldn't be getting yelled at like this. With one final huff of anger the male stormed out as Price sat in his chair stunned.

The h/c haired male stormed down the hallway, knocking a solider down in the process.

"Hey! Whats your problem....." The soldiers voice dragged as he realized it was his Lieutenant. "I-i'm sorry sir!" The soldier squeaked as he ran down the hallway. M/n was already breathing heavily out of anger, and that anger seemed to double after that small accident. He had to let off some steam at this point. If he was pushed any further he'd end up killing someone. The man was speeding over to the training area that he knew would be empty considering that it was around the time the soldiers would go to their barracks. The h/c haired male couldn't do that, his adrenaline was high and that would only keep him awake longer. He just hoped that he could blow off some steam before going to bed.

Timskip (Gaz pov)

I just came from Prices office and he seemed to be deep in thought. I asked if everything was oky but he said no. He told me about the conversation he had with M/n and from how he explained it, it seemed like he was pissed off. M/n was always the most aggressive out of us all, hell he'd probably yank a mans head off if he could.

We were all walking around the base looking for our beligerant soldier known as M/n. The man could do the unthinkable when he's angry so we hope he isn't doing anything crazy.

"We've checked everywhere for the man it's clear he isn't here!" Soap complained, getting tired of feeling like he had been walking circles. I looked at the man before turning my attention to Ghost. Seemed like he didn't wanna be here either, but he had no choice. We passed the training area and heard a loud slam which caught our attention. Price gave us a look before opening the door. I was surprised to see M/n standing over a punching bag, i'm guessing he broke it considering that the chain that the bag was connected to wasn't there anymore. The man was out of breath as he picked up the punching bag and throwing it to the side.

Ghost had walked over and put his arms under the shorter males arms. The man immediately threw a fit, he was kicking and yelling incoherantly and the men were only able to hear snippets of his words.

"Get the fuck off me-BITCH!" The male yelled as he whipped his head back hitting Ghosts mask. Ghost grunted from the sudden pressure being put on his face as he crouch down to the floor with the male still in his hold. The taller man had the h/c haired male pinned to the ground as the position they were in restricted his movements.

3rd pov

"M/n calm down, we can stay like this for as long as we have to, to make your relax." Price said as M/n huffed angrily. Slowly but surely the mans breathing steadied, despite that he still wasn't calm. Gaz had held the mans hand and furrowed his brows at the sight of the males bleeding knuckles. Ghost had already noticed the mans hands, so he picked him up and walked to the infirmary.

Timeskip

Ghost was seated on the couch next to Ghost, who was currently sipping on some tea as the h/c haired male groaned in annoyance. The slurping sounds aggravated him but he couldn’t since Ghost had him wrapped up in a blanket. He looked like a burrito, a angry one at that. The lieutenant looked at him for a moment before offering the male a biscuit, to which he took. He may be angry, but when snacks are offered there can’t be much of an argument. The male muttered a “thank you” while chewing the savory treat. In that moment Soap and the others came into the room in their pajamas. The Scot almost laughed when he saw the position the private had been put in.

“Well ain’t this nice to see.” Soap said while ruffling the males hair to which the male attempted to bite his hand. Soap laughed and poked the males side before sitting down.

“L/n...look, I thought about what you had said and your right.” Price said as M/n looked him dead in the eye.

“We’ll be terminating him tomorrow, he won’t be bothering anyone else.” Price explains as M/n visibly relaxed. Seems like the removal of that one recruit made a big difference in the males mood which made them all happy.

“Alright...Lets watch a movie since we’re still up!” Gaz said happily while the other men hummed in agreement as M/n squirmed under the blanket.

“If one of you dont get me out this hot ass blanket we’re having problems.” M/n said as Soap hurriedly tool the blanket from around the male. The sound of the movie could be heard as all the men sat back and relaxed. M/n had his head on Ghosts shoulder while Soap had his head on M/n’s. Seems like they would be having a peaceful night.

#male reader #cod x male reader #gay #mw2 x male reader #male y/n #captain price x male reader #gaz x male reader #lgbtq #soap x male reader #ghost x male reader

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fiber-optic-alligator · 10 days

Text

Desperation vs. Domestication (Pt. 2)

Pairing: IDW Drift x Human Reader

WARNING: This story contains soft vore. If this makes you uncomfortable, please do not read this story.

Word Count: 4431

Summary: Though you have been lulled into a deep sense of security by Drift's kindness and comfort, you still haven't completely lost the need to be free. A terrible nightmare refuels your desire for escape...but Drift isn't someone who wants to let you go.

HEEHEEHEEHEE I REALLY WANTED TO WRITE A PART 2 OF THIS...so I did. It's because Drift is my all-time favorite Transformer and I absolutely LOVE putting my favorite characters through angst. If you enjoyed reading part 1, then I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Likes, comments, feedback, and reblogs are never expected, but always appreciated! Enjoy! :D

Here is the link to pt. 1 if you haven’t read it!

Also available to read on AO3!

Two months later…

You dream of Earth tonight.

There are fields; you are standing in one. Long Bermuda grass tickles your ankles with the gentle presence of the planet recognizing its own. The endless green is splattered with occasional droplets of color: pink poppies, yellow sunflowers, marigolds, dandelions. It is warm. There is a slight wind blowing, playing with your hair. You turn your face towards the sunlight and bask in the relief of knowing you are home.

All of a sudden, you hear a sound. Thumping. Steady, rhythmic. Loud. You feel the wind die down and suddenly the sun is gone, and there is only darkness. A massive shadow blots out all of the light. You see a figure looming over you, red-and-white with bright blue eyes that stare into your soul and make you feel terror.

You try to run, but find you cannot move your legs. There is nothing you can do when you watch a giant hand reach down in slow motion and pluck you up, holding you between titanic fingers. The monster’s mouth opens, and then you are tumbling down, right into an abyss of metal and isolation. The Earth melts away forever. You are trapped. You are alone.

Shooting forward out of your nightmare, you hear yourself scream. The squishy floor underneath you makes you lose your footing when you scramble upward in a blind panic and fall into Drift’s stomach wall. Everything moves, the organ grumbling unhappily at you being awake. Your hands scramble at the mesh cables. Little pink bubbles of cybernetic blood pop anxiously beneath their semi-transparent surfaces. The walls close in to squeeze, holding you in a secure hug, attempting to keep you still. But you cannot think. You are scared, and you feel trapped, so you desperately begin to thrash and fight against the stomach.

Drift’s voice booms above you, panicked. “Little one? Little one?!”

“Let me go!” you shriek. “Please, letmegoletmegoletmego!”

The walls loosen up, freeing you. You collapse into the fetal position, gasping while sweat beads your brow and your heart goes crazy.

Drift presses his hands over his middle. “Little one, little one, shhhh, shh, shh, shh,” he hushes frantically. “Safe, safe…safe, all is safe...no need for fear…”

Gradually, you calm down. Only when you are no longer trembling does Drift tentatively begin to squeeze you again. In and out, slow kneading, like he’s silently coaxing you to continue breathing at a healthier pace. “Little one…okay?” he asks.

Your voice quivers. “I-I’m fine. I’m okay. It-It was a bad dream. A nightmare.” You sit upright and lean into the stomach wall. Drift holds you close, the undulating muscle relaxing you with its constant massage. His biolights pulse and flicker, a clear sign of his stress. You woke him up with your screams. It makes you feel bad, so you snuggle his cables further. The robot’s stomach is not a big place, but Drift likes to be conscious of you. The support you provide him in completing this task is obviously appreciated, because he hums softly and pats his hand over where you are.

There is peace again. Peace and warmth. But you don’t feel the usual safety. There is a lingering pit of dread growing deep within your gut, foul roots clawing their way through your body, leaving you jittery, uneased. Your nightmare is the first one in months, and it’s a sure sign things are not right.

It has been such a long time since you thought of your possible escape plan. You don’t know how long, but you do know that you can’t be comfortable here anymore. Your mind is sending the signals loud and clear.

No more stalling, you think to yourself. No more being complacent.

You are not domesticated yet.

When Drift lets you out of here…you will go through with the plan to take an escape pod home. For real this time.

It takes you weeks to perfect your plan. And when you do finally have it all figured out, you come to the conclusion that things may end up being more complicated than you thought. Escaping a spaceship filled with giant alien robots is hard enough, yes. But then there’s the issue of what will happen when you return to Earth. You don’t know how long you’ve been abducted. It could be months. It could be years. What if all of your family and friends are long gone by the time you get home? What if things are so different that you’ve been completely left behind?

No. You can’t think like that. A sharp patting to your cheeks snaps you out of it. Keep it together. This is the moment you have been waiting for. Regardless of what awaits you on Earth, you will be there to face it.

You’ve packed everything you own into a small fabric knapsack your mech gifted you during your first days here (Who knew robots are such good knitters?). It’s not much, not much at all: snacks Drift gives you, strange pellets that clean your teeth, three cans of filtered water…but that’s all you really require for the trip you are going to embark on. You don’t believe it will be particularly long. The escape pods need to have some sort of device that allows them to leap through lightyears to their destinations. You believe this because you’ve watched the mothership do it from the observation windows Drift likes to bring you to sometimes. Hyperspace will occasionally be activated, with stars and planets blurring together into dazzling white paint streaks before coming to an abrupt halt in a totally new galaxy.

Now, do you know how lightjumping works? Absolutely not. Last time you were on Earth, no such human technology had been invented yet. So you don’t exactly know how you’ll get the escape pod to lightjump like the ship does. But you’ll find a way. You have no choice.

Now for the hard part: getting away from Drift long enough to activate the escape pod and blast away. He’s not going to make it easy for you. Drift doesn’t like letting you out of his sight if you aren’t in his room, and hardly lets you roam free. You’ve spent hours, both within his stomach and out, pondering how to go about this. It’s left you with the agonizing decision that you’ll just have to wing it somehow.

The door to his room slides open. You’ve been sitting on his berth with your hands beneath your head and one leg crossed over the other, thinking, thinking, thinking, that at first you nearly didn’t hear him come in. You sit up to greet him with more eagerness than you’d like to show. The nightmare didn’t stop your affection for Drift from rearing its persistent head.

There’s no waiting for him to give you his time today. When he enters the room, his focus is immediately on you with no prior distractions. Drift walks with a spring in his step, his finials perking up like an enthusiastic dog. You notice a small white box he holds in one hand, and think nothing of it. Drift’s room is decorated with countless knickknacks from other planets. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s brought some strange little souvenir home.

“Hey, big guy,” you murmur happily when he kneels down before you. He settles the box to the side and cups both hands behind you, humming his typical car engine-purr greeting. You hug him when he draws you forth so he can nuzzle his nose into your middle. “I’m guessing you missed me?”

Drift beep-boops excitedly. He gives you an affectionate tickle to your side, causing you to giggle. Your reaction delights him. He keeps it up, and pretty soon you are laughing so hard your stomach hurts. “D-Drift, s-stop! I-I can’t breathe!”

He gives you one last light prod, then ends the bout of torture with more cuddles. You recover from the laughter, feeling airy and light like nothing else matters except for the giant robot holding you.

“Little one,” he coos. “My little one.”

“Mhm,” you mumble goodnaturedly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m yours.”

He suddenly looks like he’s remembered something very important, and he straightens, chirping rapidly. You watch as he grabs the white box and, to your surprise, presents it to you. You glance at it, then turn to him. “For me?” you ask, pointing at yourself.

He chirps again and nods.

You take it from him and open it with a slight air of confusion, because he’s never given you something like this before. You think it might be a piece of jewelry, or some sort of charm. But what you see inside is neither of those things. You suck in a sharp breath of pure disbelief and go numb.

It’s a collar. A damn collar. Sleek and narrow, its solid red with a single white stripe circumnavigating it. On one side is a strange symbol of a boxy red robot’s face-the same symbol he has on his chest. These are his colors, you realize. He’s making us match. He wants the other mechs to know that he owns you.

Drift rumbles expectantly. When you remain frozen, unable to pry your eyes away from the collar, he gently pries it out of your now slightly shaking hands. With extreme carefulness, he clasps it around your neck. It fits comfortably and locks with a quiet click.

“My little one,” he repeats. “Mine.”

He’s not trying to scare you. You know he isn’t. Yet your throat is dry, and the snug weight of the collar makes you feel sick.

You need to get the hell off of this ship.

You spend the night feverishly trying to break the collar off, working yourself up like a caged animal driven mad by captivity. But no matter how hard you yank at it, it remains stubbornly fast around your neck. You refuse to eat the food given to you and cry yourself to sleep within a very concerned Drift’s belly, who can’t seem to console you no matter how hard he tries.

Drift doesn’t know what to do with you.

You’ve been moping ever since he gave you the collar. Over the next few days, any sort of drive to escape has left you. You're depressed and disappointed in him for what he’s done. You don’t want to talk to him. You don’t want to accept any of his gifts. Blanket after pillow after plushie-all made by him, with the crude markings of homemade love-are ignored. You shy away from his touch and reject his attention. When he swallows you at night, you give him no inclination you care. You sit like a stone within him and just…stare off vacantly, unable to ignore the collar around your neck.

He’s brought you to the ship’s doctor multiple times. On the first trip, the old red medic bot looked you over and finished his checkup with a shrug and dismissive chuff. The second time, he growled at Drift and waved him away. And on the third time, he didn’t even let him through the door. There’s nothing physically wrong with you. But mentally, how could they know? How could he know he’s hurt you? You trusted him to treat you with some level of respect despite your situation, and he had, until now. The collar was your breaking point. There truly is no way for him to ever see you as anything more than a pet, and it hurts you, because by god, you love him.

“…Little one?”

Drift calls out to you with a soft, sad tone. You huddle up tighter beneath one of your blankets and give no answer.

You hear him shift at his desk. There’s silence between the two of you that is not wanted. He heaves a low sigh and tries again. “Little one…please?”

Damn your heart, you can’t keep giving him the silent treatment when he sounds like he’s about to cry.

You push the blanket off of your head. Drift slouches in his chair, back bent like an old man’s. His finials are drooping, and the glow from his biolights is dimmer than usual. He’s obviously been letting his personal hygiene go for the sake of finding a way to help you, and it hurts to know he’s in this state because of your shitty attitude towards what he simply sees as a gift. The collar is a curse, but you can’t exactly tell him that, can you? This entire situation is all your fault.

It's the treacherous part of your mind which attempts to convince you of this. It partially works. Giving in, you sit up slowly, drawing the blanket tightly around your shoulders and tilting your head while giving him a questioning look.

He’s surprised by your action, like he genuinely wasn’t expecting you to respond to this extent. But he takes advantage of it. Drift offers you a hopeful smile and picks something up from his desk. He stands and walks to you, going slow. You don’t flinch when he crouches down to your level. The warm light of his eyes leaves a kind feeling on your skin.

Tentatively, Drift extends his hand. In his palm is a piece of chocolate, one of the many treats he has at his disposal to provide you with when he feels you are being especially good. It’s an olive branch. A reach in the right direction.

You hesitate…and then you think, Oh, what the hell. Staying mad at Drift when he has no clue he’s done something wrong in the first place won’t get you anywhere. So you accept the candy and take a small bite.

He sags with relief, exhaust whooshing from his nose as he watches you eat with a smile. When you're finished, he moves his hand closer, twining the palm around you and resting the tips of his digits against your head and sides. You hold his index finger, resting your forehead against it and closing your eyes as a sign of trust. But you feel guilty.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, knowing he won’t understand. But you say it anyway. “I love you. I love you so, so much. But you're destroying me. I can’t stay here anymore.”

A tear slips down your cheek. You don’t notice it until Drift gently brushes it away.

“I have to go.” Your voice breaks. “I need to leave. I hope you’ll learn why. And I hope you won’t hate me for it. I-I don’t think I could handle it if you did. Please don’t hate me. Please don’t think I hated you.”

Drift coos. His reply is indecipherable. You think he’s trying to comfort you…but you’ll never know for sure.

He doesn’t swallow you tonight. You don’t know why; maybe he thinks you need a break. Maybe he just wants to hold you in a different fashion this time. You stay awake hours after he falls asleep, your little form nestled in the crook of his neck while he snoozes on his stomach with his arms crossed beneath his massive pillow. You peer off into the darkness, listening to his quiet breaths.

For the longest time, you’ve thought of this room as yours and his. A space the two of you share together. Ours. It's fed into your delusional ideations of a future in which the two of you learn each other’s languages, where you stand on equal ground, you belonging to him and him belonging to you. A future where mechs and humans join hands and say “I see you. I know you. I understand you and you understand me. Neither of us is higher than the other.”

But it will never happen. The collar around your neck is physical proof. There is no future between the two of you anymore. If you want to be you again…you need to let Drift go.

You shuffle away from the bot’s neck and stand. The only parts of him that are lit up right now are the red symbol on his chest and the soft blue of his mouth. He’s so peaceful. This giant alien, who you know has fought in many battles from the scars you can see, is soothed by your presence. You, an insignificant little human being. The dynamic is honestly quite hilarious. You're like his very own version of a chihuahua.

You want to hug his nose, knowing you will never have another chance again. But Drift is a light sleeper, and you're testing the waters enough already. You can’t risk it. It pains you, but you drop your arms and turn away.

Using the metal ladder he made for you so you’d have easy access to his berth, you climb down and grab your knapsack. Quietly padding across the long expanse of the room, you make it to the door. It senses your presence and slides open. You force yourself not to look back when you walk out.

You wonder if he will cry for you when he wakes up and finds you gone.

The spaceship is ominous at night. The only thing you can hear as you traverse the hallways is your heartbeat pulsing in your ears. You're trying to be quiet; passing by multiple rooms with slumbering bots inside has you holding your breath and then letting it out in a forcefully slow, reedy wheeze. You are, after all, a mouse in a prison filled with cats; slow and steady and silent wins the race.

You survey the elevator when you get to it, at a loss of how you’ll possibly find a way to operate it due to how small you are. A miracle finds its way to you, however, in the form of a mech. This one you don’t recognize. He has a similar color scheme to Drift, but is noticeably bulkier, with a strange cannon sitting on his right shoulder and a blue eyepiece over the adjacent optic. All of his focus is on the datapad in his hands as he summons the elevator. You wait for the doors to open and for him to step inside before darting after him. Luckily he doesn’t look up fonce on the short journey. Your cover remains unblown when the doors part again and he heads off. You go in the opposite direction, because like hell are you going to follow the strange robot to someplace where there are probably more strange robots.

You slip in and out of sight, staying far away from any mechs who are awake. They do not see you, which means you are doing this right-though there are some alarming instances where you think you’ll be caught. One such occurrence happens when a tall, thin blue mech with a chest like the front of a helicopter nearly sees you duck into an open storage room for quick cover. Its single orb ominously scans the darkened room. You watch from beneath a large shelving unit, terrified out of your mind. You don’t move, nor do you make a sound, keeping a shaking hand over your mouth.

Finally, after what feels like hours, the mech stomps away. You let your head fall forward respitefully.

You know you're nearing your one-way ticket to Earth when you see bright yellow signs plastered on the walls with loud black alien words telling you to hurry left with the help of large arrows. Escape pod symbols, accompanied by a funny little robot mascot, are the giveaway. You feel a sort of giddy euphoria swell up within you. You're almost there. You're going to escape. You're going to go home. It all seems far too good to be true; sure, you’ve imagined this scenario happening over and over again, but you never really did believe it would happen.

You pinch your arm multiple times just to make sure you aren’t dreaming. This is not in your head. This is happening. You really are going back to Earth.

Your collar suddenly vibrates. And then it starts to screech.

You nearly jump out of your own skin. The alarm is loud, piercing, and undeniably going to alert someone to your presence. You slam your fists against it multiple times, but it doesn’t let up. Your heart sinks when the realization of what's going on hits.

Shit. He put a tracker in it.

You need to run. You shove yourself forward into a full-on sprint, dashing down the last remainder of this hallway, then turning the corner and seeing the numerous escape pods all lined up in the wall. You choose the first one, grabbing the edge of the circular door and pulling with all of your might. The tendons in your neck strain as you grunt and slowly bring the door back with you. Clamoring in, you give it one last heave before it shuts on its own and seals you inside. You hear the lock click into place. The entire cabin flickers to life, with the lights on and the control panel booting up. As you expected, everything is far too big for you to reach. But it seems you won’t need to. A loud robotic voice emanates from the central console, speaking to you in the native mech language.

Your collar is still going off. You don’t have a lot of time.

“I-I can’t understand you!” you yell over the din. “I’m a human, from Earth! I speak English!”

The voice pauses. Seconds later, to your amazement, it talks, and you can understand. “Language notifications made. Destination updated. Scanning…” A panel on the ceiling pops open, and a blue light filters out, washing over you. “Scanning complete. Species: Homo Sapien. Homeworld: Earth. Milky Way Galaxy. Status: Critically endangered. Suggesting immediate travel to Earth.”

You clap your hands. “Yes! Yes, that’s it! Earth, set the destination to Earth!”

“Destination set. Awaiting command to launch LOST LIGHT LIFEPOD 01.”

You are about to give the order when something slams against the door. You whirl around, your heart stuttering when you see who’s there. It’s Drift. He’s made it. And he looks horrified. With trembling fingers, he yanks on the handle. When the pod remains fastly shut, he pounds on the circular window with so much force the entire thing shudders and you think he’s going to rip it right off of its hinges. “Little one!” he screams, voice muffled beyond the barrier of glass. “Little one! Open…!” The rest of the sentence comes out as sharp metal shrieks.

You stand there helplessly. The pod once again inquires for your command, yet you can’t find it within yourself to speak.

Drift is doing everything he can to get to you. He’s like a rabid beast, clawing at the window, teeth bared in visible frustration. His biolights are going mad when he roars and sends his whole body into the door. This time, it does give a little. You can see some dents in the gray metal.

This…is a side of Drift you have never seen. It is desperate, vicious. And it terrifies you. You stumble back to the opposite end of the pod and curl up, hugging your knapsack to your chest like a child squeezing their favorite stuffed animal. Drift continues his futile attack on the door, but pauses when he makes eye contact with you. His face falls. His fists relax and slide downward to press palm against the glass.

He’s quiet as he seems to reflect on how he just presented himself front of you, then whispers heartbrokenly. “...Sorry.” Tears stream down his cheeks. His hot vexation melts away and exposes his remorseful center. “Sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Little one. Y/N.”

Oh my god.

All noise ceases when you register what he just said. Your name. He said your name. He’s never done that before. You didn’t think he knew your name.

He learned to say it. For you.

Drift whimpers like a kicked dog, moving to crouch lower. “Y/N. Y/N, please. Stay. Stay with me. Please don’t go. I love you.”

You’ve changed his life. You don’t need to be told this. You know you’ve brought him a sense of joy he hasn’t felt in years. You didn’t come here of your own free will. But you freely chose to love him. You gave yourself up and became his everything while he became yours. Isn’t he your home? Isn’t he the one who saved you? Can you really leave someone who cares about you so much?

Your legs move on their own accord. Your heart beats with his and you take tentative steps towards the door. Drift twitters and gives you an encouraging nod, gesturing for you to keep walking.

Why do you want to leave him so badly? Why would you want to throw away this perfect life?

Your little human hands come to rest right over his massive robotic ones. You two are separated, but you think you can feel the warmth coming from him. Drift bonks his forehead against the window anticipatingly. “Come on,” he whispers. “Come on. It’s…okay. You're okay. Please.”

Your hands are human. You will never see another pair again if you return to him.

Your life is not supposed to be perfect. A human’s life is messy, and disastrous, and chaotic, and beautiful. His life is too, but not in the same way as yours.

“Goodbye, Drift,” you murmur, voice breaking. “LOST LIGHT LIFEPOD 01…take me to Earth.”

The escape pods hums and rumbles. “Command accepted,” it announces. “Preparing ejection in three…two…one.”

The last thing you see and hear before the pod lurches forward and rockets out of its dock is Drift’s agonized expression and his wrenching wail.

Your vessel speeds away. You get a fantastic view of the ship in all of its stunning glory. It felt so gigantic when you were inside, but from out here, you can fully comprehend its overwhelming proportions. You watch it rapidly shrink as you gain distance from it, until it's just another speck of light in the universe. And when you can’t even see that anymore, you allow yourself to collapse against the floor eagles-spread. You gaze up at the ceiling, feeling surprisingly hollow. There is no victorious sense of triumph, no excitement to return home. You don’t even know where home is anymore. Somehow, after everything you’ve gone through, you’ve come out even more lost than you already were.

The waterworks start shortly after the escape pod jumps into hyperspace. Heaving sobs, messy tears, you lie there and weep to the stars, not noticing when your collar finally stops beeping.

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