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whispersoftheton · 2 days

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hiiii!! can i ask for a fic where reader (aka viscountess) is helping benedict with a lady he's falling in love with, but they're basically scheming and secretive and Anthony gets suspicious and a little jealous/upset? thanks!!!!!

Hello nonny! I've been going back and forth on posting this mostly because I don't feel like it's very good but I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: jealous!Anthony

Word Count: 1.1K

The day had dawned, and it seemed you had blinked the night away after a previously tedious day. Your duties as Viscountess had significantly grown since Lady Bridgerton had started to hand over most of the reigns of the house. With some spare time on your hands, you spent most of your day in the main hall amongst everyone as you poured yourself some tea before returning to your reading. With a hint of mystery in his eyes, Benedict strolled into the room and stood beside you, making himself busy with the book you had just put down on the tray.

"Viscountess now, is it?" He teased in a hushed tone to not alert the siblings of his untimely arrival. Benedict always had a way of easily slipping in and out of sight, with his mama distracted with his other sibling's endeavors.

"It would appear so." You offered him a warm smile while pouring some tea for yourself. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Benedict?" Although most may not understand your relationship with your new brother-in-law, this is how it has always been since your courtship with Anthony. How you managed to keep up flawlessly in between constant banter with his siblings was just one of the things Anthony loved most about you. And Benedict was no exception.

"It seems I find myself in need of your assistance." The unusual hesitance in his voice piqued your interest. Benedict was never one to shy away from a challenge, let alone hold his tongue. "There is a lady who I would like to…pursue."

"As in courting? The Benedict Bridgerton interested in seriously courting someone? Why I'd never thought I'd see the day." Your words dripped with sarcasm, but as you turned toward Benedict, it was clear this was no joke, making you reconsider your teasing, at least for now. "I apologize; I did not realize this was a serious matter." His eyes still trained on the tea before you. "If it is my assistance you require with the matter, I will help you."

"Really?" He leaned back, head up with a cocked brow.

"You are my brother now. And if this lady is as suitable of a match as you are implying, I will do everything in my power to assure your courtship to her."

"You care about me?" His teasing returned, making you resist the urge to roll your eyes toward him, but a smile crept up nonetheless.

"Of course, I care. We are family. Now, let's get to it before I regret this entire thing."

Anthony paced around his office, unable to focus on a single task all day. His desk was littered with papers needing attention, but all he could focus on was how odd you'd been acting as of late. Your presence was scarce around the house, although your duties were always tended to. Anthony missed having you as close by as he was accustomed to since your marriage. Of course, he caught glimpses of you throughout the day, but you always seemed to be scurrying off somewhere. He couldn't help but notice Benedict lingering nearby at every event he'd been to in the last couple of weeks, engaging you in conversation whenever he stepped away, even for a moment. Anthony knew he had no reason to be envious; you were his wife, and you loved each other dearly. But that didn't stop him from suppressing a surge of jealousy at the thought of you and Benedict spending so much time together. Impossible thoughts swirled through his mind, straying him further and further away from any rational thinking until his feet carried him faster than he could stop himself as he called the carriage.

The day was as warm as it was humid; the lush field was decorated with tents showcasing various vendors as the ton gathered. You had spent the better part of your time in the last couple of weeks preparing Benedict as much as possible, covering everything from appropriate topics of conversation to enticing the young woman to yearn for more interactions with him. It had been a challenging task. For every ounce of natural charm Benedict possessed, his soon-to-be lady seemed to be immune to it at every turn. Every challenge she presented seemed to draw Benedict closer. It was daunting, to say the least, but today would be the day. The garden party was the event of the social season, and you knew for a fact that she would make an appearance today. Benedict came up beside you, eyes set on her almost immediately. You glanced toward him, watching intently as his face softened, a smile deepening with every second he laid his eyes on her. Your heart warmed; whatever Benedict felt for this lady, you understood it was exactly what he had been searching for.

"Are you ready?" He snapped out of it and nodded toward you. "Go on then." Benedict readied himself, taking comfort in the fact that you would be nearby. But as soon as he stepped forward, he felt a hand grip his shoulder and move him back toward you.

"My dear brother," Anthony kept his tone hushed so as not to alarm any of the ton members standing nearby. "I will make haste so we may continue with the day's festivities. Care to clarify as to why you are spending so much of your time with my wife?" You and Benedict shared a look, holding back a laugh.

"I'd prefer not to; I'm rather entertained at the moment." Benedict crossed his arms before him, aiming his shit-eating grin at Anthony.

"Truly, Anthony, you could not make any more of a fool of yourself than you already are." You huffed as you turned toward your husband. "May I speak to you in private?" Anthony hesitated before he took your hand and walked you to an isolated part of the lake away from the chaos.

"If you must know, I was asked to help your brother pursue someone. I have been guiding him on proper conversation topics and ways to impress the young lady he has shown interest in. That is all. And if you are indeed insinuating there would be absolutely anything inappropriate happening between your brother and I then you truly do not know me at all."

"That is not what I thought-I-You were only spending so much time with Benedict, and I allowed my temper to best me; I only missed your company." His apologetic look had you softening under his gaze. "I apologize."

"Next time, simply ask before you allow your mind to run rampant with impossible thoughts, hm?" He nodded before taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. Anthony lead you back toward the gathering to find Benedict wholly entranced in a rather enticing conversation with his lady.

"It seems like you did well, my love," Anthony whispered toward you, tapping your hand, which was now holding onto his arm. "Looks like my brother might find his match after all."

Mini Tag List: @bugnug @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @thethreeeyed-raven @ssprayberrythings @fatbottomedvirgo @fictional-hooman @sky0401 (let me know if you would like to added by leaving a comment here or dm me if you’d like to be added/removed)

I DO NOT HAVE WATTPAD. I do not consent to having my work reposted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. if anyone sees my work anywhere that is not ao3/tumblr or under any other username that is not whispersoftheton, it has been reposted without my permission

#bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton netflix #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton fluff #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton x you #bridgerton season 3 #bridgerton season 2

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januaryembrs · 5 hours

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ahhh can I ask for a drabble for sunshine reader x Spence when they're out with the team at a bar or something and reader is obviously a clingy and giggly drunk?

MY BABY'S SWEET AS CAN BE | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

description: Spencer's girlfriend loves karaoke when she's drunk, but she loves him even more

length: 1k

warnings: literally just fluff

He smiled at her unabashedly as she flitted through the crowd, the top of her head bobbing in between other patrons as she shoved through the sea of bodies, and he heard the odd “Excuse me, oh I’m so sorry, excuse me, Sorry-scuse me,” which let him know the mop of hair with two little bows in it was exactly who he thought it was.

Not that he’d need to try hard to find her, his eyes hadn’t left her all evening. She had a tendency to get upset if they got parted when she’d had a couple to drink, and he hated the look she got on her face when she welled up and felt sorry for herself.

She burst out the throng, her eyes quickly scanning across the group, and Emily barely had time to hand her a Frozen Daiquiri before she’d launched herself where Spencer leaned against the bar.

“Honey! Oh, I missed you so much,” She said, immediately homing into his waist, her ear pressing against his chest where his heart beat particularly loudly, because whatever affectionate streak she carried on a day to day basis was dialled to one million when she got like this.

“Baby, I saw you five minutes ago,” He chuckled, wrapping an arm around her nevertheless and running his large, warm hand down her spine where her backless dress gave him free rein to feel everything.

She looked up at him with an aghast stare, “You didn’t miss me, too?”

“Oh, I never said that, now did I?” Spencer asked, his words sweetened with his smile, and adoration stained every single syllable like coffee over clean breath, “Did you have fun?”

She giggled, leaning to steal a quick kiss, and her hand brushed over his stomach to pinch the soft pouch of fat gently, “I did! Did you see me, I totally outsang Luke,”

“For the last time; karaoke is not a contest, we’re supposed to be singing together,” Luke said, his forehead sweaty where he’d pushed through the crowd himself trying to keep up with her as she’d bolted off the stage to get back to her spot tucked under Spencer’s arm.

She stuck her tongue out at him, rolling her eyes when he gave her a more obscene gesture, and turned back to where Spencer had yet to rip his eyes off her, his pupils dopey and wide and full of puppy love as she looked at him.

“He’s just mad becaus he wanted to sing Beyonce’s part, and I made him be Shakira,” She said on chuckled breath, “But I think our cover of Beautiful Liar could top charts, like, nationally,”

“Ofcourse, I reckon you could go global if we got you a good agent,” He humoured her, and her eyes lit up with glee, bouncing on the balls of her feet to the point he almost spilled his beer. But he didn’t care, he just loved seeing her so happy.

“Really! Really, really?” She asked, quickly stealing another adoring kiss from his lips like she could only go so long before she needed another one to fuel her words, like she didn’t even realise she was doing it as there was little to no pause in her end of the conversation.

“Well, sure,” He said, his mouth interrupted when she pecked him again, and he wondered if she genuinely understood they couldn't kiss and talk at the same time with the way she was going, “But, if my sweet girlfriend becomes a popstar sensation overnight, who’s going to be there when I want to do this?” He said, wrapping an arm around her waist, his fingertips caressing the dip of her back, already knowing which moles sat beneath his touch and where, as he gave her a real kiss, one that made her squeak a little and the sound of it forced an even bigger smile out of him.

He parted from her reluctantly, and he didn’t even care that he usually didn’t like PDA all too much if it meant she would look so content and glowing, her eyes creasing as she sighed with a besotted expression. Spencer never thought he would get so lucky to have anyone look at him like that, never mind someone who he loved with his whole entire being, and everything else left of him.

“You raise a good point, my genius love,” She said, pressing her burning face into his sternum, her hands still never leaving where they’d buried into his waist, “I guess I’ll put my debut album on hold and stay to kiss you some more,”

“Will you guys stop being so disgustingly sweet, it’s making my punch taste sour,” Penelope said, even though the team didn’t seem to mind their soppy exchanges. Spencer sometimes seemed like his old self again when he was with her, something boyish and teasing and loving returning back to his rough hands and exhausted expression, and for that the two of them could rip each other's clothes off for all they cared.

Because they were one of those couples that made everyone else feel lucky to just see that kind of love so close, not envious or repellent, like finding a fawn sleeping on your doorstep. It was rare and pure and warmed everyone right through to their marrow.

The two of them smiled at one another, and she leaned in to steal a few more kisses from his lips that tasted faintly of beer, only for another song to start playing and she gasped, her mouth dropping in excitement.

“I love ABBA, we have to sing this song together!” She said, lacing her fingers with his and tugging his stubborn, lithe figure over to the stage, “Please, Spencer, please, please, please,”

And he gave her exactly what she wanted, because when could he ever say no to a face like that.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #matthew gray gubler x reader

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batfleshh · 2 days

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Makarov: sneering down at reader, holding a knife to his stomach while he’s fucking the shit out of him. Probably smoking too, just being a fucking dick during sex

Reader: “hot”

- 🔔

Cutting Close

Warnings: NOT PROOFREADING THIS SHIT, rough sex, THIS GUY IS A MEANIE, knife play/kink or wtv, degradation, shitty google translated Russian, smoking during sex, idk what else to add to this, I don’t put warnings on these right, nsfw under cut, this is really quick and shortish, chat im ngl i completely forgot about the cigar halfway through but fuck it we ball

шлюха - whore , свинья - pig , Может быть, мне стоит начать отсюда? - Maybe I should start from here

“Just lay still and take it, шлюха,”

Your skin felt sticky, blood coursing through your veins as you feel your face get hot. The aggressive and derogatory speech made your stomach twist with a weird feeling. You try to keep your eyes locked with Makarovs, the man forcing his cock into your hole made you feel like you were going to see stars. He had one hand up towards his face, balancing a lit cigar between two of his digits. His other hand found itself wrapped around one of your legs, moving you back and forth onto his cock as you laid on a mattress.

Your cock moves around with how much force is being put into rocking you against his dick, your hands gripping at the mattress roughly. Something about the whole situation is making your mind go haywire, your cock leaking at all the mean things he’s saying to you while he’s balls deep in you. In a way, it almost feels like a compliment.

Your hand shakily moves down, trying to get a grip on your weeping dick. You barely get a few quick strokes in before your hand is shoved away, a whine escaping your throat. You hear Makarov shush you, squeezing your eyes shut as he picks up the speed of his thrusts, the sound of his skin hitting yours echoing in the room you’re both in. You throw one of your arms over your eyes, trying to suppress whatever loud noises about to leave you by biting your lip. Then you feel something cold touch your stomach, jolting as the odd feeling in this type of environment drags along your flesh.

You lift your head up, peaking down to see a knife, the steel blade dragging along gently down your stomach. Your breath hitches, pleasure and anxiety blending together. “One move, and I could slice you open. Gut you right here on the bed, like a свинья.”

You try not to squirm as much as you were before, but the threat makes your cock twitch. You swallow down the saliva forming at your lips, trying to form proper words as you desperately shake your head, his hips never halting. You whine and moan as you feel yourself growing closer, staring intensely as the knife you don’t even notice how far down it’s traveling. You watch it reach your dick, a smirk on the Russians face as he moves it up to your tip, using the backside of the knife to drag along the vein running through it.

And God, it pains you to have done it, but that’s what helps you cum. Makarovs hips stilling as you shoot your orgasm out, some of it even landing on the knife. You begin to pant, trying to catch your breath. You look up at him with an apologetic expression.

You gasp lightly as it’s moved up to your face, whimpering as your own cum is wiped on your cheek. You watch him move it down to your throat, chuckling before opening his mouth to speak.

“Может быть, мне стоит начать отсюда?”

#bat bite #🔔 anon #male reader #x male reader #gay #cod x reader #call of duty #mwah #cod x male reader #vladimir makarov x male reader #vladimir makarov #cod makarov #makarov x reader #tw knife play #call of duty makarov #mw3 makarov #poorly translated Russian from google translate #raahhh

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memento-rory · 2 days

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💘 reader x ted

Please don't feel obligated to do all the ones I send you!

💘 𝐟𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 / 𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 / 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 | 𝐭𝐞𝐝.

✭ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: reader has a weird & creepy coworker. and ted is her roommate.

You’re in the middle of a rant (one of many, Ted would say) about your weird coworker Craig, who has been saying extremely odd, flirtatious shit to you for the last month or so. You’ve gone to HR quite a few times, but because Craig is one of the higher-ups in your company, he mostly just gets a slap on the wrist. You just know he’s going to get incredibly drunk and be even more uncomfortably forward with you this evening. You wouldn’t even be going to the party if you could help it, but you’ve been assigned a coworker for Secret Santa and you can’t just not show and disappoint someone like that.

“It’s times like these where I wish I had a boyfriend to take to these things.” You throw out, scowling at yourself in the mirror as you do some final touch-ups on your hair and makeup. “Someone tall and hot and scary to keep all the creeps at bay.”

Ted’s on the couch, one of his legs crossed over the other, his thumb aimlessly scrolling over the screen of his phone. “Do you want me to come with? You can tell Craig I’m your boyfriend or something.”

You pause, before turning to look at him with a teasing smile. “You’re not scary.”

“I can be scary.” Ted frowns at you, and you roll your eyes.

“Yeah, okay,” You laugh, still pondering on his offer under all the teasing.

It really isn’t a bad idea. Ted is tall and hot, and a part of you believes he could be scary if he wanted to be. You can practically see the shock on Craig’s face, standing a head shorter than Ted, having to look up at him and realize all his perverted dreams are shattered.

“Get dressed.” You tell Ted, and he’s up in a flash.

“One tall, hot, scary boyfriend coming up.” He says, before disappearing to his room to put on his best suit.

(Your heart skips a beat as you think about introducing Ted as your boyfriend, but you ignore it. It isn’t real. He’s just being nice.)

The party is in full swing as you and Ted walk into the venue, with drinks from the open bar flowing and Christmas music blasting from the speakers on the walls. You jump as you feel Ted’s hands on your shoulders, gently dragging your coat down your arms. He smiles down at you, draping your coat over his arm.

“Oh, thank you.” You smile back at him.

Ted leans down so you can hear him better. “What are fake boyfriends for?” He murmurs, handing off your coat and his to the man at coat check.

As soon as both of your coats are out of his hands, he’s touching you again, this time resting his hand on the small of your back. It’s featherlight, as if he’s testing the waters of what’s okay and what’s not, and you nearly shiver under his touch. He looks down at you to check in, to see if you’re ready to proceed further into the party, and you nod. His hand fully makes contact then, flush against your back, and he guides you through the small crowds congregating over drinks and finger foods.

You find your usual group of coworkers — your work besties, if you will — and they all stare up at Ted in wonder.

“(Y/N),” One of them shoots you a cheeky grin, “Is this that Ted guy you’re always going on about?”

Your cheeks are suddenly so hot, and you ignore the amused look on Ted’s face. “Yeah,” You mumble, feeling caught, “This is him.”

“Ted Nivison,” Ted introduces himself, oozing charm as he shakes all of their hands. He’s clearly relishing in knowing you talk about him so often. “(Y/N)’s boyfriend.”

“Can’t believe you’ve kept him away from us for so long.” Another one of your coworkers remarks, “He’s so pretty.”

You’ve definitely gone pink now. “Isn’t he?” You look up at him, trying to push down the embarrassment as Ted grins down at you in earnest.

“Oh, please.” Ted says, not looking away from you. “She’s the pretty one in this relationship.”

Each of your coworkers raise their glasses, letting out a “Amen,” or “I’ll drink to that,” or some other phrase of agreement.

(Your skin grows warm at the way Ted looks at you when calling you pretty, but you try to ignore it. It isn’t real. He’s just being nice.)

Ted excuses himself to go get you a drink, and your coworkers descend upon you like vultures, prodding you for details about Ted — why you hadn’t told them he was your boyfriend (not your roommate), what he does for a living, where he got his suit so they can get their partners the same kind.

“He seems like he’s really good for you.” One of your coworkers says, “And he’s, like, totally in love with you.”

You blanch. “What?”

“He literally looks at you like you hung the moon, babe.” Another coworker adds, “Man’s got it bad.”

The tips of your ears grow hot. “You think so?”

She flashes her wedding ring at you. “I know so.”

“Know what?” Ted asks as he strides up, drinks in hand.

“Don’t worry about it, handsome.” Your coworker says, winking at you before taking off to find her husband. The rest of them follow suit shortly after.

“What was that about?” Ted asks, mild amusement on his face as he passes you your drink.

“I don’t know,” You lie, looking down at your glass.

(You try to ignore the way your heart clenches as you notice Ted has brought you your favorite drink, without having to ask what you wanted. You’ve never told him what it is. Maybe it is real. Maybe he’s not just being nice.)

“Oh, God,” You groan, catching a glimpse of Craig coming up behind Ted. He’s grinning at you wildly, already drunk enough to be stumbling and bumping into people as he saunters over to you. He has a little bunch of green leaves in his hand, fake red berries glistening as the lights hit them.

Mistletoe. That fucker.

“(Y/N), there you are, I’ve been looking all over for y-“ Craig stops short as Ted turns around, quite literally looking down on the shorter man. He crosses his arms, offering Craig a friendly smile, though you know it’s anything but. You think Craig might have an inkling of this as well when he squares his shoulders, trying to stand up straighter, clearly feeling threatened.

“You must be Craig,” Ted starts, offering his hand for a handshake. “I’m Ted, (Y/N)’s boyfriend.”

Craig tentatively takes Ted’s hand, his semi-nervous grin morphing into a grimace as Ted squeezes his hand just a little too hard.

“(Y/N) didn’t tell me she had a boyfriend.” Craig says through grit teeth, still looking up at Ted.

“Probably because it’s none of your fuckin’ business.” Ted tells him, still donning his friendly smile. Craig’s own smile falters and Ted laughs, clapping Craig on the arm playfully. “Ahh, I’m just kidding, dude.”

(Okay, so you were wrong. Ted can be scary.)

“Whatcha got there, Craig?” Ted asks, gesturing at the little bundle of leaves in Craig’s hand, “Is that mistletoe?”

“Yeah, it is,” Craig squares up again, holding it up over his head, “I was hoping to catch (Y/N) under it,” He proclaims boldly, smiling a sickening smile at you.

Ted clicks his tongue. “That’s too bad, man.” He shakes his head, as if sympathizing with the pathetic little man, but he makes a quick move to snatch it from Craig’s hand, “But we’ll put it to good use.”

You don’t have time to react as Ted holds the mistletoe up over the two of you, his other hand snaking across your back, pulling you into him. He raises his eyebrows where only you can see, and you can only nod, unable to form a coherent sentence at the mere thought of kissing Ted.

He’s so gentle, pressing his plush lips to yours softly, slotting your lips together. You reach up, taking his face in your hands, and he takes this as an opportunity to deepen the kiss, running his tongue over your bottom lip. You grant him entrance, tasting peppermint on his tongue. Ted drops the mistletoe to the floor, using his now free hand to cradle the back of your head.

Maybe it’s a little tacky, making out with Ted in the middle of a crowd, but you don’t care. Ted’s lips feel heavenly against yours, and you involuntarily sigh into his mouth.

“Okay, I get it, dude. Christ.” Craig says, but neither of you hear him, too lost in each other to give a shit. He huffs a frustrated sigh and leaves, defeated.

You don’t know how long Craig has been gone by the time you think to pull away from Ted, but it’s definitely too long for him to still be kissing you. At this point, you’re hearing low whistles and cheering, and it finally pulls Ted away from you.

“Fuck,” Ted laughs, his cheeks unmistakably pink as he lowers his forehead to yours, “I’ve been wanting to do that for so fucking long.”

“What?” You ask, your eyebrows raising, “Stick it to Craig?”

Ted laughs again, standing up straight to look you in the eyes. “No,” He chuckles, taking your hand in his, “To kiss you.”

You stare up at him in shock. “Wait, really?”

Ted shakes his head, an amused grin spreading across his face. “Yes, really. It’s been a nightmare just being your roommate. I was hoping that maybe seeing how fuckin’ awesome I am at being a fake boyfriend would make you want to make me your real one.”

You beam up at him, nodding enthusiastically. “I would really, really like that, Ted.”

“Fuck yeah.” Ted breathes out, bending down to pull you into another heated kiss.

(You cannot ignore the way your heart flip flops as Ted laces your fingers together in the middle of the party. It is real. He isn’t just being nice.)

#oh boy this one got away from me #ted nivison x reader #rory answers #rory writes

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blooberrries · 2 days

Text

「 extemporaneous 」 — 07 ☾

— pairing: multi; shoto x reader, izuku x reader (so FAR...) — genre: hybrid au, slow burn-ish, reverse harem — wc: 3.4k — rated: nsfw; heavy petting (?) — notes: it has the barest sprinkle of spice. soon we will arrive upon the porn with plot...... soon....... save me

You've never really had much to do with hybrids, existing in your own little bubble for a majority of your life. That comes to an end when your friend phones you for help and somehow you end up taking two hybrids off of her hands while they recuperate in the wake of an unfortunate incident. But when the time comes that they have to leave, will you really want them to go?

⟵prev. || masterlist || next⟶

Recently, the boys have taken to accompanying you on your morning exercises.

The weather is getting cooler, and with it the days shorter, so you’re not particularly opposed. Well, you wouldn’t be anyway because you enjoy spending time with them and there is also no way in hell that you would miss the opportunity to see them work out.

(For scientific reasons, of course. Hybrids are built a little different, after all. You’re definitely not a pervert and any source saying otherwise constitutes defamation.)

You’re on your back, having sprawled on the cool grass around ten minutes ago in an attempt to catch your breath after a run. You might have bitten off more than you could chew by telling them they could set the pace, but you’d sooner stub your own toe than admit the difference in your fitness levels. Thankfully you’ve regained control of your lungs and are no longer heaving, and they appear none the wiser to your momentary health crisis. You are pleased to maintain even scraps of your dignity at this point.

“I like this park.” A voice muses from your left. You allow your head to roll slightly, eyes falling upon the stretched form of the canine hybrid beside you. A breeze rustles the snowy hair that brushes his right cheekbone. “Quiet. Peaceful. Also, quite pretty.”

You hum in agreement; you’re in a meadow-like area that you can reach by following the footpath for a kilometre or so. Trees loom tall on the outskirts, creating verdant walls of green that curl the small sanctuary into their embrace as warmth from the sun pools in the centre and glimmers off the dewy grass. Instead of speaking, you allow a moment for the reply from Izuku that you can feel coming. It enters the air like clockwork barely a second later.

“Isn’t it, Sho?” Izuku tilts his head back, the sun filtering through foliage to paint his skin in swathes of gold. “Plus, it’s nice seeing so many other hybrids come through here every so often.”

Shoto lets out a noise in agreement. In an odd moment of serendipity, a family of hybrids accompanied by a single human emerge from where the path disappears into the treeline in the distance. The child swinging between the two adult hybrids couldn’t be any more than five years old, and the second they lay eyes on the great expanse of grass woven with patches of clovers and wildflowers before them, a delighted peal of laughter rings in the air.

Before you can think twice, your eyes are moving to scan the expressions of your companions in curiosity. From what you recall, an intact family unit isn’t very common for hybrids, though Nejire told you once that it is becoming increasingly the norm. Hybrids from the initial generations, those born in a sterile lab, are now creating families and small communities of their own as the movement for their rights strengthens and gains more traction over time. It makes you happy to see it in action, though a part of you worries that the sight might bring up memories for your companions that aren’t particularly pleasant.

Then again, you have no idea about their backgrounds, really.

Thankfully, the shift in their expressions isn’t sad or melancholy. Rather they appear contemplative, bordering on nostalgic. Curiosity lingers in an unspoken question on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t dare to voice it.

It’s Shoto that volunteers to fill the silence first.

“I wonder if that kid gets lonely,” he muses. “It doesn’t look like they have any siblings.”

You blink, something about the way he says that sparking a new curiosity. “… You had siblings?”

He shrugs, a small smile curling at the corners of his lips. He glances at you and then Izuku from the corner of his eye. “Well, maybe not in the typical sense. We were often created in batches, so we definitely weren’t alone.”

“You have company, but in all you don’t get to spend much time with the other hybrids. The adoption process can start young sometimes,” Izuku supplies, shaking his head to dislodge a leaf clinging to his forest-hued curls. “Shoto and I actually ‘grew up’ together, in a way.”

The confusion must be evident on your face, because the rabbit hybrid laughs and reaches out to pinch your cheek. You frown but can’t be bothered to lift your arm and bat him away, and so he remains the unspoken victor.

“I guess you could call it that.” Shoto snorts, reaching up with both arms to stretch. The movement lifts the edge of his shirt to reveal smooth honey-toned skin and you fight for your life to keep your eyes in a respectful location. “I think our labs ended up merging at some point and from then on we kind of got stuck together. Neither of us were ever officially adopted.”

That takes you by surprise, actually. Ignoring how visually stunning they are, both hybrids are pleasant and sweet, sincere in everything they do, and a pleasure to be around. You can safely say the addition of them into your life and routine has been a blessing. So when you take in his words, your brain can’t quite comprehend the idea of someone not wanting them.

A part of your feels bad for them – you know it isn’t the case for all hybrids, but for some of them the act of ‘adoption’ means a lot – but at the same time, you’re unsure whether you would have ever ended up meeting them if they had been adopted earlier in their lives.

It feels selfish, but… deep down, you’re a little glad that you were able to know them as a result of it.

Shoto lowers his arms and twists to face you a little more, eyes surveying your supine form. You have a feeling that he is looking for the best place to curl up and your suspicions are confirmed when he zeroes in on your abdomen and turns back around so he can recline with his head resting on the soft swell of your stomach. You don’t even bother trying not to blush. You’ll just blame the heat of the sun if you need to. Or even the exercise. Plenty of excuses.

“It’s good to see so many kids around,” Izuku hums, blowing some hair out of his face and allowing his eyes to flutter closed after. It’s a slight redirection of the current topic, but you don’t particularly mind. “There’s more than I thought there would be, considering the current ratio.”

This piques your interest further, tickling something familiar in the back of your mind you’d heard once upon a time. “The current ratio…?”

“Of male to female hybrids,” Shoto supplies helpfully in his soft, leisurely tone, turning his head and nuzzling into your abdomen just below your ribs. You have to physically hold down the responding shudder that wants to roll over your body. “It’s pretty disproportionate, currently. Something like one female hybrid for every two –- or is it three? -– male hybrids.” “Oh shit,” you mutter, the words leaving you before you can think to censor yourself. “Tough odds.”

Shoto snorts, and Izuku looks to be fighting a grin. Surprisingly, it is the hybrid currently taking up real estate on your stomach that continues.

“It might look like that,” Shoto hums, his head tilting just enough for his mismatched eyes to trail and lock onto your own. The slightest curl plays around the corner of his mouth. “But we’re pretty adaptive, you know. Most hybrids tend toward polyandry.”

Oh. Oh. Nejire never told you that.

Shoto’s eyes, clear and glimmering in the morning sunlight, track every minute movement and change in your face. His ears flick ever so slightly, no doubt catching the slight uptick in your heartbeat as well as the warmth gathering in your face.

You have to wet your lips in order for your question to greet the air. “Why, um-- is there a reason behind the ratio?”

Izuku hums a pleasant noise, like he’s been quizzed on something that he knows the answer to.

“Men – or in this case, male hybrids – are easier to clone and create than women. Something about having two X chromosomes makes it a little more complicated, if I remember correctly.” Izuku tilts his head, eyes glazing as he falls deeper into his thoughts. “That’s probably why we all ended up having the kind of instincts that we did. Being excessively territorial is detrimental to the population as a whole when one gender greatly outnumbers the other.”

“Plus, more chances for females to conceive when there are multiple--”

“RIGHT, yeah, there’s also that.” Izuku lets out a loud, embarrassed laugh, cutting the canine hybrid off before he can continue. For his benefit, you continue to ignore the heat making itself known on your face and fight to swallow your own amused chortle. You did think it had been a little too long since the last time Shoto said something outrageous with the most unbothered face. The rabbit hybrid continues, almost like he can’t help himself.

“Even so, the bond that a, um… mated pair share is super important. Hybrids have a tendency to bond deeply in general, but I suppose it is doubly so for males. Definitely more matriarchal in nature, hybrid communities.”

Bonds? Mated pairs? You feel kind of faint as your brain works to reconcile all the information you’ve received in the last five minutes. “Huh… I see.”

Izuku suddenly looks oddly restless, almost… nervous .Evidently taking a page out of Shoto’s book, he turns and dives to bury his face in your side, eliciting a ticklish yelp from you as he does so. He ends up pulling on a lock of Shoto’s hair that had fallen over your side by accident, and the hybrid lets loose an unimpressed, low rumble. Ignoring the noise, Izuku takes a few deep breaths against your side, digging his nose into your shirt.

Sincerely, you don’t think you’re going to be able to survive this. You consider sending a prayer heavenward.

As if things weren’t already embarrassing enough for you, your stomach chooses this exact moment to let out a forlorn rumble.

Shoto snorts softly, lifting off of you and rolling to a stand with such grace, you’re genuinely envious for a moment.

“Probably best we head back and get some food in our bellies.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice.

---------

This is a losing battle.

Granted, it’s not like you’re really fighting it at all anymore (arguably didn’t even really fight it to begin with), but still. It feels like everything is somehow snowballing, in a way that you’re not particularly against despite your better judgement.

Somehow, your two housemates have gotten clingier. They stick to you like shadows, scenting you in an almost possessive manner whenever they get the chance and more than a few times you’ve caught them sniffing you for a whiff of your own scent when they think you’re too occupied to notice.

It’s doing a number on your already frayed self-control.

The brief but very informative conversation the three of you had in the park almost a week ago has helped alleviate some of the guilt you carried for being attracted to both of them at the same time, and also planted some ideas in your head that you haven’t been able to pry out despite your best efforts.

Currently, your dilemma comes from the fact that not only are you attracted to them both, but you like them both.

It’s still budding, not at a catastrophic level as of yet, and technically speaking you would be able to be with them physically without spiralling when they eventually leave. Probably. Actually, you’re torn between not wanting to do anything to save yourself the pain in the long run, and doing something so that you can treasure and make the most of the time you currently have together.

You’d probably regret it if they ended up leaving without you addressing whatever this is between you. However, you also know yourself enough to know you’re too sappy to be able to part with them seamlessly if you did act on it.

This is torture. You almost wish they’d just make the decision for you.

Apart from those differences, the routine the three of you remains mostly unchanged. Unfortunately, that leaves plenty of opportunity for you to overthink and dwell as you complete your bedtime routine. You almost reach for a cheeky drink just so you might put an end to the thoughts and go to bed in peace. Somehow, you manage to imitate meditation enough that you eventually drift off without the need for a nightcap.

Something rouses you from sleep earlier than anticipated, though. The soft creak of your door has you blinking awake, eyes less bleary than anticipated.

It’s pitch black at first, but your eyes quickly adjust enough to see as two figures slink into the room and over to your bed. You feel the mattress dip with their weight as they climb atop, a soft rumble reaching your ears that you know to be coming from a certain canine hybrid.

“What is it?” you ask, wiping your eyes in an attempt to clear any remaining sleep. It’s harder to focus on their forms than you expect. “Is everything okay?”

“Yona.”

It’s a throaty whine that answers your question, timbre no doubt belonging to Izuku. The slimmer of the two slips closer, a hand coming to grasp the one you’d reached out without realising. Your heart stutters in your chest, breath catching in your throat. The smell of pine and jasmine twine together and brush your senses. Of course you’ve smelt whatever cologne your two hybrid roommates wear before, but never so strongly. It’s making butterflies come to life in the pit of your belly.

“What is it?” you ask again, sitting up a little more. Izuku brings your hand to his cheek, nuzzling into your palm. Your fingertips brush his fluffy curls and you find yourself winding them into the locks without a second thought.

While Izuku seems to be sitting back on his haunches for the moment, Shoto has no qualms about approaching further, his large hand brushing against the skin of your shoulder, revealed by sheets that fell when you rose earlier, before trailing down your arm and then back up. His palm settles against your neck, scorchingly hot, and the length of his fingers wrap around your nape. Your heart kicks up again, an excited, frantic patter.

Izuku’s lips press against your palm, searing affection into your flesh. You can hardly keep track of what is happening, attention torn from one to the other in rapid succession.

A soft whine escapes from Shoto this time, and he leans forward to nuzzle his face into your neck, dragging his nose along the line of your jaw. It tickles, and sends a shiver down the length of your spine.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he murmurs, mouth hot against your neck as his lips shape the words. You feel his ears flick and catch against your hair. You want to lift a hand and touch him, but for some reason your body refuses to obey. “Nothing wrong, just need you.”

You feel like your heart has stopped completely in your chest, a breathless moment passing before it returns to its chaotic gallop. You barely have the presence of mind to force out, “What…?”

The hybrid’s lips begin to press in a heated trail down your neck and across your collarbone, ignoring your murmur completely. His free arm slips around your side and behind you, pulling you close quick enough that a soft noise of surprise escapes you. Heat is beginning to set your veins alight, blood turning to magma. Your thighs clench as Shoto’s teeth scrape against your clavicle before he sucks the flesh into his mouth.

Oh my god.

Having moved you closer to the centre of the bed with his manoeuvre, there is now room for Izuku to sidle up against your other side, and he happily takes the opportunity. Your hand is dropped for only a moment before he picks it up again from his new angle, returning it to where it was. He then leans forward, burying his nose into your hair and letting out a contented groan – something he’d done earlier in the day when the three of you had been cuddling on the couch. It had made butterflies burst into your stomach then, but now it makes your body thrum in anticipation.

“You smell so good, Yona, you’re so lovely,” Izuku murmurs, the low cadence of his voice eliciting another shiver across your shoulders. “We want you, need you… don’t you want us too?”

The words leap from your throat, unbidden. “Of course I do.”

A pleased, throaty groan slips from Shoto as his mouth moves lower, towards the neckline of the singlet you’d worn to bed. You weren’t sure what to expect, but it still takes you by surprise when he drags his lips over the material, following the swell of your breast until he comes across your peak, straining against the material. He takes it into the wet heat of his mouth, and you can’t help but gasp at the sensations that reach you through the damp material of your shirt. Arousal shoots straight to your core.

Again, you will your hand to lift and tangle in his hair, but the limb remains by your side. You barely have time to feel the resulting confusion and frustration before Izuku’s free hand is trailing along your side, nails dragging along the skin of your hips and tracing the line of your waistband. The ache beginning to make itself known between your legs is suddenly all you can think about, and this time when you will your hips to shift, rocking up against his hand, they listen.

Izuku inhales softly, sounding pleased at your reaction. You feel like you’re going a little bit insane.

“Yeah? You want us? Want us to touch you, like this?”

Words catch in your throat and so you settle for an emphatic nod, eager for the touching to continue – especially if it meant Shoto was going to keep doing those things with his mouth. As though summoned by the thought, he clamps his teeth around your nipple in a light bite, sending shocks of pleasure over your skin. A moan tumbles from your throat, thighs squeezing in a sad attempt at friction.

You need more. You need more, but your stupid limbs won’t listen to you, and Izuku’s hand is going everywhere but where you need and want it most.

“Izuku,” you whine, the sound bordering on pathetic. You can hardly think amongst the drowsy haze of pleasure fogging your mind. “Please…”

Please touch me, you want to say. Your fingers twitch with the urge to grasp his hand and move it to your core, but they remain woefully unresponsive. Instead of your desired destination, his hand lifts to pinch and tug your neglected nipple softly. He seems to revel in the noises the actions elicit.

Shoto releases your abused nipple with a soft noise, leaning up to nip and lick under your ear. The sweet scent of jasmine threatens to swallow you whole.

“Tell us what you want, lovely,” he murmurs, voice thick and catching in his throat. His teeth scrape your neck and you tilt your head back, wrenching your eyes closed as Izuku times it with a firm pinch.

A rush of different desires overtake you at once, so many you can hardly choose only one to voice. You strain to lift your arm and cup his cheek, willing it desperately to move. “I-”

Your arm jerks, breaking free of its invisible bonds, and your eyes snap open. The room is quiet, save for your panting breaths, and you are entirely under the covers. A cursory glance around the room once your eyes adjust reveals you are, in fact, alone. Your bedroom door is closed, just as you’d left it before going to bed.

It takes a moment for you to be awake enough that realisation comes crashing through you. You just had a wet dream about your housemates.

…. You’re so fucked.

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ohdearlingwhathappened · 1 day

Note

Hiiiii! I read your cozy Starscream comfort fic on Ao3 and have followed you here :3

You mentioned being open to writing prompt requests; if this one strikes your fancy, I have one for you!

Prompt:

Something comforting about a Human!Reader who lately feels overlooked because they are inclined to be quiet in a group, and their shyness means they don't speak up or assert themselves unless something is really, really important. They listen far more than they speak. And even when they do speak up in a group... it's like no one hears them often times, and they get talked over.

Starscream, Soundwave, Optimus, or Mirage, if either of those four 'bots stir your muse?

Ahhh! Thank you for your request, and I’m sorry for the wait. I haven’t had the opportunity to write for Soundwave, OP, or Mirage so I’ll do blurbs for all four, but you mentioned Screamer is one of your favorites, so I made his a little longer! I hope you enjoy!

Soundwave (G1) WC: 608

The Decepticon site of operations is lively in the face of the most recent win against the Autobots, meaning high grade is being passed around like no one’s business. As the resident human, on site to assist the Decepticons with tasks that only small hands can manage- even smaller than the minis and the cassettes can manage. Only problem is- with how tiny and squishy you are, it is important that the cons watch their step- a task they frequently forget to do, even the Leader of the Decepticons himself, who made the declaration.

With the high grade flowing and inhibitions lowering, the pedes around you hold no caution, making it obvious your… friends(?) have forgotten your existence… again. Having had enough of nearly becoming a smear on the floor, you make your way to the side of the room and press yourself to the wall as you scooch your way to the doorway. As soon as you make your escape from the room, you slam into someone’s shin and fall back on your rear.

“Inquiry: Why are you distressed?”

Looking up, the one and only Soundwave looking down at you with his helm tilted, a reminder that you’re so small and often forgotten surges through you and forces your eyes to well up with tears. It was such an odd feeling, crying at the pedes of one of the high command officers, who you can only imagine is staring blankly at you through his visor. Instead of waiting for any answer, the mech lifts you with his thumb and index digit and carries you away from the scene. It’s hard to keep track of where he’s taking you, your blurred vision keeping you from mapping his walking patterns.

After a few moments, your tears have slowed enough for you to wipe them away, just in time to see Soundwave briefly stop before a door and have him open it with a couple of buttons on the wall. Walking in, you notice Frenzy and Rumble in a halfhearted argument, Lazerbeak perched on the edge of the rather large berth, and Ravage curled up in the middle who, upon hearing Soundwave’s return, lifts his head to regard him. The Commander approaches his berth, Ravage moving temporarily before curling up in his master’s lap, once he made sure you were comfortable. Rumble and Frenzy grinning, their previous conversation dropped at the prospect of a recharge of a new entertainment source, run and climb their way onto the berth on either side of Soundwave, and on his shoulder, Lazerbeak finds his new perch.

“Ooo, is the human going to tell us about human stuff?” Frenzy’s grin doesn’t waver as he leans in toward you. Normally, the cassettes are much too wrapped up in either infighting or Soundwave’s orders, so they don’t really talk to you much, unless you’re needed for something.

“They will speak if they want. Or they can recharge.” Soundwave, as per usual, speaks plainly- it would be easy to misunderstand his tone for uncaring curtness, if you didn’t know him and the care for his cassettes better.

Rumble and Frenzy both look to you, hopeful, and even Ravage, with his head in your lap, looks up to you in mild interest. It was a nice change of pace in comparison to the giants who would often forget you were even there. It briefly occurred to you to thank Soundwave later for not only helping you get away from the so-called party, but giving you some well-needed attention. You smile gently to the cons looking to you and clear your throat,

“Um… well, what would you like to know?”

Optimus (TFP) Gender-neutral reader WC: 692

“I’m not sure if that’ll work, Ratchet.” Arcee peeks around the medic’s frame, looking at the plans for intercepting a possible shipment of energon the Decepticons were planning on transporting, if their movement patterns indicated anything. You look at the computer from your spot on the raised platform, trying to make sense of the plan Ratchet had input.

“Maybe if-” You spoke up, albeit softly, trying to find a compromise, though you’re promptly cut off by the previously mentioned mech.

“And I’m not sure when I asked for your opinion, Arcee. Shouldn’t you be looking over your ward?” Ratchet snaps back, tired and obviously agitated by the state of the Autobot’s own energon storage.

“Ratchet, that seems a little-” You try again.

“I’m just saying. It’s not like you’re on the field much- there are better ways to plan an interception of Decepticon forces.” The blue and pink femme argues, tensions rising as her optical ridges furrow and a servo finds its way to her hip.

“Don’t forget who-”

You don’t stay around long enough to hear whatever snide comment the older bot was going to spit at Arcee, tired of feeling ignored and make your way down the hall, wanting to be anywhere other than the main silo of the base. Passing by Optimus, you don’t say anything, not wanting the feeling of anyone else not acknowledging your existence to sting you yet again today.

“My friend, you seem disheartened.” Optimus’ deep voice reverberates through the hall, less of a question and more of a statement, not giving you the chance to pretend you didn’t hear him. You turn around and grant him a half smile, before it drops and you avert your gaze.

“Oh, it’s nothing to worry about, Optimus. You might want to lend Ratchet and Arcee a servo- they’re caught up in a bit of a feud about the next mission.” Tapering off at the end, Optimus briefly glances towards the main part of the Autobot headquarters, where he can faintly hear the aforementioned pair squabbling about details he would hear about and consider later.

“Those two have been fighting this war for many stellar cycles and will come to a solution. For now, I believe I have something much more pressing to focus on.” Taking a knee, the leader of the Autobots holds down a servo for you to step onto. Once you have taken a seat and braced yourself against one of his digits, Optimus stands and holds you close to his chassis for further stability and begins walking back to his habsuite. “You do not have to tell me what is troubling you, but you are free to do so.”

It takes you a moment- you feel silly singing your woes to someone who has been fighting in a civil war for longer than you can conceive, but the feelings simply bubble up, “I feel small… smaller than I am, I mean. I can’t imagine the stress and exhaustion everyone faces from fighting for so long, but it feels like no one sees me. And if they do, they can’t bring themselves to care.” You curl up in Optimus’ hand and take a shaky breath through your welling tears, “I must sound so selfish- you all have so much more important things to do than worry about the feelings of some human.”

“One of our human friends.” Optimus chimes in, drawing your eyes away from boring holes into your knees to his optics, “It is true that we are anxious for the end of this war, but know this, you are our friend, and we care so deeply for you. You matter just as much as any other autobot, Cybertronian or human. I can assure you, I am not the only one who holds this belief.”

Before you say anything, the mech stops in front of his door, punching in his code and sitting you on a desk that must have been built for his size and he sits himself on his berth. He gives you a rare, gentle smile that fills so many with hope.

“Would you like to tell me about your day?”

Mirage (ROTB) Gender-neutral reader WC: 533

“Woah, woah, woah! What’s got you down in the dumps?” Mirage looks through your apartment window, forcing a yelp from your throat. You leap up from your bed and rush to the window, motioning for him to get down.

“What are you doing?! Get down before someone sees you!”

It’s pitch black out, wherever the street light doesn’t touch, but you still worry about the possibility of Mirage being seen, like he was when you met him as he was standing outside of Noah’s apartment- which then basically sucked you into this crazy adventure of saving the world from other space robots. You had stayed behind with Bumblebee to watch over him until a sudden surge in the energon brought him back, so you unfortunately missed all of the action of the final battle.

“Nice try, but no avoiding the question. Besides, no one’s walkin’ around at like… 2:50 am.” Despite his counter, Mirage lets go of the fires escape’s railing, his new frame rattling and resulting in a resounding thud and more than a couple of cracks in the pavement below. One of his servos comes into view for you to jump on, “Come on, small fry, I wanna go for a ride while the streets are as empty as they’ll get.”

“Why not get Noah to go with you? He too busy?” Your questioning would lead the bot to believe you wouldn’t be joining him for a spin, if he didn’t feel you carefully climb aboard. He lowers you to his eye level and shoots you one of his contagious smiles.

“Naaah. I felt like a you and me kind of night. I want to hear about what you’re up to, now that I’m not locked up in that garage anymore.” For further emphasis, he stretches his arms out wide and groans in relief. It had been a few months since Peru, and while you had visited Mirage while Noah had been fixing him up, it definitely wasn’t the same as him being out and in his element.

He doesn’t wait for any further response and transforms, quickly making his way down the road, no particular destination in mind, knowing him. The city passes you by quickly, Mirage not giving a second thought to any speed limit signs he sees, remembering he considers them suggestions, not law. Snapping you out of your thoughts, Mirage clears his throat, “Well? The tread on my tires isn’t getting any thicker- what’s my favorite human been up to?”

“Your favorite, huh?” Whether or not he really meant it, the thought brings a smile to your face.

“Well, duh. I got out of that garage, and the first thing I did was come see you, so spill the oil- gimme drama.”

“...You won’t believe what Elena told me happened at the museum the other day-”

The rest of the evening was spent driving the backroads outside of the city, telling Mirage anything and everything. Mirage listens aptly, responding when needed, and takes pleasure in knowing he’s distracted you from whatever was dragging you down. You’re part of his home team, and he’s not just going to stand by while you fall victim to your thoughts.

Starscream (TFP) Gender-neutral WC:1431

“Starscream! I have something to-” Running towards the seeker, his back plate remains facing you as he keeps his focus on Megatron. He normally turns to you, happy to see what his little human has to tell him. Your smile faltering after recognizing he has no plans to turn toward you, “Starscream? Are you ok?”

Megatron glances briefly towards you, but doesn’t say anything to neither you nor his second in command, likely due to the fact that they were waiting for Soundwave to return with more information before choosing any action, so your presence isn’t much of an interruption. Trying to hold onto the hope he just has yet to hear or notice you, you give his heel strut a tap, remembering how he had once told you he keeps special attention to that area for you. You furrow your brow at the confirmation of him ignoring you, your voice lowering in volume, “Starscream, what’s going on?”

“Starscream, I suggest you see to your… pet, before it becomes too much of a distraction.” Megatron growls at him, not bothering to glance back down at you.

“Of course, Lord Megatron. It was just leaving.” He still didn’t look down to you, keeping his optics glued to his leader.

It?

Without further ado, you quickly leave the room, not having any desire to stay where you are not wanted. Storming down the hall, you aren’t sure where you’re heading, but the plan was getting out, even if just for a few hours. There was no leaving the Decepticons- especially not with everything you’ve overheard, been told, and seen- you’d be hunted down in less than a day.

“Woah-ho-ho! Where are you headed off to?” Breakdown, despite standing to the side to allow you to pass without the possibility of disaster occurring. The blue mech and his partner have been a nice comfort and support system ever since Starscream first brought you onto The Nemesis, often shielding you from Megatron’s ire when Starscream wasn’t around.

“I’m finding a way off this ship, since I’ve obviously worn out my novelty.” You sniffle, refusing to shed a tear over someone you thought cared about you.

“...How about I take you to the lab, so you can tell Knockout and me about what happened.” Breakdown smiled down at you, letting it grow when you nod and allow him to lift you up and onto his shoulder. And before long, you were sitting in front of Knockout and Breakdown explaining what happened on the bridge.

“-and then he goes, ‘it was just leaving’. He called me an it.” Whispering, you were sitting on one of the medical tables while both mechs lean against a parallel table. You fiddle with the hem of your shirt, finally looking up to gauge their reactions. There stood Knockout with his mouth slightly agape, and Breakdown’s frown was deeply set in his faceplate.

“That slimy, scrawny-”

“Now now, Breakdown. I think there’s a lesson we can teach our superior.” Knockout, being broken out of his aghast stupor, rested a servo on his partner’s shoulder and smirks. He returns his attention to you and raises an optical ridge, “How does that sound?”

“Depends on what you mean, I guess.”

“Well, I deduced that you likely ran from the room after you were disrespected, am I right?” As you nod, he continues, “Right, so the last time Starscream saw you, you were in quite the distressed state. My idea is to let him believe that you left and let the slagger squirm in a panic.”

“He won’t. He didn’t even look at me earlier. Why would he care now?” The hem that you’ve been playing with during this conversation now scrunched in your fingers, hating the thought you’ve been discarded with so little thought.

A digit lifts your chin, forcing you to face the medic and his assistant, who smile down at you, “Trust me, dear. Starscream will care, he’s just an aft.

* * * * * *

“Starscream, sir.” Breakdown hastily walks onto the bridge, mentally noting the lack of Megatron.

“Breakdown… what is it?” Starscream turns to face the destructive warrior, face obviously in no mood for foolishness.

“The human-”

“What’s happened?” Starscream’s optics widen, panic already setting in.

“They’re gone, sir.”

“What do you mean, they’re gone?! They are to remain on this ship at all times, unless they are accompanied by myself!” Starscream grabs Breakdown by the edge of his chassis plating and pulls him forward to better snarl in his face.

“They said something about being done with their stay here and made their way to one of the storage bays with the airlocks.” Breakdown shrugs, not showing any care for the mech who is beginning to dig his talons into his frame. Knockout wouldn’t be happy about his partner’s scratched paint and plating, but that would be a problem to deal with later.

“Why would you not stop them, you incompetent-” Starscream pauses, unlatching himself from the larger mech. His optics narrow and he sneers, “They haven’t left this ship, and I’m willing to bet my next share of energon that they’re in that lab. Get out of my way!”

Shoving his way past Breakdown, he passes through the doorway and changes to his alt mode to faster get to the doctor’s lab, Breakdown quickly following behind him. Reaching the lab in record time, Starscream slams his fisted servo into the doorframe as the metal door swishes open, revealing Knockout gently speaking with you about how everything is going to get worked out one way or the other.

“What is the meaning behind trying to fool me into believing my star has left this ship?!”

“I don’t know, screamer. Why do you make your star feel ignored and unwelcome?” Knockout stands to his full height and crosses his arms.

“Know your place, doctor.” His voice is low and holds promise for consequences, if your friend continues to display disrespect.

“I know my place, Starscream. Do you?”

“Why you-”

“Would you both stop it?!” You yell, startling everyone in the room. It isn’t common for you to raise your voice, always preferring to stand down, listen, and stay calm. But this was just all too much.

The room was quiet, everyone not knowing what quite to do next, all mechs looking between themselves, then turning their optics to you. Another moment passes and Starscream turns to Knockout, much more calmly than before, “Knockout, I would like some time alone with them… please.”

The flashy Decepticon makes sure you’re ok before taking his leave, with Breakdown close behind.

“My star-”

“I’m not your anything. I am not some object or a pet, as Megatron so quaintly put it.” You snip, putting on the show of having no desire to hear what he has to say, despite wanting nothing more for him to give you a good reason for his behavior earlier and for him to apologize. “And you didn’t- … you - do I really matter so little to you?”

“Of course not. My star, you are the most important being in my life. But it is becoming increasingly difficult as Megatron’s fury and impatience grows. He anticipates my betrayal at every turn and has, on more than one occasion, threatened your life because of this.” Starscream gently scoops your figure up and presses his derma to the crown of your head, “I am sorry I have hurt you in my attempts to protect you, but I cannot fathom surviving this torturous world without you. Please… forgive me, my brightest star.”

“You’re such an idiot, Starlight.” You bring your arms up to cling to his face plate and lightly cry into his chin. You didn’t expect the weight that was lifted off your shoulders at his confession, but you were so grateful for the fact that it was just Starscream making a foolish decision.

“I would have to agree with you in this instance.” Starscream’s small, airy chuckle blows past your hair, and he presses yet another kiss to your forehead. “Will you forgive me, my dear?”

“I’ll forgive you just this once, but don’t ever make such a decision without telling me again.”

“You have my word. Now, why were you so excited earlier?”

“Well I…”

You spent the next few cycles regaling him about what the vehicons were up to and how silly Steve was behaving, knowing their idea wasn’t going to work. You love being able to talk to Starscream, knowing you were one of the only people he would give his full attention to. You love your mech. Your silly, silly mech.

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annwrites · 3 days

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thought this place was empty.

— pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader

— type: ficlet (part of a series)

— summary: billy finds you at a house in hawkins.

— tags: billy being infatuated with you just a lil

— tw: none

— word count: 1,984

— a/n: i love u ethel cain, tysm for the constant inspo; preacher's daughter is so amazing.

ooh i like this one, yes i do. i think this is the start of something good.

billy isn't going to be portrayed by me the same way he was in thoroughfare. he's an adult now & has grown into a man. i'm not saying he won't come off as a tad cocky at times, but he's going to be far more mature in this series.

He doesn't know why he cares so damn much. Why it piques his curiosity to begin with. But it does.

He'd, for the last two weeks, passed you every day on his way home from work.

You'd walk along the side of the road, before eventually turning off to the right, heading up a dirt path through the woods.

He wanted to know what was out there now. Some meadow? A swimming hole? A treehouse? He'd come up with many theories while sitting at home alone, having a microwavable dinner and a cold beer at the end of the night, hardly paying attention to whatever b-movie was playing on the little antenna color TV in front of him.

No. You were what he thought of. To an annoying level. He'd screwed up brake calipers one day at work with you on his mind. After that, he began to resent you a little. Some random girl with a backpack on her shoulders and no knowledge that he even existed.

He'd not even gotten to set eyes on your face yet. He'd taken in everything else he could, however.

Your long hair, tanned skin, the dresses and shorts you usually opted for in terms of attire, the bracelets that littered your wrists.

He would never, never admit to having gotten off one night in bed thinking about your tight backside swaying as you took step after step atop the same asphalt his tires rolled along. In truth, before that night, he couldn't remember the last time he'd bothered touching himself at all.

Once high school ended, and his father was no longer responsible for him, he'd been kicked out near-immediately and he'd changed as a person not long after. It'd been time to grow up. No more games.

He had crashed at this friend's place or that one's. Eventually, a homeless shelter or two. He worked odd-jobs until he saved up enough to begin renting an apartment. And then he found full-time employment at a mechanic shop. He stayed mostly to himself. The work was steady, the paychecks not usually all that much, but he saved little-by-little what he could, until he'd had enough for a down-payment on a fixer-upper on the outskirts of town.

He didn't want to live anywhere near where his father was.

He didn't mind the extra time it tacked onto his commute every day. Enjoyed it, really. It gave him time to think. Not that he wasn't always.

So, to get his head to quiet, he threw himself into work while at the shop, and into his new house once he was home every evening. The roof needed patching, the wiring re-done, the front steps replacing, the paint was chipping from the walls. The list was damn-near endless. But he liked that. It gave him something to do. His hands stayed occupied, if nothing else.

He earned a few more calluses in time from it all. He'd wondered once what you might think about a man with rough hands. Then wondered even more why the fuck he cared in the first place.

He didn't even know your name. And he was almost certain you were still in school. Unless you just liked carrying a backpack everywhere. Perhaps you went into those tall trees to camp. Perhaps a lot of things.

It's a Thursday when he finally decides to do it—follow you. Out of boredom, if nothing else. Or, that's the reasoning he gives himself, at least.

In truth, he wanted to know you. Ask you more questions than he was sure any normal person would probably be comfortable with. He wanted to see what was out here in the wilderness that seemed to draw you in so much that you returned day-after-day.

Then again, maybe you were meeting someone. A boyfriend, a girlfriend—a lover.

The thought makes his heart squeeze, which makes him feel just the least bit pathetic. He was no longer the boy he once was. The one that all other guys at Hawkins High wished to be, and all the girls there wished to be with. He'd become an after-thought to all of them now, he was sure. His glory days were long behind him.

But perhaps new memories could still be made.

The Camaro's tires crunch over twigs and dried leaves, rolling slowly between swaying trees of green, the path becoming more and more narrow until there's no place left for him to even turn around. He sighs, knowing he'll have to reverse the entire way back out of here.

He puts the sedan into park, exiting, his arms resting on the top of the car and the door frame as he gazes ahead, wondering what direction you'd possibly gone. He shakes his head then, closing and locking the driver's side door, pocketing his keys before—at least attempting, to follow after you.

The forest is littered with trees all around, Billy winding his way through them, looking back over his shoulder occasionally, wondering if he shouldn't head back to his car and go home. You were long gone by now. Maybe you'd already circled back around yourself, heading out and to...wherever it is that you live.

This was a stupid idea. Not that he hasn't had worse.

Just as he's ready to throw in the towel and settle for you remaining a mystery to him—perhaps he'd take the alternative of having answers to instead making up tales about you, who you are, where you go, and what you do when you get there—he comes into a clearing of tall grass, a rusted steel windmill in the distance, and a two-story house that looks just a tad dilapidated to the right of it.

Surely you weren't in there?

He continues walking, glad he's wearing pants as the weeds brush against his knees. He climbs the broken front steps, the wooden banisters rotting, until he's standing before a screen door at the front of the home—or, rather, house. A home at one time to someone, he was sure. But no longer, as it'd been clearly abandoned long-ago.

He raises his fist, wondering if maybe he should knock first, then lowers it.

He pulls the door toward him, stepping inside.

He takes a moment to look around first, glancing to each side of the empty domicile. A dining room is to his right, with a table that carpenter bees have clearly been making a meal out of for some time, and a sitting room to the left, an old sofa with missing cushions in the middle of it, a coffee table covered in dust before it.

He then heads for the staircase that lies straight-ahead.

The steps creak under his heavy boots, and he fears one of his feet may just fall through one if he doesn't step carefully. Once he's reached the second-story landing, he lets loose a small breath of relief.

He turns to his left and sees a long hallway, multiple doors on either side, some open, some closed, the summer sun shining against fading yellow wallpaper through open and broken windows within the rooms.

"Hello?" He calls, only half-expecting a response...which he's not given.

He begins to head down the hall, only peeking into the rooms as he passes them, looking for you.

"Anybody here?" He tries again, and is once again met with silence; only the sound of a gentle breeze outside greets him.

He stops when he finds a room three doors down on his right that has a dirty mattress on the floor. He doesn't want to imagine the things you'd discover—new kinds of bacteria—if you took a blacklight to it.

He stands in the middle of what he assumes used to be a bedroom, hands on his hips, and he looks to the open window at his right, a soft wind causing the tattered curtains to billow.

And then he hears it. A small creak to his left, and it's only then that he realizes there's a closet, with double doors, and he sees something shift on the other side through the wooden slits.

His heart begins to beat a bit faster as he comes closer, hands resting over the small knobs, and when he pulls it open, you're standing in the middle, back against the wall, staring up at him with wide eyes.

He looks down at you, heart skipping a beat, breath taken from him for just a moment at the sight of you. You were...beautiful.

"What're you hiding in a closet for?" He asks, then kicking himself. Hell of an opening, Billy.

Your brows furrow, wondering how it's not obvious. "I was hiding from you. Who...who are you?"

You take a step toward him and he takes one back.

He slides his hands into his pockets. "Billy...Hargrove. I live just-"

"I don't care. Why are you here?"

He raises a brow. Not quite the meek little mouse he'd initially assumed, then.

He takes a look around before settling his eyes back on you once again. "Thought this place was empty."

"Well...I'm here. I found it first."

His lip twitches. "So, this is where you've been coming every day for two weeks, huh?"

You shift uncomfortably. "How do you know that...?"

He jerks his head. "Saw you on my drive home last couple of weeks." He reaches up with his right hand then, running it over the curls at the back of his head nervously. "I got curious, I guess. About what was out here that was so interesting to make you keep coming back over and over again."

He looks back to the mattress, then to you. "You don't sleep here, do you, kid?"

You cross your arms at the infantilizing term. "I don't see how that's any of your business. Now that you know what's out here, feel free to leave."

He smirks. You were a firecracker. That much was for certain. Almost reminds him of himself once upon a time.

"Place looks like it should be condemned. If not tore down altogether."

You balk then. "You won't tell anyone. Will you?"

He shakes his head. "No. But, you do know it's not safe for you here, right? All alone like th-"

You pick up your backpack, shrugging it on. "I'm fine."

You head into another room, trying to get away from him—or, rather, hoping he'll finally get the hint that you'd like for him to leave—and he follows along behind you.

"Never told me your name."

You roll your eyes and stay silent.

He nods. "Strong, silent type, I get it. Guess I'll just have to guess. Is it-"

You turn back to him then, and he nearly trips trying not to fall against you. "Y/N."

He smiles. "Nice to meet you, Y/N."

You cock your head to the side for a moment. "I doubt it."

You head into another room then, slamming the door in his face.

He just grins as he turns the handle...and discovers it's now locked from the other side, smile falling.

He knocks then and is, of course, given no response.

He leans against the wall with his shoulder, arms crossed and he licks his lips. "I can wait all day. Got no place better to be."

All is quiet, until he hears something being shoved open on the other side of the door—a window? And then a thump.

Were...were you climbing down the side of the damn house?

He turns the handle again to no avail, so he then quickly walks down the hall, racing down the steps, and when he rounds the side of the house, he sees you jogging through the tall weeds, backpack bouncing as you disappear into the tree line.

He crosses his arms, smiling, shaking his head. "See you tomorrow, Y/N," he mutters to himself before turning around to start heading back to his car.

#fic: stranger things (billy hargrove x reader)#billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x you #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader

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deathgrimm · 1 day

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SBG hc pt. 2 !! :D

Aiden Clark:

Actually really likes Tyler and can see he’s struggling so he tries his best to distract or help him in his own odd way

Gives himself piercings

Dyes his hair a lot because he hates seeing his roots

Had a Gacha Phase in his pre-teen years

His hair is dead from how much he bleaches it

Always has music going or hums because he hates silence

Doodles on himself a lot

Eventually got into stick and pokes and make multiple on his legs and hips

Loved wheelies and Velcro shoes

Struggles a lot with his self image

Loves trampoline parks and rock climbing

Hates the cold

Love language is definitely gift giving

Definitely forgets to eat and gets shaky often

Sometimes goes to Ashlyn’s dance studio and watches her practice

Literally thrived all through the 2020 because he was already adjusted to living at home with no outside contact and actually did better when he had more people to see during zoom meetings.

Picked up a lot of random skills and hobbies because of how often he was isolated at home.

Because of the hobbies hc I disagree with the fact that everyone says Aiden can’t cook. I think learning to cook was a hobby of his and he can cook but prefers to eat out or eat the others cooking now that he has the group.

Used to only wear contacts for fun but now wears them to hide how his eyes dilate when Ashlyn is around

#aiden sbg #lilredbeany #sbg #aiden clark #school bus graveyard

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gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan · 2 days

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Wonders Unceasing

Prologue =-= Past =-= Next

Author's note: Zaarius next part in Husbandry.

Warnings: Let me know if I need to add anything.

Summary: Zaarius meets his Bonded Human.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams,

Tagged continued: @sleepyfan-blog, @whorety-k

Zaarius is walking along one of Ancient Terra's sandy beaches, the ocean's water lapping at his feet a little as he let his mind water as his eyes gaze out accross the waves and beaches. It's pretty on Terra, at least, in this point in time. Before War, Greedy, and whatever else it was in the future-past that destroyed this agri-like world into the shit-hole that it had become. Part of him wondered if them being on Ancient Terra would change things, or if things were going to go the way they had because they'd shown up. Or-

His mind stops thinking along those lines as he rips off his helmet, his nose bleeding a little. Ow. This was why Psyker-type brothers and cousins were best when dealing with Warp Nonsense, regardless of the fact that he's a Chaos Marine, and has been one for a long, long time. Sometimes it's better to stop prying into things that are Too Much for a person. Figuring that out is the trick of it all. He is glad, mostly, to be on Ancient Terra, to see how it had once been, before things got Bad.

He's been looking out, searching for his Bonded, not all Space Marines have a bonded, but some do, three of his current War Band do. And while he's happy for them, he gets seethingly jealous as well. How sweet and unafraid the Bonded Human is of their Chaos Marine. No matter how twisted and inhumane they trully are in appearance. The human will just coo lovingly, flaterringly about them.

He unclenches his hands, gently shaking his claws a little. He's glad that they aren't uncontrollably drippoing poison any more. That had been a pain in the ass to get resolved. The Little shit hadn't apologized, no matter how long he was stuck inside the base. It was almost impressive, even if it was annoying. Hura would tell him to not nurse his wounded pride. He would point out to Hura that, for some reason, he likes the Little Bastard Son of Dorn.

Then again, Zaarius doesn't really get what's going on in that head of his. Death Guard… even more Chaos were an odd bunch. They've become even more strange over the ensuing ten thousand years. He's chasing new sensations and experiences, things tend to be more vibrant and colorful. Rather than how experiences, following after The God of Excess had slowly emptied him out and made him more hollow, despite seeking out more and more intense experiences to get to feel Something. Anything.

That is one good thing about Ancient Terra, despite its many, many drawbacks. Playing nicey-nice with the Renegade and Loyalists sometimes chafes his hide. But. at least he's mostly used to that. With the occasional scuffles with some of the Uppity among them. Or when new arrivals first show up and decide to try and Murder Them First. Fucking over-zealous bastards the lot of them!

He usually didn't volunteer for finding new arrivals, as they tended to take being on Terra, Ancient Terra, poorly in some way to begin with. While it's fun to see the anguish and torment on the faces of the Loyalists, well. Even that gets boring if he has to deal with it for too long or too often. He spots someone staring out at the ocean, a base line human, they seem to be leaning on a cane.

He tilts his head as he heads closer to the base line human, bored and wanting to see if he can pester a reaction out of a base line human sounds like a grand time to him. Besides, so long as he stays within the rules there is plenty of give and loop holes that he can worm his way through if need be.

"Greetings human," He calls out to them in a sing song way in High Gothic.

The human turns to stare at him, shifting back a little as they crane their neck to stare up at him fully. Base line humans tend to be far less skittish of them on Ancient Terra than back in his home Era. Or any Era where Astartes are created to serve and protect.

"Hello there," They reply with a slight twitch of their lips, in the common tongue of the base line humans in this area.

He can understand more of the language than he can speak it, mostly so he understand what the base line humans are saying, rather than an urge or desire to interact with them, most of the time. There is a warm, tugging sensation, that envelops his soul as he continues to speak with this base line human that he's not felt before. Curious to know what the feeling is and why he's feeling it he continues to follow after the human talking to them and listening to them respond, as they sound increasingly more confused until he decides to put them out of their misery, for not at least and says in the local dialect very clearly and carefully in his enunciation.

"You and I," He says as the words roll of his tongue like sweet caramel, "Bonded."

"Oh!" The human says with a gasp, eyes widening in surprise, and a mixture of other emotions. "It's oh. I'm glad to meet you. I'm ---."

"A lovely name for a lovely human," He purrs, "Call me Zaarius."

They mouth his name to themselves a couple of times before saying it out loud. And oh- what a rapturous experience to hear his newly bonded human say his name. He purrs more loudly at that. Pleased that they are almost correct on the pronunciation after a couple of times. He continues to follow after his lovely human, sending a message to the rest of his War Band that he's found his human. They all congratulate him for finding his human, his Captain, who's being unusually nice, has decided to allow him a month or two off to get to know and bond with his human more. The sends a thank you back before continuing to trail after his human.

#warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry sentience #space marine husbandry #warhammer #adeptus astartes #oc: Zaarius #emperor's children #emperor's children oc #noise marine #noise marine oc #poor unfortunate souls au

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zvdvdlvr · 2 days

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burn like an animal (or: spencer hits up the club)

Spencer Reid didn’t like metal music. Or rock music, for that matter.

In fact, he didn’t really like most music period. Most songs all had screaming, sex-related, and odd subjects that Soencer never really grasped. The singers themselves (most of the time) had tainted or just an overall bad reputation. So Spencer just stuck to classical.

That being said: Spencer knew some modern-ish songs. Bob Segar, Billy Squier, and Bruce Springsteen. He knew a few songs but was pretty picky about his taste in music.

But after watching your body move to Rob Zombie’s (of all things) ‘Dragula’ in a club Derek had dragged him to, Spencer considered widening his horizons to other music.

Alternating colors made your tight dress shine as you danced with your friends, screaming “devil on your back, I can never die”. You spun around and around, limbs entangled with your girlfriends’. Smoothly, a random man slipped his hand around your waist a spun you. Your back arched and you laughed. He was pulled away and you fell back into rhythm with your friends.

You- along with all the other germy, sweaty, people- screamed “Dig through the ditches and burn through the witches. I slam in the back of my Dragula!” Your back arched dangerously and you howled with laughter with your friends.

Spencer watched you spin yourself dizzy. The pounding music and crawling hands, miraculously, didn’t bother him as long as he got to see you twist and shimmy around to a rock song. Spencer felt his body flame as your friend pulled your head close and sing along to the part that goes “Do it baby, do it baby. Burn like an animal.”

Derek patted his shoulder. Spencer’s silence was bizarre. Derek’s eyes found what Soencer was watching and Derek lit up. “Let’s go, man. Go say hi!”

Spencer just watched, amazed, as your attention stayed on your girlfriends. He would say hi. Later though, when he wasn’t watching you grind onto your friends.

Maybe- just maybe- Spencer could like rock music.

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kinniesmultifandomartblog · 2 months

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oc post

sadly no new l4d post very sorry abt that BUT i do have this oc i made purely because of a dream

trust me he is a freak!!! bro killed somebody!!! and did some other freaky stuff!!!! yall dont wanna see him in a shower he may be a freak!!!

#freakposting #edgy oc #oc #that was a weird dream #bro was jorkin it and it i mean my #no but really i had to see through his eyes it was odd #digital art #artwork

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fionnaskyborn · 1 year

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current mood:

#it's about people who have gone through events that are uncannily similar but have dealt it both the events and the aftermath in #drastically different ways. one of them was surrounded by people who didn't look and sometimes didn't act the part but ultimately meant #only well and the other only had one person who cared about him near him and not even that person was in a good enough place to give him #that sort of empowerment‚ the strength to try and fight against impossible odds and an inescapable situation #and i've seen takes (don't remember where) that state that rai is ultimately so much stronger than v because he managed to free himself #from the shackles of his assigned fate whereas v 'failed' to do so but like... i believe that v is equally as strong for just... existing.#and maybe the world would've been better off if he had died as soon as he learned the truth but he lived because he wanted to see a better #world and believed that him being stripped of his identity was a small price to pay for a better world but what makes him even stronger in #my eyes is the fact that he KEPT LIVING even when he realized that there was no way to make things better from his position as much as he #wanted to and when he saw that everything was going to hell and that he was doomed to just... stay there and be trapped and be forced to #work for ideas that directly oppose his own #and DESPITE ALL OF IT‚ HE KEPT HIMSELF ALIVE (until nato called and said ''hey bibo if you don't respond to the allegations we will nuke #your house'' (referring to V's OH) and bibo just. did not answer. and threw v under the bus and let him die like he was nothing #like i need you to understand this man has the mental resolve of joy herself but you aren't ready for that talk #look point is i think that if they were to ever meet rai would initially not like v at all and couldn't exactly pinpoint why he doesn't #like him - he's polite‚ relatively kind‚ a bit sassy at times‚ and really quiet‚ which in a way mirrors his own mannerisms - so he has no #clue as to why he /doesn't like him at all/ (and of course rai being rai would be polite in turn but he'd never be earnestly amiable)#UNTIL one of them tries to start a conversation about more mundane topics like music or movies and as they exchange opinions rai realizes #that he really doesn't have to bother with the whole thing about resolve and determination to pursue your own goals and differences in #ideologies and that he can just talk to this guy as if he were one of his friends from nyc from back when life was relatively normal #(aka before big shell and when the memories of his past were artificially surpressed HMM PARALLELS YES)#in conclusion v is less anti-raiden and more the second coming of joy and also the two of them would (eventually) be friends and talk about #film and music. rai would absolutely DIG some of the 80's stuff v listens to. thank you for joining me on yet another episode of 'insanity #with fionna'#zeta gear tag #i wrote a lot here and i've made some good points so in the tag it goes

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tonycries · 4 months

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Why Can't I Keep My Fingers Off You? - G.S.

Synopsis. There were two things missing in the scene in front of you: 1. The aphrodisiac chocolate your friends had given as a gag gift last Christmas that had been hidden away in the back of your refrigerator. 2. Your dear fiancé.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected sex, Satoru’s blindfold gets used, overstimulation (male + female), lots of cum, aphrodisiac sex, multiple rounds, making Gojo Satoru cum in his pants, breaking the bed, mating press, pet names (my girl), swearing.

Word count. 3.0k

A/N. Can you tell it’s ovulation week. PART 2 HERE. Art by @_3aem on x.

Ah~ It’s the 21st century, they should really make these curses self-exorcizing.

It’s been a long day of dealing with countless curses and five droning clan meetings (all of which he missed, oops). Now, Satoru loiters around your shared penthouse apartment - waiting for you to come back home from work.

Hmm, maybe he’ll quickly drop by and see what the first years are up to? He probably didn’t have a class right now.

But first, Satoru grins, opening the refrigerator to grab at the secret stash of sweets all the way in the back - something sweet.

---

It was odd to step into a tense silence suffocating your home - usually used to being met with whines of “how dare you take so long!” and “you won’t believe what that emo kid did today.” as soon as you walked in through the door.

Was Satoru running late on a mission today?

It wasn’t surprising, the man had to be everywhere - it’s not like he always has the time to teleport and welcome you home. Yet, you still couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was off as you made your way into the kitchen.

Cursing whoever invented the work week, the cold air of the refrigerator hits you as you open it to grab a drink, wondering when your fiancé will be home.

Wait.

Tired brain distinctly noting the lack of that familiar flash of hot pink, you double-take as you glare at the back of the refrigerator - as if willing it to materialize in front of you. Where was that?

“That” being the gag gift your friends had given you last Christmas to playful wolf whistles. Some large slab of “aphrodisiac chocolate” - probably normal chocolate - that you’d skeptically thrown in with your secret candy stash for a rainy day.

Satoru had ransacked your goods again, you sigh. But if he was home…then where was he?

“Toru? Are you home?” you call out in confusion, only to be met with a deafening silence.

Concern etched on your face, you set the drink down to look for Satoru, footsteps thumping against the hardwood floors at each tense step.

Approaching the bedroom, a low, unmistakable moan filters through the heavy door. Satoru.

Heartbeat racing and worry coursing through you, you cautiously push the door open - only to be met with a sight that makes your heart stop.

There, sprawled across your bed in just his boxers, a delicate flush spread enticingly along his sculpted body, was your Satoru.

Something about this scene felt more than a simple evening nap. The air was heady and thick with something. Maybe it was that familiar hot pink wrapper lying empty at the foot of the bed. Maybe it was the way Satoru’s usually vibrant eyes were half-lidded, curtained by his tousled hair.

Or maybe it was his hand squeezing the large outline of his achingly hard cock through his boxers. Circling the dark spot around his leaking tip. Massaging his heavy balls. Teasing.

“You’re home‘ he rasps out, voice strangled and snapping you out of your trance.

“Wha- yes. Toru, what happened?” you sputter out, eyes locked on the way his cock twitched animalistically at the sound of your voice.

In the blink of an eye, Satoru’s gotten up from the bed, muscled arms caging you against the wall. His rock-hard erection presses into your front, precum smearing through his boxers against your work clothes.

“You’re home.” he repeats, sounding as strained as if he were about to snap any second. Losing his sanity with each breath that fans your hair.

You could feel the pulsing of your cunt as your eyes flit from the sheen of sweat decorating his body to the blindfold haphazardly hanging off his neck. Satoru finally raises his eyes to look at you.

Oh, he’s already lost his sanity.

Pupils blown, those blue eyes you love now a lustful black - a predatory glint in them that made a carnal part of your cunt twitch. His mouth spreads into a wolfish grin, teeth bared as if ready to eat you up.

A shiver runs down your spine.

“Toru…you okay?”

“You’re home.” he breathes out, as if a prayer.

“Satoru.”

The simple call of his name sealed your fate.

The buttons hit the ground before you realize what he’s doing. Ripping your shirt off, pulling off your bra, fisting your clothes in his hands as if it killed him to see you clothed.

Too impatient - too starved - to remove your skirt, he pulls it to shreds off your hips.

“Woah- slow down there.” you squeal as he drops to Satoru knees, biting down on the thin fabric of your soaked panties, tugging with his teeth. You know he’ll buy you ten more to replace what he’s torn, but jeez where was the decorum?

“Can’t” he slurs, peeking up at you with dazed eyes. Was your Satoru even here with you?

“What?”

“Can’t stop.” he murmurs lowly, voice sending vibrations to your twitching cunt.

And before you know it, sharp teeth bite around your panties, ripping them to shreds. Looking up at you with hooded eyes, miles away, grinning devilishly around the soaked fabric in his mouth.

Shit, what have you gotten yourself into.

Despite your thobbing pussy, you soothe “Now, Toru. Why don’t we just-”

“Shut up.” he mutters. And he does - words catching in your throat as Satoru dives nose-deep into your dripping cunt. Hot tongue urgently lapping at your juices, as if a man dying of thirst..

Nose rubbing your pulsing clit in rough circles, he breathes you in so sinfully, letting out a throaty groan as he does. He bullies his tongue past your dripping folds, stretching you, dipping in and out of your quivering entrance. Over and over. In and out.

You were losing your mind with each rough push of Satoru’s warm tongue. Dizzying pace forcing lewd whimpers out of your mouth that mix with the squelches of his mouth on your pussy.

You buck your hips desperately into his face, and amidst his merciless abuse on your cunt, you barely notice the way he presses his body against yours.

Shit, so this is why he’s so fucking feral - Satoru’s cock was painfully hard, swollen and throbbing against your leg. Fuck- you weren’t gonna be able to walk for a while.

He grind his hips into you, precum soaking your bare legs. With a low whimper at the back of his throat, Satoru’s tongue fucks you in a way you knew he wanted to with his cock right now. Rough and unrelenting.

Maybe it’s the harsh abuse of his mouth on your swollen lips, nose catching on your clit just right. Or maybe it’s the feeling of your slick dripping down the corners of his mouth, onto your thighs and mixing with the precum of his aching erection.

Before you can even register it, you’re cumming all over Satoru’s mouth, grip tight on his white locks and hips riding his pretty face.

Greedily lapping at your quivering cunt, he moans as his eyes roll to the back of his head at the sweet juices pooling around his tongue.

In the back of your mind, you recognize the feeling of Satoru’s warm cum smearing against your leg. Did- Did Gojo Satoru just come in his underwear while eating you out?

Sinfully, he licks at the mixture of your juices dripping down your legs, eyes closed as if tasting a delicacy. He was going to be the death of you.

As soon as your high bates, Satoru stands to his full height. Towering above you with eyes that looked like he wanted to positively eat you alive.

“T-Toru…are you okay?”

But your fiancé stays silent, throbbing erection still straining painfully against his wet boxers as he shoves you against the cold wall. Rough hands on your hips, presenting your dripping cunt to him and arching you to his will.

A large hand smacks the wall beside your head, plaster crumbling under his strength. Shit, if he keeps going at this pace then nothing in the house will survive Satoru - including you.

You feel the cum-soaked fabric of his boxers grinding against your ass, his hands pulling and groping every bit of skin he can reach.

“Toru, take it off.” you whine out, words dripping in lust.

You don’t need to tell Satoru twice. With grace that he wouldn’t give your clothes, his boxers are on the ground, painfully hard cock hitting his abs.

You can feel the slick dripping down your legs as you look behind your shoulder to see one hand wrapped tightly around his large cock. Pulling in slow, languid motions up to the furiously flushed tip. His heavy balls twitch as he thumbs the prominent vein along the side.

“I want-”

You can’t even finish your sentence before Satoru’s bullying his massive cock into your snug cunt. Plush walls desperately trying to adjust to his size as he sheaths himself in your hot core.

You moan at the delicious stretch of your pussy. It’s not like you haven’t done this before - yet, where Satoru was usually suave in sex, right now it was replaced by pure, feral need. With his tip kissing your cervix as he pushed animalistically into your cunt - you didn’t know if you’d make it out alive.

“Hah- Toru it’s too big. Ah! I can’t-.”

“You will.” he grits out, teeth clenched and brows furrowed.

Satoru presses into you inch by fucking inch, groaning at the tight ring of muscles trying to both push him out and suck him in desperately. It was so animalistic.

It seems Satoru’s body moves before his mind, hips fucking into your dripping pussy recklessly. Harsh thrusts, not even pulling all the way out to ram into you as he usually does - as if he can’t bear to part with your wet core. His balls sting your cunt as they smack against you at his unforgiving pace, strings of slick and cum connecting him to you.

“Ah- So good f’me, my girl. Always- so good.” he gasps out at the heavenly feeling of your dripping cunt sucking him back in at each thrust. “Hngh! Mmm more. I need more. Need it so bad.”

Hands arching your back into him now grope the expanse of your skin, before wrapping around your body to lift you off the floor.

“Ah! Toru, what- hngh-” you choke on your words at the new angle.

Satoru’s body bows into you, cock still slamming inside you at a feral pace midair. Not even a hair’s breadth between your bodies.

With one hand he forces you to look up at him, capturing your lips with his in a searing kiss. Pretty mouth sucking your tongue as he did with your cunt.

If you were in a better state of mind, you’d notice the slight glow tinging his lustful eyes. The electricity thrumming through his fingers. Yet you already knew - Satoru was absolutely losing it.

Your feet dangle off the ground as he holds you securely, length reaching impossibly deeper inside you. Prominent vein grazing that one spot over and over.

“Hngh- Oh my god, Toru. S’too much!” you pull away to whine.

“Open your mouth.” he murmurs raspily. As if body on auto-pilot, your mouth opens, tongue lolling out for what he was about to give.

Satoru’s stream of spit is warm on your tongue, making you clench around his merciless cock. He lets out a drawn-out groan, eyes boring down at you, holding a glint of the same insanity he has when he exorcizes curses, “My nasty girl. Can’t get enough of you.”

You moan at his words, hands reaching behind you to grab on the blindfold dangling on his neck. “Toru more-” you gasp out, your tight grip causing him to bow his head with a groan, cock twitching ferally.

“Fuck! More? You fucking want more?” he groans out, voice wrecked with pleasure.

You let out a yelp as his teeth dig into your neck - hard enough that you were sure you’d have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow. Like a lamb to slaughter, he was going to eat you up. Yet, your grip on his blindfold never waves, pulling him closer as he fucks roughly into your snug cunt.

Ass burning at the friction of his pelvis. Pussy dripping onto your bedroom floor. Unforgiving. Gojo Satoru was unforgiving. “Ah! Toru s’good.”

You both cum with strangled gasps. A low keen at the back of Satoru’s throat, and he’s pumping hot ropes of cum into your awaiting pussy. Tears stinging your eyes at your sensitivity, all you know is a wave of pleasure as you ride out your climax on the ramming of his hips and the how full you are of his seed.

His hand still draws hurried, desperate circles on your clit. You squeal at the overstimulation, tears clinging to yours lashes. “Toru- hngh!” you can barely get out the words, his hips slamming into yours mercilessly as Satoru milks his cock desperately on your quivering pussy.

“Shut up. You said you wanted more. You’re gonna get more, my little slut.” he mutters carnally.

Ah, you can’t do this. You were going to fucking pass out.

“One- more.” he moans.

Your thighs clench around him, pushing your plush walls deeper as he lets out raspy whimpers with each thrust. “Hah- hngh.”

“Shit- Toru I’m-” Your climax hits you with a jolt, body twitching in pain and pleasure from the oversensitivity as your cunt flutters around his cock - not even being able to tell when Satoru’s orgasm ends and when yours starts.

You feel a tear hit your shoulder, overstimulation too much for his poor cock as his seed coats your walls once more. It drips out of you, forming a pool on the floor as he pulls out - for only a second before you’re thrown on the bed.

Orgasm-hazed brain barely having time to register what is happening before Satoru stalks towards you from the foot of the bed. Unhurriedly approaching you as you scoot towards the headboard.

Your pussy jumps exhaustedly at the sight of him - eyes darkened and narrowed at you like a predator that has spotted his prey. A devilish smirk stretches across his swollen lips, glossed prettily with spit and slick.

Toru, I-I don’-” you words slur out.

“One- one more, my girl. Please.” Satoru whimpers, throat shot from what transpired just before. His cock twitches, glistening with cum and slick, dripping onto the fresh bedsheets.

As he looms closer, you wonder how the fuck Satoru was still holding up - was this all because of the chocolate? You have half the mind to wonder whether he was using reversed cursed technique to keep you both alive.

You mewl deliriously at the feeling of your legs being thrown on his shoulders. Eyes blown and face flushed your favorite shade of pink, he licks a long stripe up your ankles, voice cracking as he moans sinfully.

Satoru’s flushed tip teases your entrance, dragging along your swollen folds. Fuck. Shit. Maybe you wouldn’t even mind dying if it was with his cock rammed in your snug cunt.

Barely even lucid, he thrusts harshly into you - your tight entrance readily sucking up his flushed tip. You both hiss at the sensitivity. Surely, one of you was going to pass out.

Hand moving to grasp the blindfold around his neck, you pull him to you. Your hamstrings burn in protest as Satoru bends down to attach his lips with yours, moving down until you were folded in half.

Tongue tangling with yours, half-lidded eyes bore into yours, fiery with an intensity that made you unsure if either of you would make it out of this alive.

Heartbeat roaring in your ears, you don’t notice the crack! of the bed and neither does Satoru. Too caught up in desperately reaching whatever number orgasm it was this night.

Moans incoherent, your body convulses, nails dragging down the expanse of his sculpted back as the bed creaks in protest. A strangled groan leaves his mouth, cock throbbing inside you - or maybe that was your quivering cunt. At this point you really didn’t know anymore.

“Shit- ah! Fuck. I’m- M’cumming. M’cumming. Hngh- cumming!” he whines out, voice ragged and breathing unstable. Delicate tears streak down his face, dripping onto your quivering body below him. Salty.

You can only let out exhausted whines, too fucked out to form any proper sentences.

Hot seed gushing inside you again, it overflows out of you, cunt dripping and too full to take anymore. Yet, Satoru still fucks into you until he sees stars and his poor cock is cumming dry. You can barely even feel your climax, distant tingles and the only thing on your mind being Satoru Satoru Satoru.

The air leaves your lungs as he collapses on top of you. Skin flushed and sticking to yours. Body twitching as his poor cock neverendingly shoots blanks inside of you. Which number was this even?

That’s when you black out.

Floating in and out of dreams of blue, blue skies and mini Satorus running around, you wake up with a start. Well, as much of a start as you could with your entire body aching as if you got run over by a truck - and then an entire zoo after.

Bleary eyes taking in your surroundings, you distinctly realize that you’re spread out on the living room couch.

What happened.

“Hey, you okay?” a hoarse voice sounds from beside you. You could barely recognize it as your fiancé’s, words jagged from…whatever it was before.

“You…are you okay?” you rasp out, raising a brow exhaustedly. Satoru chuckles sheepishly, tenderly smoothing over the blanket placed on top of you. What a change from before - are you sure this is the same guy?

“Well…the wall is crumbling, we broke the bed, and I’m pretty sure my dick won’t work again for the next couple years.” he gets out in one breath. At your silence, he continues “And I think my favorite blindfold is out of commission.”

“...wow.”

“Wow.”

“You lecher, you ate from my secret stash, didn’t you?”

“...”

A few days later, opening the refrigerator, you’re met with a wall of hot pink. A sticky note on top reading in Satoru’s hasty scrawl, “This time you take one too :D”

A/N. Wrote this while watching The Garfield Show.

Plagiarism not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fic #jjk #gojo satoru #tonywrites

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suguann · 3 months

Text

He has a feeling that the new girl running the front desk at the gym is going to be a problem—a distraction disguised in a gym uniform polo and khaki pants.

It starts with you smiling too brightly as he walks in one morning, all teeth and that little twinkle in your eye that feels like trouble when you scan his membership card.

“Good morning, Mr. Riley.”

“It’s just Simon,” he tells you as he takes his card off the counter.

The following day, it’s the same, except Johnny is there to make it worse.

He nudges Simon with his elbow. “She’s kinda pretty, huh?”

“Say it any louder, and she’ll hear you, mate,” he grumbles.

Simon’s not blind; of course, he knows you’re pretty, but he doesn’t have time to commit to anything outside of work—even if you smile at him like you’re happy to see him and how he’ll think about it later: on missions, at his desk, during morning runs. His head is nothing short of woven webs with thoughts of you stuck in the middle.

Honestly, it’s that you—

(You try to make small talk with him every morning, and Simon is starting to think it’s just for him because on the days he doesn’t come alone, you merely scan his card and go back to reading the open paperback book on the desk.)

It’s weird because it’s almost like you—

(He bumps into you at the supermarket and makes a dumb joke about carrots that makes you laugh. It makes him a little tongue-tied and awkward afterward because he realizes he hasn’t talked to a woman outside of only wanting a quick fuck in a really long time, but more importantly, he wants to hear it again.

Instead, he tosses potatoes in his cart and walks away.)

He tells himself it means nothing, or not how Simon wants it to.

You’re just…he’s not even sure; acquaintances? Maybe more than that, but less than friends. Somewhere in that odd in-between phase where he only knows bits and pieces but not the whole picture.

Sometimes, he wishes—

(Simon doesn’t know what he’s doing the first time he invites you to meet the guys from work on a night out. He’s dated around a few times and had his fair share of hook-ups, but this isn’t like that. His palms are sweaty, more than usual, and no amount of wiping them on the thighs of his jeans keeps them dry.

Then you walk into the bar in a dress that’s probably too light for early spring in London—even though he stares appreciatively at the long expanse of your legs as you walk up to the table—and he wishes he wasn’t introducing you as his friend.)

But you—

(A new development happens after you slip him your phone number on one of the gym’s business cards—it’s weird that we don’t have each other’s numbers, so message me sometime or whatever—and he messages you ‘hey’ right before he leaves for a mission a few days later.

It slowly shifts and changes over time.

You start sending him texts in the morning. Never an actual good morning text, but of the dogs you take on walks, the sunrise, the new flower box in your window. Somehow, it’s better.)

You really are—

(His house feels too hot, and he’s distracted from the movie by how close you are, how your leg drapes over his under the blanket, fingers fisting into his sweater at his stomach that clenches. An ache that grows, throbbing, spreading from his abdomen to his groin.

It feels monumental—something more than the gentle touch to the elbow to squeeze by each other in his entryway earlier or giving you his jacket that night at the bar—a tilt of the axis that makes the messy pieces fall neatly into place.

He must be staring because you glance up at him, smiling, and the sound from the TV turns into white noise in the background.

“Can I…would you—fucking hell,” Simon runs a hand through his hair. “Can I kiss you?”

When your lips press against his, and his hands are pulling you onto his lap, where you settle hotly against his dick tenting in his jeans, he wonders why neither of you has done this before. Just kissing—him licking the seam of your mouth, and you panting his name.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” you mumble, lips brushing his.

“Me too,” and he fists his hand into the hair at your nape and pulls you back to his mouth.)

“I knew you’d be trouble,” he tells you one day, glaring at the bloke further down the bar who tried making a swipe at your ass before Simon showed up, towering over his shoulder with your fruity cocktail in hand.

“Oh, yeah?” you giggle, leaning into his side.

“Yeah,” the corners of his mouth quirk, though he hides it when he presses a kiss against your temple. “A real pain in my ass, love.”

“But yours.”

This time, he does smile. “Yes, but mine.”

Masterlist

#simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost imagine #simon riley fluff #cod imagine #cod x reader #cod fic #mw2 x reader #mw2 imagine #.things i write

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 1 month

Text

reunion

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. minors, please get off my lawn.

Notes: Not beta-read because when is it ever.

Length: 4.5K

Warnings: Slow burn; unrequited love; angst; yearning; divorced Art Donaldson; oral sex (female receiving); vaginal sex; safe sex

Summary: It wasn't that Art Donaldson was the one that got away. It was more like Art Donaldson was the one that never really knew you existed.

"Did you hear Art Donaldson is supposed to be here?"

The question is whispered behind you and makes your hand freeze in its signing. You're half-bent over the table at reception, fingers tight around a pen as your mind is jogged.

No way was he turning up, that's what Anne had said.

Tashi will be there, she's the head of the goddamn reunion committee, the ink is still wet on their divorce—that's what Anne had said. Hell, she'd sworn it.

So what the hell is he doing here?

The sound of your name jogs your attention and you manage to finish signing in. You straighten, taking up your name tag and haphazardly slapping the adhesive onto your top. You need a drink, and quickly. You're halfway to the bar before you feel someone wind their arm through yours.

"Okay, I know you didn't wanna come—"

"Anne."

"And I so appreciate you being here so that I didn't have to come alone—"

"Anne—"

"But I got some news and it's going to be a little shocking so I think you should hear it from me—"

"I know he's here."

"What?" Anne freezes, her arm dropping from yours. You turn to see her looking stricken, her cheeks pinking with panic and embarrassment. You sigh softly, glancing around your fellow alumni. Less than half of them look familiar; your eyes catch on the odd face before you realize that you're inadvertently looking for him.

"Look, there are, like...Five hundred people here, alright?" You add. "I probably won't even see him."

"We can go."

"Look, we made the trip, we're here, we may as well stay. It's fine, okay? We're all adults here! It doesn't matter!" Your insistence is chased by a slightly hysterical laugh. "It was, like, a hundred years ago."

"...You're sure?"

"I am positive."

Positive that you need a drink, and positive that you're going to regret agreeing to stay.

It wasn't that Art Donaldson was the one that got away. It was more like Art Donaldson was the one that never really knew you existed.

You were friends, sure. You palled around, had a few classes together, hung out at a few parties—but he was so in love with Tashi Duncan that you'd never made his romantic radar. You'd forced yourself to believe that that was for the best, that you didn't need his love or romantic validation to be happy. But you couldn't pretend that wanting him didn't sting.

He'd had a couple of girlfriends while you were at Stanford, but you could always feel, always see that they were never really his priority. It was Tashi, then tennis, then them.

The two of you had kept touch a little after college, but you'd pushed yourself to move on. Conversation had begun to fade, and when he hadn't tried to keep it up, you had resolved to let him go.

You'd avoided his name in the news as much as you can, but it had been hard. He was on billboards, packaging, tv—it was like you couldn't escape him.

Want melted to sadness; sadness shifted to annoyance; annoyance hardened into disdain. You couldn't see his likeness or hear his name without rolling your eyes. It wasn't his fault, of course, but the prospect of running into Art fuckin' Donaldson made you queasy.

Still, you put on a brave face for Anne, forcing your focus into conversation.

It's a struggle to keep your gaze from seeking him out. You take each sip with a little white lie, convincing yourself that you're looking to make sure you can avoid contact. You spot Tashi a couple of times, but you don't go out of your way to say hello. She's surrounded by a cloud of people—taking pictures, signing programs and name tags and old Duncanator shirts.

When Anne insists on going to say hello, you force a small smile.

"You, um—you go ahead," You nod, taking a couple of steps back. "I'm gonna get some air."

Anne's dark eyes flit over you questioningly before she blessedly lets it go, nodding and going on her way. You turn, swiping a fresh drink off of a passing waiter's tray as you leave.

It takes a few moments for the buzz of conversation to clear from your head. You take a gulp of the prosecco, wrinkling your nose. It's a little sweeter than you usually like, and doesn't mingle well with the three other drinks that you've downed. Tashi's not going to find your lack of presence or greeting conspicuous; you'd been cordial and on speaking terms in college, but the two of you had never been close.

Damn, but it's chillier outside than you thought it would be. The reception had been so warm, so crammed with people. Paired your head being near-permanently on a swivel, you hadn't realize how hot and tense you'd been.

You frown at the waft of cigarette smoke that catches your nose. Who the hell is still smoking in this day and age—

"Are you hiding, too?"

Maybe you can feign that you didn't hear him—that the sound of his voice didn't jog a hundred memories and trigger a flurry of butterflies. But before you can stop yourself, you turn, the words, "I thought you quit smoking," tumbling out of your mouth.

Art's smile widens as he draw the cigarette back from his lips, a stream of smoke pushed out of the side of his mouth.

"I did. Quit quitting, though." He takes one more puff before he flicks it away, drifting closer. "Hi."

Hi, like it's not the first time you've seen him in the better part of a decade. Hi, like neither of you are oceans from where you where when you last saw one another.

"Hi," You manage. He doesn't hesitate to draw you into his arms; he seems to almost do it without thinking. You only allow yourself a moment of resistance before you raise and curl your arms around him. The clean scent of his pressed jacket and woodsy cologne are muddled with smoke. The fingers of one if your hands curls covetously in the fabric of his jacket as his palms smooth gently over your back. You hear him draw in a deep breath, feel him hold it, and then release it with a soft hum.

"How the hell are you?"

Probably better than you are these days.

You shrug a little, mumbling, "Fine."

He draws away, eyes skating across your face.

"You don't sound so sure about that."

"I'm sure."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

You can feel him winding up for another pass at it, but you hold your glass out before he can. His fingers brush against yours as he drains it.

"Why are you hiding?" You ask. He shrugs, nods toward the door.

"It's a lot in there. I forgot what these events are like."

"People wanna congratulate you. They're proud."

"Are you?"

"I am, but I'll hold off. Don't wanna crowd you."

Your attention is drawn from Art's smile as you hear someone clearing their throat over the speaker system inside:

"If we could have the reunion chairpersons to the stage, please!"

You glance toward Art and find him fidgeting, his thumb smoothing across his bare ring finger.

"…Do you wanna go back in?" You offer. He considers before he says, "Wait here."

You watch curiously as he darts inside, and are stunned when he reappears a moment later. You just barely catch a glimpse of the bottle of champagne clenched in his fist before he rests his other hand on your lower back, steering you away with an urgent murmur of, "C'mon."

"I'm surprised you came," You tell him. Art doesn't look at you for a moment, and you take the chance to lean back against the hard plastic seat. He's as beautiful as he was the last time the two of you were together, the night before graduation—practically in the same seats. You don't know if he was thinking about that when he'd led the way into the stands, chosen where to sit. Maybe it was pure muscle-memory.

Either way, you don't know how long the two of you have been sitting out there, knees bumping, passing the bottle back and forth. You take in his profile—the slope of his nose and cut of his jaw; the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows.

"My therapist said it would be good," He finally admits. "Told me I needed to get out more, start getting back into events, work at the foundation...What about you, huh?" He turns, brows raising. "You always told me that you hated this stuff."

You're surprised he remembers.

"I do hate this stuff, but," You shrug. "Anne didn't want to come alone."

"You're a good friend. I never forgot that." He sits up and passes the bottle back to you. "What happened to us, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why did we stop talking?"

I couldn't keep begging for scraps of attention.

"I don't know," You deflect. "Guess we just lost touch. It happens."

"I shouldn't have let it happen to us."

You look down at the bottle, sweeping your finger across a slipping drop of condensation.

"You were busy."

"You weren't?"

"Not in the same way," You laugh self-consciously.

"What were you busy with then, huh?" He shifts, thigh pressing against yours. "You used to always say you'd uh—burn out by twenty-six."

"Yeah."

"Did you?"

"Oh, it didn't take nearly that long."

"What!" He laughs. "What the hell happened?"

"I don't know what to tell you, man. A girl can only take a soul-sucking marketing job for so long."

"So what do you do now?"

"Still in marketing, but I'm a manager, so. Still soul-sucking, but making a little more money."

"You like it?"

"God no, but I don't know what else I would do." You pass the bottle back.

"Could find something for you at the foundation."

You wrinkle your nose, shaking your head as Art sputters a laugh, asks, "What?"

"Don't do that, Art."

"Don't do what?"

"I don't need, you know—"

"We could use you—"

"You don't even know what I do at work."

"I bet it's great—"

"You don't even know if I'm a good worker—"

"Sure I do, I know you."

"No, you don't!"

You know it's a mistake the second it leaves your mouth. Art's smile wavers as he leans away again.

"I just mean—" You try.

"I know what you mean. It's been a long time."

"...Yeah, it has." You take the bottle back, drawing deeply from it before passing it back. "I should get going. I'm sure Anne's looking for me."

"Sure."

You don't say goodbye or tell him that it was nice to see him. You just make as hasty a retreat as you can without tripping over your feet.

@ a_donaldsonofficial requested to follow you. 3h

You're not sure what surprises you more—the follow request or the message in your DMs: Dinner?

His groan is sinful and low, and makes you rethink ever losing contact with the guy. Under the warm glow of the diner's lights, his eyes slip shut, fingers tightening around the bun.

"...When's the last time you had a burger?" You finally manage to ask.

"I can't remember." He admits it through the mouthful, and you don't begrudge him the couple of flecks of food that land on the table. You smile, plucking up a couple of fries.

"Art?"

"Mm."

"Why'd you ask me to dinner?"

Art sets the burger down as he swallows, taking off his napkin to clean off his hands.

"I was thinking...About what you said at the reunion."

"Mhm."

"About me not knowing you. You're right. But you know what?" He presses on before you can process your surprise. "I don't think you know me, either."

You think for a moment, brows furrowing. He's right. You know the image of Art Donaldson that's been projected to you over the years—on tv screens, in magazines, in online clips.

"...I don't think I do," You agree.

"Figured we should fix that. Catch up, fill each other in on what we've missed."

"Okay."

"So, after college..." He trails off, waving his hand. "Fill me in."

"Moved to New York."

"Uh-huh."

"Working in marketing."

"Burned out before 26—"

"Yeah, hit my capitalistic peak at 23."

"That fast?"

"I mean, that's the last time I remember giving a shit about work, so. Yeah."

"Relationships?"

"...A couple," You admit.

"Serious?"

"Yeah. One."

"Married?"

"No. Engaged." His eyes drop to your bare left hand, and you hurriedly tuck it into your lap. "Formerly engaged."

"What happened?"

"It just didn't feel right. I don't think either of us were ready."

"...Was it anyone I knew? I don't remember you dating much at school."

"Guess I didn't."

"You weren't shy."

"Well no, but—"

"So what was it?"

"I had the worst crush on you, dude!" It's another mistake, but where the last one seemed to make Art retreat, this one leaves his gobsmacked. His eyes widen, mouth opening in a wide smile.

"You what?"

"Oh, kay, you know what—"

"I had no idea!"

"I was very subtle."

Art leans back in the diner booth, watching you openly. You can see the gears turning in his head, and you wonder what he may be remembering, holding up and twisting about in this new light.

"...Huh," He mutters.

"You can feel free to forget that at any time."

"I don't think I will...I wish I'd known."

You consider for a moment before you shrug. "I don't know. I'm kinda glad that you didn't."

"Really?" His brows knit with confusion. "Why?"

"I don't like coming second, Art."

Art nods slowly, and you see something tight pass across his face before it's smoothed away again.

"You know what?" He smiles bitterly. "Neither do I."

You nod toward his plate.

"Your burger's getting cold."

"So, uh..." Art clears his throat as the two of you take slow, drifting steps to your car. "I'm gonna say two things, and I don't want you to think that they've got anything to do with what you said earlier."

You know exactly what he means, but you just grumble, "I said a lot of things earlier."

"I think we both know which one I'm talking about."

"Uh-huh. So what's up?"

"...I wanna see you again."

"Okay."

"But things are a little...Messy right now. Tashi and I are working on getting Lily into a regular rhythm and it's harder than we thought it would be."

You lean back against your car, tucking your hands into your pockets.

"Mhm...I hesitate to ask."

"Yeah."

"How does this have to do with what I said earlier?"

"I just don't want you to think that this is—"

"A consolation prize?"

"Something like that."

"Whatever you need to do to get in a good place with Lily is fine, Art, you don't need to justify that to me."

"Even if it means you come second?"

You tip your head to the side, pursing your lips. "It's different when it's your kid. I meant that I didn't want to be second to—You know."

"...Yeah," He mutters, looking at his feet as he takes another foot forward. "And for the record, I was thinking of asking you out again by the time we sat down."

"You could've changed your mind."

"I didn't. And I don't want to."

You smile, nodding. "Well I don't want you to, either." You straighten up as you fish into your bag for your keys. "Call me the next time you're in New York."

"Sure."

You reach out, cupping his cheek and leaning in, pecking his cheek. You pull away, smiling at the flush creeping across his face.

"Goodnight, Art."

"Night."

It isn't easy at first. Messages are far and few, mostly how are yous and how was your days. You think that as nice as the little swell of contact has been, that's all it'll be—but the two of you both start to really try. The odd text becomes the weekly phone call. Weekly phone calls become daily FaceTimes. On the nights when he has Lily, they're late, usually when you're getting ready for bed. On the nights when he's on his own, the two of you eat dinner together and chat over your calls. It isn't always perfect, but it's more than you could've anticipated from that dinner a couple of months ago.

"She down?"

"Yeah."

"Are you in a hotel again?"

"...Yeah." Art seems to admit it grudgingly, and you smile a little as you take up your toner and a cotton pad.

"There's nothing wrong with leaning into it if it's working," You argue. "And not to be that bitch, but you're not exactly broke."

"Might be if she keeps ordering room service and movies on-demand."

You laugh softly, turning your attention to your reflection as you swipe the toner across your face.

"How's your day been?" Art asks.

"Fine, standard. I had to fill out an assessment ahead of my annual review."

"When's that?"

"End of the week."

"How do you feel about it?"

"Mm," You shrug reaching for a serum. "Fine, I guess. I'm doing okay, my team's hitting their targets."

"You're doing better than okay."

"Art."

"You are."

"Well. Thank you for that." You glance over as he goes quiet, catching a glimpse of him as you smooth the serum into your skin. You raise your brows at the sight of his gentle, warm smile. "What is it?"

"You're beautiful."

Your face goes warm at the compliment, and you bite the inside of your cheek to tamp down your wide, idiotic smile.

"You are tired, huh," You deflect.

"I mean it."

"...I know," You murmur, reaching for your moisturizer. "Tell me what you got up to today."

"I had a meeting at the foundation. We're starting planning for the gala."

"Oh yeah? Have you done them before?"

"We've had three before, but I was usually playing or training, so I haven't been as involved in the planning."

"How's it been?"

"We're still in the preliminary stages, but it's been interesting, you know, seeing how the pieces come together before I usually see them."

You nod, picking the phone up from the mirror holder and heading into your bedroom.

"Where are you gonna have it?"

"We're still scouting locations...As a matter of fact," Art adds, "We're considering a few in New York."

"Oh?"

"I'll be down there for at least a few days, and I wanna see you."

You grin bashfully as you climb into bed, settling against your pillows.

"I wanna see you, too. Are you gonna, um—I mean, is Lily gonna be with you?"

"No, it'll be Tashi's weekend."

"Okay, cool. Just wanna make sure I don't mess up your time."

"I appreciate that." Art's tongue swipes across his lower lip, eyes sweeping across your face. "I gotta say..."

"Mmm?"

"I'm looking forward to seeing your apartment."

"Oh, really?" You chuckle. "Why's that?"

"It'll be interesting, that's all. I mean, you already take me to bed every night."

You laugh, covering your eyes as you groan, "Oh, god, shut up!" as Art chuckles.

"Let me know when you're free," You add. "Your schedule's gonna be weirder than mine."

"Yeah, I will, as soon as I know what it is." You watch as Art lays down, propping his phone up on the nightstand. "...Can you stay on?"

"Yeah," You soothe, setting your phone on the nightstand in suit. "Until we fall asleep."

"Okay," He murmurs. The two of you settle in on your sides, watching one another on the phone.

"Night, Art."

"Sweet dreams."

The restaurant is picked. Your nails are done, your hair is done; you get a new dress, new shoes, a new bag. You're going to have an amazing night—a good dinner, a great conversation, and, if you have any luck, an amazing good night kiss.

You know the minute you see him that you're not making it to the restaurant. Art's eyes sweep over you in covetous wonder when you open the door. He closes the gap between the two of you, drawing you into his arms, and this time you go without a second thought. He presses his face into your neck, letting out a gentle hum at the scent of your perfume. The tip of his nose trails up over your jaw, his lips brushing the corner of your lips as his forehead rests against yours. He sighs as you draw in a nervous breath, and he sways in, lips pressing to yours.

You raise your hand to cup his neck, shivering as his hands smooth over your hips. He guides you deeper inside, blindly reaching back and shoving the door shut behind you as you fling your purse toward the bench in your entryway. His kisses grow hungrier as he steers you down the hall. You slip your tongue along his, smoothing your hand up to grasp his hair. Your fingers fumble with the buttons on his shirt, exposing more of his pale, muscled chest to you. He slides down the zipper on the back of your dress and leans away just long enough to draw the dress up over your head. His eyes sweep across you, taking in your lingerie.

You hook your thumbs under the band of your underwear, giving them a teasing wiggle as you back further away from him. You expect him to follow, but he steers you back against the wall, dropping his head to suck hot kisses along your neck and down to your chest. He yanks one of the cups of your bra down, taking your nipple into his mouth. You bite your lip, tipping your head back against the wall and whining as he slots his knee between your thighs. You roll your hips down against the hard muscle as he laves and teases your nipple, reaching up to thumb and tweak the other.

"Art—Mm, god that feels so good."

He groans against your skin, trailing his kisses further down as he lowers himself to his knees. You look down as he curls his fingers around your panties—and waits. You smile softly, nodding, murmuring, "Please?"

Art grins, pressing a kiss to your hip before he gently eases the fabric down, waiting for you to lift your feet so he can fling them away. He leans in, swiping his tongue across your aching clit. Your knees would knock if he wasn't wedged between them. You draw in a shallow breath, letting your head tip back as he draws your leg over his shoulder. You shiver at the feeling of the chilly air against your heated, slick flesh. He nuzzles and laps against your cunt, taking each tip of your hips in stride. His hand smooths up your trembling inner thigh, giving your ass a gentle squeeze before he teases a finger into you. You whimper at the touch, unable to help the way your pussy clenches around it.

Art groans at the feeling, turning his head to smear his lips slips against your hip.

"Goddamn," He breaths against you.

"More."

You feel more than hear his gentle chuckle as he eases another finger in.

"Need it bad, huh?"

"You have no idea."

"I'm getting a pretty good idea." He turns his head, leveling a sucking kiss to your clit that makes you cry out. You tighten your grip on his hair as he pumps his fingers harder, curling and scissoring them as he pushes you closer to the edge.

"Art—Mm, god, fuck, yes—Yes—" Your toes curl in your shoes as your hips rabbit down against his face and fingers, chasing the swell of your orgasm. You look back down as he draws back and find his lips and chin shining with your juices.

"Bed," He urges.

"You can fuck me right here."

Art laughs, standing and smoothing his hand over your thigh.

"We're doing this right."

"We could be doing this right...." You slid your hand down his chest to palm his cock through his pants. "Here."

You grin as Art's eyelids flutter, his dick twitching against you.

"Bed," He insists again.

It isn't far to go, and the two of you are entirely bare by the time you get there. You scooch back onto the bed, spreading your legs as he rolls on a condom. He's over you a moment later, and you watch the bulge of his biceps as he braces his hands on either side of your head. You bite your lip as you feel the brush of his cock against your entrance. You reach down, grasping his cock and guiding him closer.

You tip your head up, tongue teasing the seam of his lips as he eases into you. You melt into the mattress as he crushes against you, filling you completely. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, sliding your legs over his, as if you'll manage to fuse the two of you together. Art's tongue swirls around yours before he captures your lips in a kiss, rolling his hips slowly.

"More," You plead, but Art keeps his pace achingly steady, even when you try to pick up the pace.

"You feel so fucking good," He breathes, "Even better than you taste."

"Harder, Art, please, god damn, please," You whimper. He tips his head to the side nipping at the hinge of your jaw as he reaches down, hiking your hip up even higher. Your mouth fell open with a stunned moan as he presses deeper, the slap of his hips filthily filling the stifling air around you. You arch up against him, nails raking down his back as you feel the swell of another orgasm.

"Art."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm—Fuck, almost—"

"That's it." He sucks his fingers between his lips before he slips them between your bodies, swiping across your tender clit. You begin to close your eyes, but he tuts softly.

"Don't—Don't close your eyes—Look at me," He orders between breaths. You force yourself to focus on Art, taking in the flush on his cheeks, his almost dazed eyes.

"You, too—" You urge.

"Yeah—"

"Oh—yeah," You gasp, unable to keep your gaze on his you cum. You feel Art's hips slap roughly against yours before he slows, groaning low in his chest. You draw in a deep breath as your heart pounds in your chest, sinking back against your pillows as he settles down over you. You smooth your hand over his nape, smiling as he nuzzles against your shoulder, dropping tender kisses to your skin.

"...Art?"

"Yeah?"

"I think we're going to be late for dinner."

"You know, I've been thinking."

"You've been doing a lot more than thinking, mister," You mutter, and grin as Art laughs. You cuddle closer against his side, nuzzling into his chest as he tightens his arm around your shoulders.

"I'm glad I didn't know you liked me in college."

"Really?" You tip your head up, brow furrowing. "Why's that?"

"...I wasn't ready for you back then." He smooths his fingers along your jaw, eyes wandering your face contemplatively. "It's like you said, you know. You would've come second."

You nod, turning your head to press a kiss to his palm.

"I don't think I was ready for you, either," You admit. Art smiles.

"And you are now?"

"More than."

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#Art Donaldson x Reader #Art Donaldson x You #Art Donaldson/Reader #Art Donaldson/You #Art Donaldson fic #Art Donaldson imagine #reunion

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