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vampzyke · 7 months

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୨୧ , jon snow x FEM!reader. ( 1.7k )

imagine... you, a young servant of house stark, teaching jon snow the sweet, yet innocent act of kissing. and finding out just how eager he is to learn.

tags making out, crush, innocence, first kiss, friends to lovers, season 1

AS NIGHT FALLS throughout Winterfell, lit lamps wither away along with the hushed whispers of winds. It's a melody you wish to hear more often as your stay here in the North begins to drag.

More often than not, your ears tend to ache at the shutters of metal against one another when frequenting the Forge; or when tasked by one of the Stark children to fetch an apple, where you're greeted by a dozen women huddled together in secret, gossiping to one another about Winterfell's latest whore. You loved the girls dearly, but feared that maybe one day you would be the topic of their conversation.

With a content smile, you inhale greatly and exhale with ease as you sit outside the kitchens back in the brittle cold. Your surroundings are empty of others, only the wind to keep you company. Even as you feel your chest start to tighten around your lungs at the cool air, you stay seated and grateful for the silence on this star-filled night.

Eyeing the various critters crawling about, you jump at the laboured breathing of an animal ahead of you in the depths of the forest, before the small stature of a direwolf pup stumbles its way out of the ominous shadows and towards you. You hadn't noticed it at first, the thick white coat of fur complemented its snowy surroundings.

As the wolf yields closer in clumsy strides, your eyes widen in knowing as those red orbs of it become clearer.

The name of his is faint on your lips, "Ghost?". And before your limble frame is aware, the pup has thrown his warmth onto your lap. You giggle in turn, scratching earnestly at the back of Ghosts' ear just the way he prefers it.

The way Jon does it.

As you busy your hands with the pup, your shallow breaths forgotten as the cold seeps into your skin, you glance around the woods in hopes of finding the brute man you dream off.

"Now tell me, Ghost. Just where is your broody friend?" You ask the pup, who in turn just laps messily at your face. Distracted, you fail to hear the large boots of the man you mustn't fancy, and the sudden dip of the floorboards beneath you.

"Behind," A gravelly voice huffs out against the back of your exposed neck. The finest of hairs stand on edge as you're suddenly aware of the warmth intruding in on your space, like a lone fire in the depths of Winterfell's worst nights.

You're yet to yelp in shock, accustomed to Jon's dire way of greeting you. He took joy in teasing the poor servant girl who never thought to send out a complaint to Lord Stark; to which the man took great advantage of, you were his only friend after all. Whom else could he mess around with other than his elder brother, Robb?

"Y/N, you're practically naked with those kitchen rags on," he sighs, Jon is no longer crouched behind you, and instead stands tall in all his glory besides you. You still have not uttered a word to him yet, nor could you now. As you gaze up his length, your jaw slacks unwillingly at the sight of him.

Some days you found yourself enamoured with House Stark's bastard son.

You, along with a maiden of Lady Sansa's, spent your breaks eye-fucking him from across the courtyard as he trained with his brother. Jon would dorne tight clothing on those days which defined his toned arms in the sun's favourable rays. The sweat would glisten against his flushed skin; it was, oh so tempting to just lick off. The two of you girls would let out boisterous laughs at the dirty idea from where you sat on the courtyard's curb. And before long another servant would pull you by your ear angrily, complaining about time and whatnot as you would spare one last glance at Jon before tasked with yet another bore chore.

Only during his and Robb's spars would he acknowledge you in public. Robb was the only Stark who knew of his brother and your friendship; he was positive the people of Winterfell would talk if Ned's bastard son and a poor servant girl were out frolicking together. So Robb kept quiet. He never commented on it and never thought to spare a look at you. You were sure he hated you.

Jon reassured you that the eldest Stark son just loved to be a dick, and was most likely jealous of the fact that he had another to call a friend; in Robb's words, 'a fine lady'.

You had blushed at his words.

Robb Stark was a fine man, you along with all of Winterfell knew this. You would have to have your eyes gouged out to not see it.

But now, as your eyes trail Jon's stoic form, your heart beats with a skip in its mellow thump. Jons face never gives away his emotions, though maybe that is exactly what you find endearing about the young man. He stares down at you with a look of tiredness, stripping himself of his fur coat.

You raise an eyebrow at him, protesting, "I have no need of your coat Jon, it is fine!" You reassure all too easily, though the chattering of your teeth gives you away. Jon clicks his tongue, before draping the large warmth of his coat over your smaller stature.

"It does not seem like it." He shrugs, avoiding your teary eyes from the cold. All you could do was hum in acknowledgement, mind hazy at the thought of him giving you his coat in worry. Your face flushes, though Jon is all too ignorant as he decides to sit beside you on the curb, watching off into the distance with a brief frown.

Suddenly, Ghost nudges you with a dirtied paw towards Jon, as if on purpose. You shake your head at the silly idea. Without realising, you let out a whisper of a giggle.

"What is it?" Jon turns to face you now, and as you sneak a glance you catch the faintest of freckles gathered around either corners of his eyes and how his mess of dark hair curls to frame his pale face. You realise suddenly, just how close he is.

Jon does not seem to notice, or perhaps he does, but has no concern over it.

With strained confidence and courage from a white paw, you shuffle ever so slightly closer to Jon. The man just stares at you with a look you cannot describe, and a terrible feeling gnaws within you. Why must he just stare? Is that a look of disgust? Oh, what am I doing?

Battling your inner turmoil, you miss the way Jon looks you up and down, biting his bottom lip as if instinct when he stares upon your beautiful face.

"Y/N?" He says it almost too quietly, but his breath fans your face with how close the two of you are now. It is silent all around, even the whistles of the wind do not interrupt this moment. You turn to face him fully now, though the bottom half of your face stays well hidden beneath the large heaps of fur. You are embarrassed yet intrigued to know what Jon chooses to do next.

With his index finger, he tugs lightly at the fur beside your cheek, testing the water. You continue to stare dumbly, as he asks shyly, "May I?".

The words are stuck in your throat at the sudden vulnerability from him. You have never seen this side of Jon before. As you go to nod, he almost pulls back with a hitch in his breath with how long you take to respond.

Hastily, you shout out, "Yes! Yes." He does not look convinced even as you tug the fur down to reveal a timid smile. He returns it, though the ends do not meet his eyes.

You let out a sigh. You had ruined your chance with Jon Snow.

Then, as if waiting for the drama, you felt a push from behind you. You did not need to see to know who exactly it was. Ghosts' tiny paw nudged you once more, as if the pup was irritated at this charade.

With another ounce of confidence, you grabbed either side of Jons questioning face. You could feel the roughness of his beard, and that was all it took for you to regain your composure before looking up at him through glazed lashes.

"Jon," you spoke. He waited with uncertainty as your grip on his face loosened. "Is this okay?"

All he could manage was a slight nod, distracted by your enchanting eyes.

"Okay." You repeated, before leaning down to meet his bruised lips. From the way he sat rigid against you, you were sure this was his first kiss. Soon you were worried though there was no protest from his end. It seemed as though Jon wanted you to lead. And as his tongue swiped over your top lip, you took that as your confirmation.

With not an ounce of shame, you shuffled to sit on his lap, wrapping your thighs around his fine torso. Now comfortably, you began to deepen the kiss with your tongue. Your hands moved away from his face and found themselves tangled within his hair. And with growing confidence, Jon soon wrapped his arms around the bottom of your waist, nearing your ass. His fingers teased at the fabric there, unsure.

As your tongues danced together, you dragged a palm down his front sensually, to which he let out a pitiful moan you could not help but swallow, before stopping atop of his uncertain hand above your waist. With loving guidance, you moved his hand ever so slightly towards the plump of your butt. His thick yet lanky fingers grazed against it, and with uncertainty he pressed down at the soft flesh. You were still clothed, but you could feel the heat emitting from his fingers.

You gasped into the kiss, pulling back for needed air.

"Was it something I did, Y/N?" Jon asked with worry. You could only laugh at the young man and his wary conclusions. With a shake of your head, inhaling the cool air to steady yourself, you whispered. "Not at all, Snow."

The corner of his lips tugged upwards with ease; and all you could do was watch with a feeling of need sprouting within you. You were eager for this man to ravage you, though there was a lot to teach.

There was no sound of complaint from you, as you felt him knead your ass with certainty.

Jon was a quick learner, after all.

#jon snow #jon snow x reader #asoiaf x reader #got x reader #got imagine #asoiaf imagine #fem reader #jon snow imagine #jon snow x you #jon snow drabble #x reader #fanfiction #got fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones x you

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juuuulez · 3 months

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plsssssss do the oneshot with Carl and one of Negan’s wives i am on my hands and knees begging

info: Carl Grimes x Reader, minor Negan x Reader, you’re Negan’s wife, Carl is 18 and you are 19, canon episode: ‘Sing Me A Song’, NSFW, blowjob, cum eating, dom reader/sub Carl.

summary: Negan gives Carl a tour of the Sanctuary, where his youngest wife grows quite the interest for the boy.

WOOOWWWW you guys really wanted this so i delivered! beginning to think i have a real fascination with the idea of ownership/belonging to someone.. not even necessarily in a sexual way (however yes!) considering there are themes of this in a few of my fics now LOL

“You’re gonna want to look at their titties. It’s cool. I won’t mind. They won’t mind. Knock yourself out.”

You watch as the boy looks down, averting both the eyes of Negan and everyone else in the room. It can be intimidating, you suppose, considering the parlour appears to be a scene ripped straight out of Playboy magazine.

6 women, all clad in the barest-minimum of fabric that can be classed as a dress. Skimpy black numbers, designed to cling to every curve and divot. Negan saunters away, leaving the boy to his own devices, discussing something private with Sherry.

You’re posed over one of the long leather couches, resting your head over the arm. It’s not uncommon for Negan to bring others into the parlour, usually as some sort of twisted power-play, though this is different. It seems almost torturous, to place a boy in this situation, and you fear he’ll combust on the spot out of embarrassment.

Negan passes once more, manoeuvring the boy’s hand upwards to clutch his beer. This is it. As your husband turns his back, you can strike.

“Psst.”

After catching his attention, you wave the boy over, who appears to grow increasingly nervous at the proposal. His gaze flickers back over to Negan, then to the other girls in the room. You know that Sherry must be watching you with a look of disapproval.

Nonetheless, he obeys, filling your chest with a sick sense of excitement. You lean forward over the edge of the couch, and when he’s within arms-reach, you snatch the cold beer from his grip.

Taking a generous swig, you size him up in a less than subtle manner. He isn’t exactly very tall, and his clothes are all dusty. But there’s something enticing about that stoic look on his face, trying to seem confident, assured.

“What’s your name?” You ask, though it comes out more like a demand. You’ve always been rather blunt, not willing to beat around the bush, especially when you want something.

He looks back over to Negan, then to the floor, as if he’s reluctant to meet your gaze. “Carl.” The boy answers.

You nod, taking another deep sip from the beer before quirking your head. “Grimes?”

Carl doesn’t answer right away, his jaw clenching and eyes narrowing into something close to a glare. It provides all the answer you need, a wide grin on your face.

“We learn a lot during pillowtalk.” You justify, a statement that only serves to make Carl more uncomfortable. How proudly you boast we only implies you’re more than comfortable living amongst 6 other women, which makes his gut twist in confusion.

Like a cat with a mouse, you continue to toy with him. “Drink much?” You ask him, offering the bottle forward.

Carl can’t help but feel this is all some sort of trick. That he’ll slip up, do or say the wrong thing, and be scolded for it. After all, you’re only an extension of Negan, so he tries to be wary.

Despite shaking his head, he accepts the bottle anyway, holding it awkwardly in his palm. Your gaze is expectant, unwavering, almost to the point of being unsettling. Yet, Carl doesn’t falter, and he doesn’t dare drink the beer.

“Good boy.” You quip, shuffling to kneel up on the couch. Even in this position, he’s a good head taller than you.

You take the bottle back, to which Carl feels a minor bout of relief. Taking another sip, you continue to shamelessly inspect him. “You shoot that gun?”

Carl manages to nod, attempting to look anywhere but directly at your chest, which is temptingly presented to him. “Maybe.” He confirms.

“Sounded like a machine gun.” You point out instantly, not allowing a single lull in the conversation.

Biting down on his lip, Carl nods again. “You’d be correct.”

With his cooperation, you smile widely, wanting to see how much further you could string this along. “Do I make you nervous?” You ask in an innocent tone, though Carl knows it’s anything but.

When he answers, he isn’t looking at you. His gaze is up, a little to the right. “No.” Carl says rather quickly.

You take another swig from the bottle, before it’s lifted up and out of your hands. A noise of protest builds in the back of your throat, before Negan’s large hand cups over your neck, guiding your head to look at him.

“Stealing from me?” He accuses, a wicked grin on his lips as he keeps the beer just out of reach. You lick the remaining residue from your bottom lip, sinking back down to sit on the couch rather than kneel.

“No, sir,” You reply in that equally sweet tone. “Just getting acquainted with my new friend.”

Carl steels his gaze at Negan, refusing to look down at your obedient form. He catches another woman watching them, seemingly disapproving of your attitude.

“Of course you are, sweetheart.” Negan drawls, sweeping his thumb over your cheek.

There’s an anxious feeling settled into Carl’s nerves, unsure whether or not he’s even allowed to be speaking with this girl. But you’d called him over, after all. In a way, he was just following orders.

Whatever mental debate was stirring didn’t matter, for the door to the parlour opened once more, with Dwight leading a beat-up looking Daryl. It stole Carl’s attention away, focused on the growing tension in the room.

Knowing your little game was over, you retreat further into the room, fishing out a cold wine bottle to replace the confiscated beer. You don’t bother listening to their conversation, though as Negan leads Carl away, your gaze remains trained on his retreating figure.

The sparkling liquid sloshes into the glass, foaming up against the sides. You raise it, taking a swift sip, savouring the pungent taste. As you do, Carl takes one more glance into the room, a grin growing on your features as you lock eyes.

Now, you knew very well that cheating was forbidden. It’s what had Amber in such a tizzy, still crying softly over on one of the couches. This was going to be a hard play, but you were always one for a challenge.

You also always got what you wanted.

So, you begged Negan to take you to Alexandria. He immediately said no, of course, yet thankfully you’d been strategic about it. You wore a tiny black nightgown, and with the absence of heels, you leant on your tippy toes in order to press a kiss to his cheek with a long-winded pleeaassseee.

It worked.

What better way to consolidate power than with some arm-candy, Negan would later justify.

You were amazed to discover just how big Alexandria really was. The Sanctuary was sort of a massive factory, after all, but this place looked like a regular neighbourhood. Negan claimed he needed to settle business elsewhere, so he left you with a kiss, and you were permitted to explore.

Of course, you had a specific task to attend to. A need that required fulfilling. Maybe you just liked the challenge, wanting to push that boundary, see if you could really do it.

Though you greatly enjoyed being taken care of, not having to lift a finger at the Sanctuary, you missed that control you’d relented in favour of protection. Before meeting Negan, you’d been fairly well-off, and knew how to manipulate a situation in your favour.

Or, a person. Need be.

“We meet again, cowboy.”

Your pleasant chirp and upturned smile catches Carl off guard, who’d been carrying out a menial maintenance task towards the back of Alexandria. It was a secluded area, private, which immediately put him on edge.

“You’re here with Negan?” He asks, obviously sceptical. There’s a small box of nails in his hands, as it appears he’d been repairing a hole in the fence. Or, trying to, at least, given he’d made little to no progress so far.

You aren’t offended by his hesitance, knowing your presence can be intimidating. As usual, you wore a lacy black dress that left little to the imagination, dipping low in the front and ending around mid-thigh. “Of course.” You confirmed shamelessly.

Only to be met with silence, you rolled your eyes. “C’mon, I’m not his dog. He isn’t around.” You assured Carl, trying to get the boy to loosen up a little.

It seemed to have the intended effect, as he put down the supplies he was working with, offering his full attention. There was a critical look on his face, something near judgemental, which lit a fire in your belly.

“Why are you with him?” Carl asked, finally inquiring into what’s been playing on his mind.

You raise a brow, biting at the bait. “Why not?”

His expression twists once more, a molten well of determination in his veins. “Are you serious?” Carl urged, not understanding how you’d be so.. complacent. “I mean, you’re, what? 20?”

“19.” You corrected with a sly smile, the word uttered with an inkling of pride, as if it was something to brag about. Only 19, and you’d acquired a husband who’d give you anything.

But you, somehow, still wanted more.

Shaking his head, Carl echoed your sentiment. “19.” He sounded disapproving, critical of your position. Maybe it was a tone intended to make you back off, but it had the opposite effect, as you found that you wanted him more.

It looked like he was about to say something else, further comment on the situation. So you stepped forward, intruding on his personal space. His brows furrowed, confused, as he backed a little further into the fence.

“What-..” He begun talking, though was quickly quelled by your finger, tapping gently over his lips. Each nail was perfectly manicured, painted a soft pink colour, drawing his eyes downwards to the appendage.

You looked up slightly to meet his gaze, though thankfully the heels gave you some leverage. “Are you not into me, or something?” You asked, the words tainted with feigned sadness.

It elicited the intended reaction, for Carl shook his head almost immediately, words coming out hurried and confused. “What? No. You’re… beautiful, obviously.”

The smile returned within an instant, a sly grin that manifested much too quick for the previous emotion to be genuine. Carl was beginning to catch on, starting to understand that you had a better hold on his feelings than he did.

It was like playing with a Venus flytrap. You were a minx, a siren. Each word was sticky, coated in a honey-like sweetness that caused him to fold, bending to your every desire.

Instead of answering verbally, you slid to your knees, finding purchase in the gravelly earth. Soft skin became slightly dirtied, though you paid no mind to it, gaze still firmly locked on Carl.

He swallowed, hard, appearing in slight disbelief. Those manicured fingernails gently scraped the fabric of his flannel, trailing down, down, to the denim of his jeans.

“This is.. we shouldn’t do this,” Carl whispered, sounding both breathless and slightly panicked. “You shouldn’t do this.”

“But you want it.” You interjected, and as if to make a point, traced a pointed fingernail over the crotch of his jeans. They were slightly tented, causing Carl’s face to flush with embarrassment, looking towards the sky to avoid gazing directly down the exposed portion of your chest.

Fostering his attention back, you gave a chaste pinch to his side, causing Carl to yelp and look back down at you. His silence caused you to grow stern, that soft allure gone, replaced by an air of dominance. “Say it. Say you want it.” You commanded.

As if on command, Carl was nodding, forcing the words from his throat. “I do.”

“Really?” You inquired, stretching out the tension, which only ebbed on the throbbing feeling in Carl’s pants. It had been hard enough to remain composed in front of Negan, but without the looming threat, his mind found that it wanted you more than he’d like to admit.

“Yes. Please, I want you.” He finally uttered, those few words delivered in a tone of desperation, laced with a hint of shame. This was wrong. So wrong.

The smile returned once more, conforming back to that sweet, soft look. You appeared proud, content, happy to have gotten your way. “Good boy.” You cooed, and in that instance, Carl believed it was all worth it.

You finally worked at his jeans, unbuttoning the fly and slowly pulling the zipper down. Despite being near the back fence of Alexandria, anyone could walk past, which added to your excitement and Carl’s anxiety.

Fisting him in your hand, you licked your lips, savouring the way his breath would hitch. His cock was hard in your palm, the tip red and strained from all the teasing. It was slender, curved slightly, and you wondered how it would feel in your throat.

“Did you like the dress?” You asked him, hot breath hitting his exposed cock as you spoke, “I wore it for you.”

Carl’s gaze was drawn down, back to the exposed cleavage in the silky black dress. He found himself nodding, having to force the words out, still in somewhat of a state of disbelief.

“Yes, I did,” He replied, voice cracking as your palm tightened its hold. “I do.”

Finally, finally, you poked your tongue out, flattening it to lick a generous strip from base to tip. You swirled it around the top, collecting the salty precum, before suctioning your lips onto his heated member.

Trying not to make too much noise, Carl’s hands fumbled, holding onto the fence behind him. His teeth clamped down on his bottom lip, barely holding in a ragged moan as you slide down his clock, wet mouth enveloping him to the hilt. It was no surprise you were this good.

You looked up at him, lashes slightly wet with the stretch, as you held your place. One hand rested over his hip, whilst the other reached out to take Carl’s hand in your own, leading it to the back of your head.

He was nervous, clearly, trying not to hurt you. But then you swallowed around him, tight throat restricting, allowing him to feel every ridge, and Carl couldn’t help himself. His hips nudged forward, shallowly thrusting deeper into your channel, with a stuttered gasp.

Encouraging the movement, you dipped your head back for air, before swallowing him whole once again. Carl seemed to get the message, his hand gently fisting your hair, as he worked up a steady motion that allowed him to fuck into your throat.

The pressure of a tight, wet heat was unlike anything he’d had before, and Carl found himself unable to be silent. His moans were quiet and breathy, moving up a pitch whenever you swirled your tongue around the tip on the up-stroke.

You reached up, forcing your palm over his mouth, trying to keep him from making too much noise. It serves to muffle the sound, along with enhancing that arousing feeling of control, revelling in the fact that he’s at your mercy.

Feeling him twitch in your throat, you pull away. It elicits a whine from Carl, strung out and desperate to have you in any way possible. Keeping him at that edge, you build up firm strokes over his cock, now slick with your saliva, as you hurriedly pull down the bust of your dress.

It exposes your breasts to the cool air, giving a firm yank on your bra to free them. The sight causes Carl to gasp, squirming in your hold as you tighten your fist, finally milking sticky strings of cum that land right on your skin, spilling all over your tits.

With practised motions, you slow down, not wanting to overstimulate the boy. His head falls back, leaning against the fence, trying to catch his breath. You shake your hand out, relieving it of the slight cramp from how dedicated you’d jerked him off.

As planned, your breasts were coated in his release, though luckily it hadn’t soiled your dress nor bra.

You brush the dirt from your knees as you stand, finding them to be slightly scraped due to the gravel. Carl’s attention falls on you once more, after he’s readjusted his jeans, rendered speechless by your appearance.

The silence fills the space between you, though you have an expectant look on your face, once Carl doesn’t quite understand. A raised brow, you glance down to your chest, before back up at him.

“Gonna clean up your mess?” You ask him.

He blinks once, twice, before catching on. “You mean… with a towel?”

You purse your lips, a manicured finger swiping across the swell of your breast. It picks up a glob of cum, pearly white on the tip, which you deposited into your mouth.

Carl seems to get the hint, a nervous look on his face. He’s never… eaten his own cum before, the idea making his face scrunch up in mild disgust, though you seem to do it effortlessly. His hands settle on your hips, hesitantly, still standing there in consideration.

“Unless you want Negan to see?” You prompt once more, the vague threat working to kick him into gear, understanding the severity of the situation.

It was his mess, after all.

His head dips down, licking a tentative stripe over your exposed breast. The taste is unique, salty and distinct, though not exactly unpleasant. Carl tightens his grip on your waist, as you gently thread a hand through his hair, guiding his face as he cleans you up.

The action has your nipples hardening, a tingly sensation growing between your thighs, though you’d wait until later to satisfy yourself. When he pulls up, there’s a smug look on your face, gleaming with pride.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” You whisper, leaning close to deposit a grateful kiss over Carl’s lips, tasting him on his tongue once more.

His face is red, flustered and slightly embarrassed over what you’d made him do. You tug your bra back into place, along with adjusting the hem of your dress, smoothing it down to reestablish that perfect appearance.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” You announce, giving the boy a small wink before prancing back into Alexandria’s centre. There’s a breathless stammer behind you, though you pay it no mind, willing to let Carl simmer in his feelings before your eventual return.

Of course, you managed to clean up a little more before reuniting with Negan, who was speaking to a Saviour at the front gate. He greeted you with a chaste kiss to the cheek, arm wrapping around your waist.

“What happened to your knees, baby?” He rumbled, concern furrowing in over his brow.

You looked down, noticing how they were slightly scraped. “Heels on gravel.” You shrug, offering it as a minute explanation, though of course, it’s far from the truth.

For now, Carl would remain your little secret.

#carl grimes x reader #the walking dead x reader #twd x reader #twd x you #carl grimes #carl grimes x you #negan smith x reader #the walking dead #negan smith

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whatwouldsylwrite · 1 year

Text

At least I got you in my head (prologue)

Summary: Abby is straight. And then you move in with her.

Tags: modern au, fem!reader, straight!abby (she is doing some comphet bullshit), pining, idiot in love and it's abby, reader is gay and tired.

A/N: The title is from Sleepover by Hayley Kiyoko, because my motto is if I had to suffer Abby has to suffer too. I also have literally no idea where this is going, but the idea got stuck and I needed to write something. 🙃

Jessica here is Jessica from Jessica Jones. (actually all characters here are fictional women I have a crush on, no name is random)

"Listen, I have a friend, she is looking for a roommate right now." Nora said as she drank her sweet coffee you really wanted to steal after she listened to your complaining. "It's super close to the campus."

"I've seen a porn starting exactly like this."

"I wouldn't call Sherlock Holmes porn." Nora shot back and you rolled your eyes. "Do you want her number or not?"

"Is she, you know?.."

"Painfully straight. Don't worry, you won't end up looking for a place because you decided to date your roommate."

"Okay, yeah, give me her number."

Okay, Jessica wasn't.. that bad. It was cute in the beginning, you two hit it off immediately, her sarcasm bounced off your wittiness perfectly. You liked how cool and un-fucking-bothered she was, she liked you because you were a little shit. You two had so much tension it was bound to explode one day, and it did: you got drunk at home, played some have i never and then fucked for two days straight. Jess was cool, and Jess really didn't like to give any kind of clarity on where you stood even when you asked her to her face. She'd just say she liked you and that was it, and even though it really pissed you off, you didn't press further - Jess was cool, but she wasn't sweet enough to fall in love with. It was getting annoying as she grew more territorial about you, always putting her arms around you in public, which was cute until she started asking about Nora and getting angry when you were with her.

That was when you decided to tap out and move out - the red flag was fucking screaming in your face. You quickly informed Jessica about it, to which she just flipped you, and you left, not dealing with her shit. And now you were homeless, and the term was starting and you really didn't want any drama.

So a painfully straight girl would be fucking perfect for a roommate.

to: potential roommate

Hi! I'm (y/n), Nora gave me your number

She said you're looking for a roommate?

from: potential roommate

Hi! I am

Do you smoke?

to: potential roommate

from: potential roommate

That's the address

If you can, come tomorrow after six

to: potential roommate

The place was actually close to the campus and not "beautiful place to have peaceful study sessions. 20 minutes by public transport". You weren't sure if you'd be able to afford it, but it was worth a try anyway, you were tired of sleeping on your friends' couches. The apartment building was on a quiet street, but you knew that this street had a bunch of bars where students spent their time.

It was another win, and it made you want to afford this place even more. You reread the message and got up to apartment 42.

You rang the bell and waited for the girl to open the door.

And then she did.

And then you died.

Tall, muscular, shoulders and arms so defined you felt your mouth going slack. She had freckles on her face, pretty blue eyes with long lashes, stubborn mouth and a long braid.

Oh no fucking way this absolute lesbian wet dream was straight. Nora set you the fuck up here, you were sure of it.

"Hi, I'm Abby. You're (y/n)?" She said in a nice melodic voice that had just an edge of something dark and warm, and you woke up.

"Yeah." You squealed, still so shocked and so attracted to her it was getting painful.

She was painfully straight? Well, you were painfully gay for her right now.

"Cool, come in."

Oh god.

She had the ass. Oh what a good day to be a lesbian, you thought, but you politely looked away, feeling like a creep for staring at her.

It gave you time to look around: the place wasn't too big, but it was cosy and clean, clearly looked after. That was a good sign - Jess was tidy, but she smoked and the whole place just stank of it, her cigarette buds were everywhere. Abby seemed sporty, probably obsessed with her food, but you didn't mind.

"Do you play sports?"

"MMA."

Oh for fuck's sake, you groaned inside. How could she be so stereotypically gay and be straight? Well, of course she could, looks and hobbies weren't indicators of someone's sexuality, but it was pretty fucking ironic to you.

The kitchen was small and tidy, everything in its place and a cute towel hanging from the oven handle. It gave you a 1950s housewife vibe, but it was cute. The living room was more chaotic, pillows and blankets everywhere: on the couch, on the floor, behind the couch (???), big tv and playstation next to the wall with a bunch of games next to them. Likes games, you noted, really feeling like a Sherlock Holmes and laughing at yourself for comparing your basic observation to the fictional genius.

"Sorry, I didn't have time to figure out this mess." Abby said and rubbed her neck and you had to clench your fists to stop feeling so attracted to her.

"It's cosy, not a mess." You chuckled. "My previous roommate left bottles instead of pillows."

"God." Abby scrunched her nose in disgust. "Okay, so there's two bedrooms, one is mine and the other one can be yours and if you promise to pay rent on time and not leave your laundry in the washing machine."

"Yeah, that won't be a problem.” You hesitated before speaking up, but you needed her to know you weren’t straight. “I'm a lesbian, by the way. Just in case you have a problem with it."

"Oh, I don't, it's totally cool." Abby smiled and you smiled back, relieved. Sometimes straight girls got wrong ideas and you wanted to get it out of the way now. You could deal with how attractive Abby was, but could she deal with you finding her attractive - that was a different question.

You talked about the price for the place, which wasn't too high, but you might want to find more students to tutor if you wanted to not worry about splitting your budget too much.

You left Abby’s place feeling relieved - you got a place to live in a good location and a roommate who, yeah, was super attractive, but she was straight, and that meant no relationship drama.

Fuck you, Jess - you thought as you made your way to Cait’s place - I won’t fall for the girl this time.

#abby anderson x you #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson #abby tlou #aligyimh

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jaegersolstice · 29 days

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where you lead, I will follow (i'll be there)

nanami kento x fem!reader. fluff, unedited, lots of lovey dovey poop, you are married congrats, reader is in the hospital idrk why LMFAO

Counting the ceiling tiles makes this more reasonable, you think. A cool fabric beneath your back, and the smell of antiseptic filling your nostrils, there really isn’t anything wrong with you. Except, an aching pit in your stomach, a sinking feeling that something isn’t right. That something that isn’t meant to happen, something you don’t want to happen, is on the brink of explosion.

Not to mention, the only person who could soothe you with a simple look is halfway across the country on some fancy business trip with some fancy people, eating some fancy food that you can’t even pronounce.

You’ve resisted the urge to call Kento these past few days because you know he’s much too good, much too caring to not answer. He loves you, much to your surprise, the once-emo high schooler who was afraid of women, loves you. So, even as you wait for the doctor, you ignore his nagging voice in the back of your head telling you to “Call [me] no matter what, okay?” Besides, your intuition has been wrong before…

Last Friday. Date Night. When you refused to bring a jacket because “There’s no way it would rain!” Kento simply gave you a small smile and guided you out the door with a hand on the small of your back; he knows that you’re much too stubborn to listen to him when he gently urges you to bring a jacket. A breathtaking candlelit dinner by the water — you were stuffed with pasta and bread when, much to your dismay, you noticed the rain coming down hard and fast.

Whining, pouting, groaning – Kento simply chuckled, handing you his blazer wordlessly. He could give you anything wordlessly, and you would understand. His love. His comfort. His encouragement. His passion.

So, in this moment, you try to feel his love and comfort – from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, letting the darkness overtake you.

—

“How long has she been here? Why did no one call me?” The corners of your mouth lift because, God, you must be dreaming well, that sounds just like Kento. A caress of a hand against your cheek, and he feels just like–

“Kento?” A peak of a tired eye, and in all of his glory, your husband is there, clad in his typical black suit white undershirt combo, hair slightly disheveled. Kento has always been an objectively handsome man: tall, polite, sharp lines and straight edges – he was always approached, started at, smiled at.

But he had chosen you. He was in love with you.

“Sorry Shoko, you can go. I’ll call you tomorrow, kay?” You say drowsily, waving a hand towards your best friend.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she waves you off, marching out the door. “Just call him next time.” You will.

So, you let his comfort, his love, overtake you. You let him stroke your hair as you lay your head in your lap. You let him kiss your forehead as you drift to sleep, entering a new universe.

Because you know whatever path you find, Kento will be there.

#nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #kento x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x gender neutral reader #jjk x reader #nanami #nanami kento fluff #gojo satoru x reader

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shoshiwrites · 1 month

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"gamble" or "quiet"? kissing out where nobody can catch them? - for Jo & Egan, of course, because I live the life of an enabler handing you another juicebox 🧃

You are the best, Killy, and thank you to you and @mercurygray for helping me break my little sick-time writer's block ♡ Bucky Egan/War correspondent OC, also on Ao3!

close to you

She’d gone with Kay back to London for a few days. Enough time to catch herself up, wire the stories she hadn’t already, knock her head against the wall a few more times over what did and didn’t go through. The damn blue slashes. Black ones too. Hell, a woman at the corner newsstand had showed Jo a letter from a boyfriend, cut into the RAF’s version of a paper snowflake. It fluttered strangely in the humid breeze, in the young woman’s hand.

She’d seen Bill March’s broken arm, sustained in some manner during an air raid, though the correspondent still had his usual cheerful smile for her, and the pallbearers carrying a distant cousin of Kay’s out of the church in Marylebone, all of twenty when his ship had been torpedoed off the coast of Italy.

She’d gotten back to Thorpe Abbotts on a Friday afternoon, the air still soupy, her suitcase with a half-broken latch and her bitten nails, a growing hole in her last pair of stockings.

It wasn’t raining. Maybe that counted for something.

Trousers then, and maybe she was optimistic, thinking she felt the air cooling a bit around her. There were small scraps of blue sky, like she’d found them in the bottom of her mother’s rag bin. Calico up in the firmament.

The coffee’s warm, if bitter, she hardly pays attention to that now. A few Clubmobile women cleaning trays in the kitchen take pity on her and sneak her a donut. She dips, sloshes, remembers the good old days of milk and cream, and wanders back outside, wondering if she’d made a mistake in coming here straight from London. Her room is still hers in Norwich. Mrs. Fitzgerald had made sure she knew that. It’s a kindness she doesn’t quite have the words for.

She’ll stay in the Clubmobile quarters tonight, on the extra cot. She’d left a book in Crosby’s care last week and he’d returned it to Tatty Spaatz, a piece of stationery stuck in the middle with neat, if hurried, observations. His handwriting reminds her of Evie’s, the block print of a planner.

“Major Egan will be happy to hear you’re back,” Tatty says, and there’s almost a smile playing at the corner of her mouth, her lipstick the color of red wine.

Jo hardly keeps stone-faced, a little scrunch somewhere between a question and an acknowledgement, distaste and curiosity. “I haven’t seen him,” she says.

They yawn, the seconds between the conversation outside and when he’s walking, seeing her, redirecting his path. His eyes look like he’s been squinting in low light, the mask-marks raw across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He’d come out of his office. Post-mission administration, she thinks. Letters home. He writes them longhand, someone had told her. He’s never spoken about it. She’s never asked him.

And she’s not sure happy is the word she’d use, right now. But Tatty knows what she said. Happy is on the ground. A girl smiling at you. The smell of her hair, clean.

The question comes on an exhale, the tie loosened around his neck. “You wanna go for a walk?”

It feels faintly ridiculous, the way she’s not used to being asked. And it’s faintly ridiculous too, the way propriety and a respectful difference between his boots and her lace-up shoes becomes a sneak-around, a glancing journey to the far edge of the airfield, the side of an outbuilding backed by trees.

Maybe he wants something else, she thinks. Another jigger of whiskey, playing cards on the table, chips or dice or jacks. Someone else. Someone who lets him forget.

He kisses her before they’ve even stopped moving, as she rounds the corner in the half-tall grass.

She hasn’t snuck around like this in — god — she can’t remember. Years.

She can’t remember the last time she’s been kissed like this. A sunlit kitchen, softer. Before the leather interiors of fancy cars and class rings. She never thought it could be dressed like this, callused hands and muscle. The flutter of tiny wings falls still. A fly buzzes around their ankles; she can hear it between the sounds of his mouth, breath hot between them.

She can feel that little swatch of damp at the small of her back, the feeling of her hipbones beneath the wool of her trousers. He breaks away to kiss the side of her mouth, the short hairs of his mustache brushing her upper lip.

John, she wants to say, but maybe she can help it, the desperate act of naming him. It all sticks in her throat, like a glob of too-soft caramel. Hardening. John, John, John. “Afternoon, Major.”

He looks like he’s trying to decide something, kisses her again by her nose while he does. She’ll do the same if he’ll let her, the cuts of the oxygen mask and the freckles she can see in the light. “Afternoon, Captain.”

#masters of the air oc #mota oc #john egan x oc #bucky egan x oc #title from listening to the sinatra vdiscs while writing #not to be confused with the carpenters #i mean. you could. it would be fine also.#i've had a really fun cold for the better part of a week so this may be a little....interesting. but i'm feeling a lot better!#hope people enjoy <3 #motaverse #jo's tag #anyway!#shoshi writes

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avelera · 2 years

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OFMD has completely ruined me for Hollywood Hot people in tv and film. I’m just so tired of it. I’m tired of everyone having “perfect” hair and “perfect” abs and fuckin’ “perfect” complexions without freckles or or unique characteristics of any kind because they need to fit some idealized fucked up sanded down boring ass producer’s vision of what “attractive” means to the largest possible audience and everyone’s gotta be “cool” but in that YA hero way where no one is cool because they’re not actually a real person they’re all just flashy plastic plot devices without rough edges or uncomfortable realism of any kind

I want to see people with more than zero percent body fat (Olu, Wee John, hell, Stede and Ed too and they’re the romantic leads!), men who are short (Izzy) and women who are tall and commanding (Spanish Jackie), or people with freckles and scars and not perfect teeth, people who have lisps that aren’t just being mocked for it (Black Pete), or who have a disability and it isn’t a huge misery porn plot device, and people who are “traditionally” hot (Jim) dressing for comfort and realism instead of to show off their assets for the titillation of the audience.

And I don’t mean this in a puritanical way like that this means no one should ever be sexualized. I also want to see normal looking people fuck and go shirtless and swim naked in the ocean and have partners who look at them like they’re the hottest person on earth because they are, who are shown to the audience as hot too, not because they look like a model but because even people who aren’t models are hot and you don’t need to starve and dehydrate people to death to make them hot, quite the opposite, if you’re not a focus group-driven ghoul.

So thanks, OFMD, you’ve officially set my standards way too high for just about everything.

#weirdly the Old Guard photos set this off because they DO look normal even though they’re all hot people #they’re dressed normal not just to Be Sexy and I realized I have a Type and OFMD made me realize it #our flag means death #ofmd meta

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theewokingdead · 1 year

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Morning Sickness - Din Djarin x f!Reader (Another Way Universe)

Pairing: Din Djarin/The Mandalorian x f!Reader (Another Way Universe) Summary: Din learns some things about pregnancy while helping you through a bout of morning sickness. Word Count: 800+ Rating: No rating, blog is 18+. Content: Nausea/vomiting. Pregnancy. Tooth-rotting fluff. The usual teasing/banter. A/N: I found some stuff that I had written but didn't make the final cut when writing the main story. This takes place in the middle of Chapter 8 of "Another Way" but it can be read on its own. I miss writing for these two. I'll get to the epilogue eventually, I swear, so don't yell at me @pedropascalsx

Masterlist

Eyes fluttering open, you wake to find Din gone. Intent on finding him, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. The second you sit up, your head starts to spin. Your stomach turns over, and it feels as though the contents of your last meal are now fighting their way back up through your throat. Taking steady breaths, you pray it will subside soon.

Mouth filling with saliva, and the taste of bile rising from the back of your throat, you know it's past the point of no return.

You stumble out of bed, barely able to keep your balance as you make your way to the bathroom. Your stomach convulses and you heave, emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet. The retching is violent, and you feel like you're going to cough up your insides. Finally, the spasms subside, and you slump against the cool porcelain of the bowl, panting heavily.

You hear a rustling behind you, and you turn your head to see Din standing in the doorway, concern etched on his face.

"Are you okay?" he asks, crossing the room to kneel beside you.

You shake your head, unable to speak, and he rubs soothing circles on your back as you try to catch your breath. After a moment, you manage to sit up, and he hands you a damp washcloth to wipe your mouth.

"I'm sorry," you mutter, feeling embarrassed and weak.

Din shakes his head. "If anyone should be sorry it's me. I did this to you."

“Pretty sure we played an equal part in it.” You offer him a weak smile, which he returns. “I just hope this doesn’t last much longer.”

“Me too. Not sure I can stand to see you sick for another year or so.”

“Another year or so?” you repeat, your eyebrows screwed in confusion as you look at him. “What do you mean? We only have seven more months before the baby comes - if that.”

“What?” Din immediately question, his voice filled with shock and confusion.

“What do you mean ‘what?’ Pregnancy only lasts 40 weeks.”

“What?” he repeats.

You can’t help but laugh. “Haven’t you been around pregnant women, Din?”

“Yes, but I’ve never had a reason to care about the length of their, uh…”

“Gestation?” you question.

“Yeah. I just assumed it’s a long time, like banthas.”

“Wait a minute. You’re telling me you know the gestational period of a bantha, but not a human being?” you question, laughing. “Maker, Din. You never cease to surprise me. I mean, fuck, do I like a seven-foot-tall hairy beast that will someday drop a hundred-pound newborn?”

Din chuckles, his expression softening as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. "No, you're much more beautiful than a bantha," he says, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You lean into him, grateful for his love and support. “Good answer.”

“You think the little tadpole will let you get up?”

“Little tadpole?” you question.

“Better than bantha. Or ‘parasite’ as you so lovingly refer to our child.”

With a smirk, you reply, “Ah, is it because Gungans are born as tadpoles?”

Din sighs. “I set myself up for that, didn’t I?”

“You did.” You stand up, using the sink for support. “I just hope that doesn’t mean I have to give birth in a bog.”

Din chuckles, standing alongside you. “I'll make sure to find the most comfortable place for you to give birth, even if it means taking down an entire empire to do it."

You roll your eyes but can't help the fond smile that tugs at your lips. "You know, for a guy who claims he's not romantic, you sure do know how to make a girl feel special."

He stands up, towering over you, and leans in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "You are special, and I'll do anything to make sure you and our tadpole are safe and happy."

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a deeper kiss, feeling a warmth spread through your body. In this moment, you forget the nausea and the discomfort, and all you can think about is how lucky you are to have this man by your side.

As he pulls away, he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear and gives you a mischievous grin. “And who knows, maybe giving birth in a bog will be a new experience for us. We can add it to our list of adventures.”

You laugh and shake your head. "I think I'll pass on that one, thank you very much."

Din pulls you in for another kiss, his hands sliding down to rest on your waist. You feel a familiar heat building between your legs, and you can tell he's feeling it too. “Maybe we should continue this in the bedroom," he suggests, his voice low and husky.

You nod, a flush spreading across your cheeks. “Lead the way, Mando.”

As he takes your hand and leads you back to bed, you can't help but feel grateful for this man, for this life you've created together, for the little tadpole growing inside of you. You know there will be more challenges ahead, more moments of discomfort and fear, but as long as you have Din by your side, you know you can do anything.

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fandom #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #pedrostories #another way #catie writes

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call-sign-shark · 1 year

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Yo Shark, there's almost no Goosexreader fic :( can you write a one shot in which the reader is Goose's love interest please?

Hey there honey, here is some love from Goose 💚 Don't worry, in this house Goose never died. :)

Pairing: Nick Bradshaw x Reader, Goose x Pilot!reader

Wordcount: 1k

Tags: none, this is fluff

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

A drop of sweat, similar to a shiny pearl, ran down your neck. The temperature of summer 86' was so high that some strands of your short blonde hair were sticking to the moist skin of your forehead and temples. When the bartender placed the fresh glass of beer you just ordered in front of you, you hastened to drink a first gulp in a desperate attempt to cool your body down. The sensation of freshness and of bubbles, fizzling on your tongue, took you to heaven. After several swigs, you gently pulled your lips away from the edge of the glass and tilted your head ear-to-shoulder on each side to relieve the tension in your neck.

"Finally." You whispered to yourself, leaving all the stress and noise of this hard day of training behind you. As much as you loved your job, the blast of the jet's engine and the smell of kerosene almost made you faint when they were mixed with such extreme weather. Today, even Hollywood had to be brought to the nursery. Not that you cared, but you had to admit that the man was usually quite tough.

Good Gracious Lord, Great Balls of Fire!

The joyful melody burst in the pub as the man playing hit the keys with his fingertips in expert gestures. It was as if he had done that all of his life. Soon, his voice sang along the music and filled the room with electrifying energy. You raised your head to sweep the room with your piercing eyes, curious until your gaze falls on the man sitting in front of the piano. You immediately recognized him - as if one could ignore who he was. Staring at his tall frame moving with the song he was playing, you shook your head. Goose always knew how to put on a show. He just loved the attention, but what he loved the most was the good mood he could bring to the people around him. Even if you were exhausted from your day, you could not help but wiggle your foot in rhythm just under the bar counter.

Goose finished up the song, hitting the keyboard one last time with a strong movement, then he threw his head back and howled like a wolf. Maverick, his partner in crime and fellow pilot, soon followed him in this primal yet quite funny way of celebrating the end of their spectacle.

"Did ya see that? We are on fire tonight!" Maverick boasted, wrapping one arm around his best friend's shoulders. His lips stretched in a charming smile adorned with perfect white teeth.

"That's maybe why the weather is so hoooot. That's because of us, honey."

They both burst into laughter as they stood up from the piano bench. They slapped each other butt before heading straight to the bar counter. The tall blonde man raised one hand to catch the attention of the bartender. "Two beers for two legends!" He laughed.

Your eyes followed each of the duo's moves as they sat on stools and clinked their beers together. Goose brought the glass to his lips, but as he did his warm brown eyes noticed you, sitting a little further away. A glimmer of delight sparkled in the chocolate pools his irises were. There we go ... You thought. Since the first day you were introduced to the squad, Goose had set his sights on you. Viper had barely left you with the other pilots and the tall blonde man started to hit on you. Yet, you always rejected him. You joined Top Gun to become the best female pilot of your times, not to frolic with some arrogant and horny soldiers. Being one of the few women in a military context was already difficult enough by itself to bother yourself with relationships. Nevertheless, Goose had something. A something that you always struggled to define. Of course, the man was kind of handsome: tall thin boy with charming traits, seductive brown eyes and a perfectly trimmed mustache embracing his upper lip. But his irresistible charisma had nothing to do with his looks. It was his whole attitude: Nick "Goose" Bradshaw was a sunshine. His humor and adorable silly attitude irradiated from him and infected all the people surrounding him. You probably would have fallen for him in another context... But life decided otherwise.

"Y/CS!" His voice cheered. He stood up from his stool to join you, pushing his best friend out of the way. Maverick jumped: he had almost spilled his beer. With one elegant movement, the dark-haired pilot spinned on the stool to observe Goose and Y/N talking. He could not help but smirk: Goose was going to go back home alone tonight once again, and he did not want to miss such a spectacle.

Goose hopped on the stool that was next to yours, and rest his elbow on the bar counter to press his chin against the back of his hands. You looked at him with one raised eyebrow.

"I am more than delighted to see you here. You're so beautiful tonight that I can compare you to a magnificent mirage in this desert of drunk soldiers and tipsy Madames." He said, making his best impression of a gentleman. Then, he leaned towards you with his most beautiful smile: "Would you bless a poor sinner like me with a dance?" His eyebrows wiggled in a more than flirtatious fashion.

A little chuckle escaped from your rosy lips. You stared at him silently for a few solid seconds before drinking the last sip of your beer: " Goose, Goose, Goose...How many times are you going to play this stupid game with me?"

"Until you say yes to me, honey." He winked, a mischievous grin sculpted on his tempting lips.

You leaned a bit more toward him, bringing your face a little bit closer to his. The luscious scent of his tanning spray and after-shave caressed your nose. You hummed, as discreetly as you can, before moistening your lips with the tip of your tongue.

"Don't be a silly goose."

"I'm nothing but a silly Goose."

"Alright. One dance and after that, you leave me alone." You gave up, rolling your eyes to show how annoyed you were -- but were you really that annoyed?

The young soldier leaped from the stool with a noisy "yee-haw". Doing so, he turned his head to look at Maverick. The dark-haired man had been as surprised as Goose at your positive answer. After weeks and weeks of rejection, you agreed to dance? He could not believe his ears. Delighted by his partner's astonishment, the tall blonde gave him the finger and turned his attention back to you again. Goose offered his hand, a charming smile on his lips. You could not help but chuckle… His charms definitely work on you. You followed him through the ocean of sweaty bodies dancing in the pub until you both reach a more breathable corner. “Alright, just focus on my eyes, nothing else,” Goose said, his voice turning into a soft melody sung in your ear. He pulled back his face slightly and pressed his hands on your hips. The single sensation of his palms’ warmth sent shivers down your spine. You felt him pressing a little bit more, bringing your body against his until your hips met. Goose”s chocolate eyes were locked in yours, drowning in their infinite beauty. You swallowed with a bit of difficulty as you abandoned your body in his hands. To be honest, you had never been a great dancer - or at least you had never danced with someone. Yet, Goose took you away with him in a slow dance, as delicate as a rose petal swirling in the wind. One minute into this dance was enough for you to make you forget everything that was surrounding you: the other pilots, the suffocating heat, and even the stress of your day. All that mattered was him, and the intoxicating perfume that was pleasantly tingling your nostril. You half-closed your eyes; your face resting in the crook of his neck.

“Bradshaw?”

“Yes, honey?” He answered, lowering his eyes but still dancing with snuggled in his arms.

You pulled back your face from him to dive your gaze into his. As you did so, a slight pink shade appeared on his cheeks. You were so dazzling he could barely breathe.

“What if you take me to bed or lose me forever?”

His face enlightened at your sweet words. Goose moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue and parted them to speak: “Show me the way home…” He murmured, before kissing the corner of your mouth.

“Honey.”

#top gun x reader #top gun maverick x reader #Pete Maverick Mitchell #goose top gun #nick bradshaw #nick goose bradshaw #top gun fanfiction #top gun imagine #tgm fandom #top gun 86 #pete mitchell fanfiction #iceman fic #Iceman top gun

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prolix-yuy · 1 year

Text

Whiskey, Dark and Deep

Pairing: Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Summary: In the short time you've known Jack Daniels, he's disappointed you three times.

Warnings: M, violence, blood, injuries, gunfights, so so so much yearning, full on cowboy tropes.

Notes: Hello @blueeyesatnight! I'm your not-so-secret-anymore Santa for the Pedrostories Secret Santa! When I got your prompt I instantly was so excited because I adore Jack and I love old westerns. My personal favorite is Open Range with Kevin Costner and Annette Benning (and a baby Diego Luna!), so I've taken some inspiration from that film. Not necessary to watch for context, but I highly recommend it if you haven't.

I've kept our reader character fairly non-descriptive save for the fact that she is "not a young lady" and referenced as being older. This is a nod to the movie that I always loved and has stayed with me. I've also included Diego Luna as the faceclaim for the character of his same name.

Happy Holidays!

Since you’ve met Jack Daniels, he’s disappointed you three times.

The first time was shortly after he rolled into town, a shadow clinging to his face and whispers trailing his bootprints. Most unsavory types don’t come into your general store, but he needed supplies, and discretion. You were willing to give him both.

It was clear he was a gunslinger, heavy pistols hanging from narrow hips and a nasty rifle slung across his back. But the way he tipped his black hat low, the polite thanks and quiet requests that fell from his chapped lips, made you wonder if that’s all Jack Daniels had to offer. He seemed more than quick-fingered and sharp-eyed, and cool-headed was a trait rare to most outlaws.

“Thankin’ you kindly, ma’am,” he said as you bundled his goods together, hands that spanned the parcels easily dropping the requested coin on your counter. He’d avoided your eye over the last few trips in, but as he turned to leave he caught your gaze, and your heart dropped.

Jack Daniels may have worn the countenance of a lawless man, but his eyes held gentleness and pain that reached for you in silence.

“There’s a quieter place to dine on the edge of town,” you blurted out, ordering your hands to lay still on the countertop. “Should you need a drink, or a hot meal before leaving.”

“Is it an establishment you frequent, ma’am?” he asked, your heart fluttering unexpectedly at the richness of his voice.

“I may tonight, should the company be kind,” you replied, jutting your chin and standing tall. You may be no Annie Oakley, but you were old enough and strong enough for few to cross you in town. And you were bold enough to keep his stare when he skimmed his eyes over your simple dress, your practical style. No young lady, but still fair enough in the mirror that his appraisal did not make you shirk away. He nodded once, leaving to gather his horse outside. A whoosh of air left your lungs soon after.

You waited for him at your usual table, Mathilda passing by often to start, then less as the night grew darker and your hopes dimmed to nothing. What did you expect from a man you only met a handful of times? Paying your bill, trying to ignore her sympathetic smile, you returned home telling yourself you expected nothing from the mysterious man and should not give this evening another thought.

And that was the first time Jack Daniels disappointed you.

The second time Jack Daniels disappointed you, it was preceded by blood.

The Golden Circle gang was causing trouble, news coming in from neighboring towns of their deeds. Robberies, saloon shootouts, women treated roughly, men left to die in the dirt. A cloud was looming over your town and the days brought dread, listening for the thunder of hooves.

A stranger would have been met with hostility at this time, but when Jack Daniels burst in with a boy barely old enough to shave slumped against him, you didn’t hesitate.

“Bring him here,” you ordered briskly, leading them to the back room you called home. Stretched on your dining table, blood blooming on the white doilies your grandmother gifted you, the boy wheezed and groaned while you sent for the doctor. Jack stood vigil at the boy’s side, a curious shadow that did not move, or eat, or rest.

“Who is the boy?” you asked, eyes on the gasping youth. His flop of brown hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, thin angular face pinched with pain. When you go to soothe it later he’ll wheeze his thanks, and call you his angelic nurse. You’ll tell him you’re too old for his japery.

“Diego,” Jack said, his voice a rumble of far-off thunder.

“How did he get into this much trouble?” you asked, the doctor finding the worst of the wounds - twin bullet holes in his abdomen. Your hands clenched against your roiling stomach.

“Ran his mouth a bit too loud too close to some who took offense.” Jack’s voice remained neutral but the tick in his jaw chilled your heart.

“The Circle?” you asked, voice quiet as if to say their name would conjure them out of thin air. He didn’t speak, but the contemplative way he chewed on his mustache was all the confirmation you needed. Silence blanketed the room as Diego slipped into fitful sleep.

“Only time will tell,” was the doctor’s cryptic answer before exiting your home. While you were watching over the boy, your store had filled with lawmen and able hands, the steady hum of conversation rising and falling outside the little room. Men you knew well - Denton, Percy, Charley - checked on you and shot distrustful glances at the strange man filling one of your dining chairs.

When Diego’s chest finally fell into a gentler rhythm, Jack moved to join the men and their plans outside your room. Before he did, he wrapped a hand around your shoulder, urging your eyes up to his. Again, the kindness and desperation you saw before lingered in his stare, but now you saw it threaded through with gratefulness.

“Thank you for opening your home to us. I didn’t know where to take him. But…I remembered you.” His thumb came up to softly stroke your cheek, knuckle tucked under your chin. You couldn’t remember the last time a man put his hands on you with this much reverence.

“Will you stay?” you asked, and once more you steeled yourself against the growing desire to have this man near you, heat burrowing into your chest and taking root.

“I’m not the right man for that, ma’am. I know all too well what the Golden Circle is about, and if this town is in their sights you should get as far away from here as you can. They’ll blow in and blow out, but you can be miles away. Safe.” There was no lie on his lips, but maybe a flicker of fear in his eyes.

“This is my home. I’ll stand by it until I can’t any longer.”

Jack smiled ruefully.

“I reckon I shouldn’t have expected anything less.”

He turned to leave the room.

“Will you stay, Jack?” you asked once more. He paused at your door before turning back.

“For you.”

It’s a promise that fueled you through the night, watching over Diego as he pulled in and out of consciousness. The murmur of voices faded, men peeking in to give you well wishes and tell you to stay inside. You bade them good night, catching some hours of sleep in the dining chair Jack occupied for a time. It would be more comfortable if he still occupied it. Diego slept easier as the sun rose, his chest less staccato and his brow finally smooth. Leaving him to venture into your shop, you found Percy standing guard at your door.

“Any news?” you asked when you brought him a hot cup of coffee. He sipped it with a sigh, dewy drops lingering on his sable mustache.

“No word on the Circle yet. Seems they might be having their fun somewhere else. At least it gives us time to plan.” Percy quieted for a beat as you watched the road for the man you hoped would stride back to you. A polite cough interrupted your search.

“Jack Daniels left town in the early morning. No word as to why.” Percy at least had the decency to not look at your face when he told you this. You’re not sure you would have been able to control the crumple, the shine in your eyes.

And that is the second time Jack Daniels disappointed you.

The third time Jack Daniels disappointed you was not far off, though the days that ticked by felt like an eternity. Weeks passed with no sign of the Golden Circle, every noise a precursor to hands on weapons and windows shuttered closed. You busied yourself with caring for Diego, who in turn told you what he knew of Jack and what had led to his stomach being filled with lead.

Diego had run into Jack at a saloon, and while grumbling about his presence being more a nuisance than anything, did not shoo the boy away. Instead they rode together, Diego unsure if he’d wake one day and Jack would be gone, secretly surprised when another morning rose on the man’s shoulders hunched over the fire. Little by little Jack opened up, told Diego he’d been in a bad crowd for a time and was looking for a fresh start. That he’d loved and lost and then lost even more. That he felt like trouble was following him like rifle crosshairs, waiting to strike when he dared enjoy the sun on his back.

His eyes made more sense now.

The doctor declared Diego out of the woods, but to rest until his strength returned. You made him up a little bed in your kitchen and he made himself useful at the store. An extra pair of hands were a dream for you, and to have someone young and sharp-witted to banter with lifted years of loneliness off your shoulders.

But the storm clouds still clouded the horizon, electricity crackling in the air as the town waited for the other shoe to drop. Thankfully, a messenger came first.

Jack Daniels rode into town one morning, dark jacket whipping behind him as he dismounted. Your heart pounded as you watched him from the store window, his broad shoulders entering the sheriff’s office. Busying yourself with menial tasks and chatting with Diego, you tried not to think about your anger, your hurt, the two words souring your tongue.

For you.

Why did he leave? Was a town in peril not enough? Were you not enough? With your aging face and your work-hardened hands and your careful heart? Diego knew better than to speak of his return, your stony silence proof of your indifference at Jack’s return.

He didn’t believe it, but he respected you too much to say otherwise.

Diego asked to step out at noon, not giving a reason why beyond his eyes darting towards the sheriff’s office. Suppressing a sigh, you gave him his leave. He almost broke the Sheriff’s door in his excitement, and through your window you watched Diego stand, gasping, in front of Jack. Words were exchanged, his unruly locks ruffled, before his eyes darted to your store, Jack’s slowly following them. You quickly turned your back, feigning an inventory check to cover your nosiness, the hot prick of tears well hidden.

He didn’t come to you until the shop was closed, your hand on the knob to draw the door shut. Melting forth from the shadows, you almost screamed. Some days you managed to convince yourself he was a dream, a ghost that wandered into your life before dissipating into the ether. And with his shoulders filling your door and his warm brown eyes apologetic, you allowed him in once more.

Refusing to speak first, you busied yourself with putting on the kettle, soothed by the steady chop-thunk of Diego cutting wood outside. Jack sat in the same dining chair he held vigil in weeks before, his elbows braced on the table and hat respectfully removed. Without the shadow darkening his face he looked so tired, shoulders sagging under the heavy coat that eats the candlelight. The silence grew from angry to suffocating as you ran out of ways to avoid his presence, cups of tea laid out and poured.

Jack finally spoke.

“You should leave town for a few days, ride west with Diego until this blows over. Bound to be a lot of bloodshed.” His hands surrounded the delicate teacup, a fortress against the world around it and savoring the warmth it offered his palms.

“I’ve got nowhere to go besides here. This is my life, Jack, and I got nothing to abandon it for.”

He cast a sidelong glance at you that you held, shoulders squared and hands firmly planted on your hips. Your resolution set his mouth in a firm line.

“They’re coming, and they won’t be leaving without a fight.”

Nodding curtly, you moved about your kitchen with renewed energy.

“Then all the more reason to stay. They’ll need supplies, ammunition, a foxhole if need be - Percy, Charley, the deputies. I’ll not abandon the brave men of my town while there’s work to be done.”

Jack’s chair scraped along the floor, two strides bringing him chest to chest with you. His hands clenched at his side, jaw tight as you met his stance defiantly.

“Is that what you think I did? Abandoned you?” he growled, but it only fueled the anger bubbling in your throat.

“No, Jack Daniels, I think you made an empty, unnecessary vow. I didn’t expect anything from you before you said you’d stay. If you had no intention, I’d rather not be lied to.” You spun to leave but Jack caught your arm, holding you firmly in place.

“I stayed in the only way I know how!” he shouted, baring his teeth. In a flash you understood, in the sickening way a secret revealed could garner no surprise, but needed to hear it from his lips.

“I was a member of the Golden Circle for a time. I’ve done things I’ve come to hate, taken and given what I had no right to. When it all became too much my conscience finally caught up to me, and I tried to leave. Pop Harlow put a bullet in my head for my troubles.” Your eyes darted to his temple, a pink scar revealed where the brim of his hat normally covered. Fighting your trembling lower lip, you listened.

“They left me for the vultures, but I came out of that god-forsaken desert. I planned to be a dead man the rest of my life, payment for the days given back to me. But the Circle still haunts my conscience, and I need to make right what I gave fuel to.” His hands slowly cupped your face, rough and cracked along your softer skin. “And then the desert gave me another reason to right my wrongs. One I never expected.”

You pulled back from his hands, tears threatening to shed.

“Don’t pin your absolution on me, Jack. By my account all you’ve ever done is disappoint,” you said bitterly, but even with barbs falling from your lips his hands chased you, cradled your head and wove his fingers between yours.

“I know I’ve left you more times than stayed,” he said, a snort of derision coming unbidden from your nose. “But I’m staying this time, and once this business is sorted I hope you’ll let me stay a lot longer.” He pressed your foreheads together and the tears came, no matter how angrily you tried to hold them at bay.

“I don’t believe you,” you choked out, “You’ve given me no reason to believe you.”

Jack leaned in close and pressed a kiss to your cheek, the curve of his nose tracing a soft path to your temple to leave another.

“I’m sorry. And I hope this will be the last time I disappoint you,” he whispered in your ear. Holding your breath, you dreaded what will come next. “Because I have to leave you one more time. The night will be long, the day longer, and I can’t come to you until it’s done.” With a final kiss to your forehead he swept out of your kitchen, striding to exit the store. You stood there in a daze, the marks of his lips still hot on your skin, before you stumbled after him.

“And what if you don’t come back?” you called after him, his silhouette darkening your door. The wind whipped outside, a storm truly on your doorstep now. He turned, hat back on his head with a grim countenance.

“Then I’m a dead man again,” he said before the door shut behind him.

And that is the third time Jack Daniels disappointed you. But not really. It’s the third time he broke your heart.

The night before the Golden Circle’s arrival is long, Diego and you trading wakefulness with rifles across your lap. He paces the storefront on watch, while you sit behind the counter with sightless eyes. It won’t be a quiet invasion if they come. You’ll hear the gunfire like lightning, the thunder of boots, the screams and whoops approaching. It will not be gentle. It will likely not be swift. You’ll go down shooting, though.

When the Golden Circle rides into town with the first glimmers of sunlight, it’s so still you’d think no one’s around to witness it. The silence is shredded by spurs and whinnies, but none of the hustle and bustle of a proper morning. No Sue Ellen on your doorstep to buy flour, or Billy trying to sneak sweeties. You wonder if maybe, if it’s silent enough, they would think it a ghost town and ride on through.

The first shout, followed by gunshot and hollers, dashes that hope away.

Diego strains against the orders Jack gave him - “Keep her safe” - and the youthful desire to fight. But he stays by your side through the seemingly endless rounds of gunfire, the whizz and thumps of bullets landing true to their target, and the shatter of glass. Two bullets break a window, and the way he grunts at the sound makes you think he felt them in his guts.

Another living dead boy, you realize. No wonder why Jack took a shining to him.

The fight drags along, long periods of silence punctuated by cries and murmured monologues you couldn’t give a damn about. You dare not peek out the window to see if Jack lies among the dead, that glimmer of hope keeping you vigilant.

A hammering at your back door almost makes you drop your rifle, the frantic voice of the doctor rasping through the wood frame. Slipping him in, he carries Percy, blood staining one arm crimson as he slumps in a chair.

“I’m sorry dear, I’ve told them to bring the injured here,” the doctor whispers, rifling through his medical bag as you hurry to gather supplies. Percy is pale but talking, Diego putting his anxious energy to work by helping stop the bleeding.

More knocks come to your door, more neighbors secreted into your makeshift hospital. Wounds are treated, water and food shared, whispers the only way you hear news of the battle outside.

“Pop Harlow shot the sheriff square in the eye.”

“Jack Daniels killed every men that set foot in the saloon.”

“Charley got all the children into the schoolhouse and is standing guard.”

“Jack challenged Harlow to a shootout.”

“I think it’s just the two of them now. The others from the Circle are dead or fled.”

You steal away to the privy to stifle sobs in the crook of your elbow, splashing your face to hide evidence of your tears. Diego notices, and when you sneak outside for more firewood he pulls you into a hug.

“He’ll come back,” he assures you, this boy barely fifteen and already looking death in the face.

“I can’t…” you try to argue.

“He will. He has something he desperately wants to come back to. I’ve never seen him have that before, but I’ve seen him fight like hell for less.”

The sun begins to set, and it’s as if the whole town holds its breath. The faint clink of spurs advance from opposite ends of main street. Words are exchanged that barely rise above the whistle of wind. A laugh, ugly and sharp. Sliding down to sit between the store shelves, you clutch your hands together in a prayer to whoever will listen.

Silence.

Then.

Two shots so close as to be one sound.

And you wait.

Wait to know if there’s a bullet in Pop Harlow’s heart or one in yours.

The silence fades into deafening noise, but you still wait until Diego scrambles around the corner, landing hard on his knees beside you.

“Harlow’s dead,” he says, beaming with relief.

“Jack?” you ask, and his nod releases waves of emotion that distill into tears running down your smiling face.

After all you’ve waited through today, Jack still makes you wait until night, when all of the men and women gathered in your store have gone to their own beds. You’re left with piles of bloodied rags and sheets, your home more threadbare than ever. Diego leaves to get you clean bedding from the hotel, promising to return shortly. He knows your nerves are still shot, hands shaking when they have nothing to do.

The door opens, and you turn to thank him for going out late, for being there for you when everything was slipping through your fingers. But instead there stands Jack, favoring one leg with his hat in his hand. For a long moment you both just look at each other, mirroring hope in each other’s eyes.

“You saved us,” you finally say, taking a step towards him. A closer look at his clothing reveals the blood seeping into his jeans. “You’re hurt,” you add, turning to look for more supplies.

“It can wait,” Jack rumbles, hand catching yours. It’s the first time in a full day you feel at ease, with his skin under your fingers. ‘I’ve got things that need to be said.” You let him tug you closer, taking your hands into his palms to regard how much gentler they are than his roughened ones.

“I’m in love with you,” he says, thumbs smoothing over the backs of your palms. The admission is just like Jack - to the point, and true. “I’ve been in love with you since I first laid eyes on you. I should have gone to dinner with you. I should have stayed. I hope I still have a chance to stay.” Now it’s your turn to slide your fingers under his chin and turn his face up to you, longing so clear in his eyes you don’t know how you didn’t see it before.

“I’m not a young lady anymore, Jack.”

“You’re about the handsomest woman I’ve ever known.”

Your throat constricts, a smile fighting against the emotion threatening to rend you in two.

“I can’t offer you much beyond what’s under this roof,” you say with a watery sigh, creeping fear and your lifelong habit of protecting your heart rearing its head. “And you’ve got a bad habit of disappointing me.”

“Never again,” Jack says, the largest promise he’s ever made to you. This one he seals with a kiss, then another, and another as he takes you in his arms. As his coat falls from his shoulders, bandoliers left forgotten on the floor, you make him repeat it.

“Promise me.”

“I'll promise it a thousand times more.”

Today when someone enters your general store, they’ll see a rifle and twin pistols hung above the cash box, and a man by the name of Jack Daniels restocking the shelves or talking to your neighbors about new feed shipments. He’s filled out handsomely, hands still rough but with a penchant for gentle touches. He saves the best of those for your face when he gives you a sweet kiss, and for the privacy of the bed you share.

Diego runs your errands and deliveries around town, the friendly boy with the roguish smile and saucy winks. When the dust settled and he held his hat in his hand you scolded him for even thinking he could get away from you after all that. He was an employee of your shop now, and better work like it. The grin that plastered his face ear to ear came close to matching your own.

Jack did indeed keep his largest promise to you, though two more soon after almost eclipsed it. The first being inked into fine white paper at the sheriff’s office with Diego scrubbing at his eyes - paperwork that made you his family in the eyes of the law. In your own eyes he was your boy the moment he laid on your table.

The second promise is a ring of gold Jack slipped around your finger under the setting sun, and kisses every morning when he wakes. A promise so precious you looked at it every day.

When rough men come into town asking about the one surviving member of the Golden Circle, most folks don’t recall what happened to him. They said he turned on Pop Harlow and crawled into the desert to die. Any remnant of him left was nothing more than a memory. Or a spirit.

Maybe you do live in a ghost town after all.

END

Thank you to @pedrostories for organizing this fantastic exchange, and happy holidays everyone!

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memphisnovels · 9 months

Text

Evermore

Chapter 12. Training wheels

Previous chapter

Masterlist

This chapter contains a lot of references to Nadia's backstory, some of which are quite violent and traumatic.

pairing: Pietro Maximoff x OFC

warnings: Canon-typical violence, attempted sexual assault, PTSD and trauma, Nadia totally isn't in denial, arguing with flirtatious undertones

His smirk grew. “That’s General Obolensky, to you girl.”

It was my turn to sneer. “Your face is different.”

“Yes, well you made quite a mess of my old one.” He growled.

My face lit up at his words, a wicked grin spreading across my lips. “I’d have thought that would have taught you to keep your wandering hands in check.”

“You are lucky you were Dreykov’s favorite, or I would have broken every bone in your fucking body and seen if you found me so funny then.”

I laughed at him, it was theatrical and over the top, he’d always been an easy target to rile. “It must have been hard for you; I mean I imagine it was embarrassing. To be beaten to a pulp by a 15-year-old girl and then fired before you’d even had the chance to get stitched up.”

His smile faltered, though soon his teeth were borne in a beastly look that made my skin crawl. “Do you want to know why I did not kill you the moment I recognized you?” He turned, closing the door and locking it behind him before he prowled closer. “It is because I wanted to decide on the best way, the death you deserve. For you, it could not be quick, not after all the time I spent imagining it. It could not be simple or thoughtless, no… it needed to be special. Just like you, Nadia.” I scrunched my nose in disgust.

“You’ve spent all these years thinking about how to make me pay for what I did to you? How truly pathetic.”

I still remembered the way it felt to be covered in his blood. That day was so deeply ingrained within me that I didn’t think I’d ever be free of it.

General Obolensky was a man who was often deemed handsome. He was tall, with jet-black hair and dark eyes and women had often fawned over him. He was one of the high-ranking officers in the Red Room, a decorated war veteran who’d decided to lend his specific skillset the program. The KGB’s specialist of psychological warfare. He was employed, not only to destroy our minds but to teach us the art of manipulation.

“How could I not? You were the most sublime creature I’d ever laid eyes on. The best soldier, the most talented at my own craft, the only one who truly rivalled me.” My stomach churned at the look in his eyes. “You are just as beautiful as I remember, but you still lack the ability to see the bigger picture.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “You could have been great. You were great, for a while, but you threw it all away. For what? To become a slave to the American government?”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“But I do, Nadia. We are two sides of the same coin.”

The words had me tensing, it was not the first time that he’d said them to me. The last time his hands had been all over me. He was in charge. That’s what he’d said, then he told me to take my underwear off. He’d made me strip before him whilst the matron was away on business, though he insisted he see me individually from the other girls, special attention for the star pupil. I had not replied when he told me to take off my undergarments, though I also had not complied. The Red Room was all I knew, we listened, and we obeyed, that was the only option. However, my mind screamed at me not to listen to him this time. My hands had trembled as he reached out to me, discontent evident in his expression at my disobedience. I don’t remember the other things he said to me, I was so afraid, more than when he’d pressed the cool metal of the gun to my forehead the very first time. Your body belongs to your country, I’d reminded myself, or maybe he’d reminded me. It was not so clear anymore.

This is how you become a patriot.

My hands were clenched into fists at my side as his slender fingers dragged over my stomach, edging upwards. His hand grazed my breast, and I repeated the words in my head. My body belongs to my country, to my government, I am a patriot. His hand danced across the hem of my underwear, dragging further down and something deep within me snapped.

I don’t even remember throwing the first punch. It was a flurry of fury and red and pain. My knuckles bled by the time I was pulled from Obolensky's limp body and when feeling returned to me, my own body ached. They fired him because it was embarrassing for a general to appear so weak.

“I am nothing like you.”

He merely smiled at my words. “Speaking of the big picture, you really haven’t put it together yet have you?” His words had the hairs on my arms standing up. “You really thought it would be so easy?” I surveyed the room quickly, searching for possible traps. “Oh, don’t worry it’s just us in here, I saw to that. The trap was never for you, I wanted you to myself and your little friend was fucking my plans up quite monumentally. At first, it was merely irritating, but then I saw it for what it was, a blessing in disguise.”

A sudden jolt ran through me, electric and painful. Like being tased but significantly worse. I knew the sensation well; it was a widow’s bite. I doubled over as my body crumpled with agony. He was on me in an instant, grabbing my arms and restraining me as the pain subsided. In the corner a screen flickered to life, displaying what appeared to be security camera footage of a corridor in the factory. Then suddenly, silver hair filled the frame. I thrashed against Obolensky’s grip. “No.” I watched as several of his men filed into the frame, surrounding Pietro. “Stop, you’re fight is with me, not him!”

“Ah, but don’t you see, Nadia. This is phase one of the death you deserve. First, you get to watch him die.” His grip tightened and he revealed to me a pair of silver handcuffs. My body was still trembling vaguely from the Widow’s bite, rendering my arms weak. “You know I was not sure he was worth it in the beginning, did not anticipate you caring much for the welfare of another agent, though, I’d hoped I was wrong. I began to suspect the first day I met the two of you as Rostokov, the way he’d shielded you from me so easily. He is just too obvious; I knew I could make him snap. Just think of all the uninterrupted time we’ll have together when he’s in the ground. I think after a few more electroshocks you’ll be putty in my hands.”

I summoned what strength I could, removing myself from his hold and moving swiftly behind him. “I have the strangest sense of déjà vu right now, how about you?” Cries of agony filled the room as I jammed one of the electroshock capsules into his mouth, covering it with my hand. He thrashed against me, but the widow’s bite made it hard for him to remain on his feet. I wrapped my leg around his before yanking it out, sending him tumbling to the ground. He spat out the little capsule, his body shaking violently from the pain. His gun lay a few feet from him on the ground, tempting him evidently, I pressed the toe of my heels into his knuckles. He groaned painfully, attempting to pull his fingers from beneath my shoe. I grabbed the gun, placing it on the bench beside me. Before he’d even fully recovered from the shock I removed the heels from my feet, throwing them to the ground before placing one foot over the blade of his shoulder and lifting his arm behind him. “Where do you keep the drug samples during lockdowns?” He panted with the aftershocks but did not offer me any response. “Along with all your other shortcomings are you also hard of hearing?”

“Do you really think I’d tell you anything?”

I tightened my grip on his wrist, pressing my foot harder against his back. “Yes. I do. Because if you don’t, I’m going to shatter the bones in your fucking arm.”

“Fuck you, Nadia!” He spat. “You deserved worse than you got you stupid little bitch-”

Before he could continue his little rant, I stomped on his elbow, shattering the bones within it. “That’s not the right answer, unfortunately.” He looked ghostly white, I wondered how long it would take for the pain to render him unconscious. The body can only take so much, that’s what he’d said to me once. I cuffed his other arm to a lab table. When I turned back to the screen, I saw Pietro still stuck in the corridor, fighting as best he could, though he was severely outmanned. “As much as I have enjoyed this little reunion, I am in a little bit of a time crunch so we will have to put a pin in this conversation.” Turning on my heel, I run toward the exit, not so much as sparing him a second glance. My body moved quickly and silently down the hall as I ran toward the corridor Pietro was trapped in.

A blue and silver streak caught my eye, he was running between the men who’d surrounded him. The clanking of metal hitting the ground echoed off the walls. I realized then that he was disarming them. I approached one of the men from behind, knocking the gun out of his hand and tripping him backward. I knocked him unconscious quickly before moving on to the next. The sharp slice of a knife through my forearm caused me to halt momentarily, one of the two men I was fighting standing defensively with a blade coated in crimson. Pietro stopped, watching the interaction and losing his focus as a result. Within seconds someone had attacked him from behind, slamming the barrel of a gun into his back. I disarmed both men before me, knocking them unconscious with ease. Before the man could bring the gun down on him again, I caught his arm, kicking him hard in the side of the leg causing it to buckle, I twisted the gun until he dropped it and then I slammed it into his head, rendering him unconscious in moments.

I grabbed Pietro’s arms, helping him to his feet. “Are you okay?” He groaned, leaning on me as he stood. “It was a trap, this whole fucking thing, they knew we weren’t the Wharton’s the moment we got here.”

“Yeah, I kind of got that impression.” He was panting, attempting to catch his breath. “Are you hurt?” He asked, rolling his head toward me to survey my face.

“I’m fine, let’s just get the fuck out of here.”

The smell of smoke filled my nose just as the siren stopped. A red light began to flash through the building. I saw flames begin to lick at the walls, paperwork, curtains, and God knows what else beginning to blaze. “What the hell is that?”

“They’re burning the evidence.” The cool air blew through my hair as we pushed through the front doors. I moved quickly to the cover of the parked car that we’d used to get to the factory. “Stay here, I’ll be back with the samples.”

Pietro’s eyes widened; disbelief evident on his features as he turned to face me. “What?! Nadia, no, you cannot go back in there.”

“The missions not complete.”

“Fuck the mission! You’re going to get yourself killed.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “I will be fine; I’m not leaving without the samples.”

“Fine. I’m coming with you then.” He stepped toward me, resolve strong in his crystal blue eyes.

The fire was getting more out of control the longer we stood arguing about it. I did not want to be cruel, for some very strange reason the thought made me feel unwell. Irrespective of my bizarre feelings toward him in that moment I steeled myself, setting him with a glare. “I don’t need you’re fucking help, Pietro. You’ll just get in my way. Stay here.”

That was the last thing I said before running back into the burning building. The red lights were still there, gleaming off of my skin each time it flashed on. There was no sign of anyone else in the corridors, all areas were completely empty of life and the samples. I rifled through room after room, grabbing a lab coat and pressing it over my mouth as the smoke rose. I cursed as another room proved empty. I returned to the lab I’d left Obolensky in, grabbing him by the collar and slamming his head into the lab bench. He laughed. “I’m glad you’re back, I have been dying to know, which ballet is your favorite?”

“Where are the fucking samples?” I ignored his odd question.

“What does it matter? The drug has already been distributed.”

I twisted his broken arm, ignoring his cries of agony. “Distributed where?”

“Who knows… Now tell me which your favorite was.”

“I do not have time for your games, Obolensky! Tell me where the samples are now.”

He laughed again. “Answer the question and I will tell you.” He wasn’t making any sense, my favorite ballet. I’d never watched the ballet before.

“I don’t know what you are talking about. How can I answer a question that makes no fucking sense?”

“You do not remember? Well, I suppose you were quite small then. How sad… it must be so hard for you to have a history that for you, does not exist.” I shoved him, allowing him to drop back to the floor. “There is only one sample left, it is in the second drawer.” He gestured with his head toward the set of draws attached to the bench.

I asked him where the rest were.

“Nadia, I already told you, they’ve been distributed.” With gritted teeth, I repeated my question. “I don’t know where, I only know who to.”

“Tell me, or I will leave you here to die like you deserve.”

He watched me, pearly white teeth bared in one of his disquieting smiles. “I think it was Giselle, that was the one that elicited the most unconscious response from you.” I narrowed my eyes at him, yanking the samples from the drawer and tucking them under my arm.

“What are the other samples for, Obolensky?”

His smile widened. “The next batch of girls.”

Before I even had time to comprehend his words a blue and silver streak slashed past me, a pair of warm arms wrapping around me and dragging me away from the lab. The brisk Moscow air was filling my lungs in an instant. A moment later Obolensky was being shoved in the awaiting hands of two uniformed men who I assumed were whatever authorities HQ had contacted.

I ran a hand through my hair as Pietro and I walked away from the building that was crumbling to the ground as the flames engulfed it. My head pounded and my body ached. It was a good thing he’d come when he had, I wasn’t convinced it would’ve been an easy task to get out of the factory if I’d waited any longer. I could practically feel the anger radiating from Pietro in waves as he walked head down, a few paces ahead of me. I attempted to ignore him, taking in large inhalations of the fresh air. He huffed, clenching his fists at his side and shaking his head.

“Oh, for the love of God, just spit it out!”

He stopped so quickly I almost ran directly into him, in a second, he was staring me down, narrowed eyes, face flushed with what I presumed was frustration. “Do you have a death wish?!” I raised a questioning eyebrow at his words and tone. “Jesus, Nadia, do you realize how dangerous and stupid that was?!”

I asked him what he was talking about.

“You are reckless! So fucking reckless.” He almost shouted at me. “Why is that?”

His audacity floored me. “Are you serious?” I questioned, hands on my hips as I watched him with a glacial look. “You want to talk about reckless? You invented the fucking term, idiot!” His eyes narrowed further. “You threw yourself in front of Clint in Sokovia as if you’d be able to walk off the shower of bullets headed your way!”

“You threw yourself in front of me too!”

“I did, but the difference is that I had a fucking plan you didn’t!”

He groaned loudly. “Oh, so you had a plan the very moment you took off running?” His eyes were darker than normal, stormy and his voice came across wrecked, likely from exhaustion. “Because it did not look that way to me, Nadia.”

I swallowed, shaking my head. “That’s not the point. You do stupid shit constantly!” He opened his mouth to protest but I continued before he had the chance. “Even in training. Do you want to know why you can’t beat me without using your enhancements? You fight not to lose; I fight to win. And I do. What you do is get in my fucking way and screw up my best-laid plans!”

He laughed humorlessly, running a hand through his hair sending silver strands sticking in all directions. “Jesus Christ. What is your problem, Nadia? Seriously…” His blue eyes met mine once more. “Will you just stop with this hot and cold act already? One minute you’re my friend and you’re reassuring me that I’m not a bad person, the next I’m the bane of your existence, and you can’t stand the sight of me. I am getting really fucking sick of it.”

“Oh, I’m not hot and cold, I feel very strongly about you, and I can assure you they’re not friendly feelings.”

“Really?” I hummed at him. He stepped toward me; I didn’t move. “So that’s why you woke me up from a nightmare, went out of your way to calm me down, and then stayed with me all night? That’s why you saved my life today, why you took a bullet for me in Sokovia?”

I scoffed at him. “Oh, don’t feel so special, it was not the first bullet I’ve ever taken.”

That was when he snapped, finally. Though, his words shocked me. “You could have died! Do you know that? When you collapsed in that Heli-carrier you were so pale you looked like you were already dead. You act like it’s no big deal, like everyone was making a big fuss out of nothing but you didn’t see how scared I- all of your friends were. How close of a call it was.” He watched me carefully, taking another step toward me. “I don’t feel special, I feel confused. If you really hate me so much why’d you take that bullet for me? Why’d you risk your life to help someone who, barely 24 hours before was the enemy?” He was standing so close to me I could feel the heat radiating off of him, his blue eyes had me trapped, they seemed utterly inescapable to me in that moment. I swallowed heavily as he took another small step forward. I was sure our chests would graze if I exhaled too deeply, yet I did not give an inch under his gaze, tilting my head up to stare him down.

“Because you didn’t deserve to die.” My words were as cold as I could force them to be, however, I knew he saw through the cracks. He somehow seemed able to read between my lines. “Though now I’m beginning to rethink my decision.”

He scoffed at me. “I’m not going to hate you, you know that?” I raised an eyebrow at his words. “That is your goal, right? That’s your move, act cold to make people hate you so they never get too close.” His accusatory tone silenced me. “Well, I see through it, and it’s not going to work on me, Nadia, so you needn’t bother.”

“Is that right?” He nodded, humming in response. His eyes were even more breathtaking up close, blue so bright it was almost overwhelming, it made me even angrier. “You know what I think, Pietro?” He raised an eyebrow at me. “I think you’re full of shit.”

“I’m full of shit, Nadia?” I hated the way he said my name, or maybe it was the feeling that sparked to life within me at the way it sounded from his lips. I nodded at him defiantly. “Look me in the eyes right now and tell me you don’t feel anything for me.”

My heart jumped at his tone, my throat felt tight suddenly. Why was my body reacting like this? His hair was messy, a few strands hanging in front of his eyes. I’d never felt like this before. “I don’t feel anything for you.” The muscle in his jaw feathered. “When I look at you there is nothing… well, other than irritation.” I fought to keep my voice cold and flat.

“You’re a fucking liar, Nadia.” Why did he have to keep saying it?

He moved so close to me that, for just a moment, the thought occurred to me that he might kiss me. I blinked hard, my eyes fluttering much to my dismay. I told myself that I was flustered because I did not want him to. “I feel nothing for you, Pietro.”

“Well, you hate me, don’t you? So, you feel something.”

My palms were clammy, and I could feel my heart thrumming against my chest. I swallowed heavily, shaking my head in an attempt to clear it. “You would have jumped in front of Barton and that little boy without even thinking, without even hesitating to protect them.”

“But you hate me?” He repeated.

“We were your enemy less than 24 hours before and you still wanted to save Clint.”

His gaze softened, voice following suit. “…Do you hate me, Nadia?”

“No! I don’t fucking hate you, Pietro. You’re an annoying prick but… but I don’t hate you” There was silence between us then. The look he was giving me was hard to describe, not one I was familiar with, a look that was new and it terrified me. “And I don’t regret taking that bullet. I am aware that I could have died, no one will let me forget it, but I don’t regret it and I’d do it again.” I hadn’t really meant to say that out loud, it was the first time I’d never even allowed myself to believe it until now.

A smile curved across his lips, drawing my eyes to them. “Well, now maybe I feel a little special. You’d take another bullet for me, and you don’t hate me… even when I kick with my foot instead of my shin.”

Despite myself, and despite how much I did not want to; I laughed. It was soft and airy and real.

Pietro’s eyes didn’t stray from me even once, his smile brightening. “I like it when you laugh.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Even better when I make you laugh.” My smile faltered slightly, and the air was tense between us again. His eyes narrowed in on my cheek, hand rising instantly. “You’re bleeding.” He halted a few inches from my face, blinking and stopping himself from breaching the invisible wall between us. I glanced at his hand before my eyes trailed back to his. His hand hovered there in mid air by my cheek for a long moment as our eyes remained connected. Even when we’d breached that barrier many times by now, he wouldn’t push my boundaries if he didn’t have to. I swallowed heavily again; my body felt separate from my brain in that moment. He began to lower his hand back to his side, but I caught it before he could. I closed my eyes for just a second, clenching my jaw and focusing on what I knew. It was Pietro. Pietro who had saved my life more than once, Pietro who’d nearly worn a hole through the floor in the med bay after we’d returned from Sokovia, Pietro who refused to give up his rather irritating mission to know me. Slowly, I brought his hand back toward me, lifting it to press against my cheek. His lips parted gently as he watched me. When his warm, calloused flesh touched me, not for the first time, something shifted. We were in Moscow, still, but it was different now.

“Nadia!” It was only when I was pulling back from him abruptly that I realized my nose had almost been grazing Pietro’s. Red hair filled my line of sight when I turned. Natasha had slightly furrowed eyebrows, but concern was evident on her face as I approached her.

“What are you doing here?”

She stepped toward me quickly. “Can I please hug you?” I nodded after a moment, riddled with confusion at her sudden appearance and evident nervousness. She pulled me into her arms without another moment’s hesitation. “Jesus Christ, I’m so glad you’re alright!”

“Nat, I’m fine. What’s going on.”

“I was looking over some of the recon from the past couple of months, there was just something off about this whole thing. I can’t believe I didn’t realize it straight away. He looked so different, I couldn’t figure it out, but then I heard him talking through your comms.”

Realization dawned on me then. She’d been older in the Red Room; she would have recognized Obolensky’s voice the second she heard it. I nodded at her. “He recognized me straight away.”

“Nadia, I’m so sorry. I should have figured it out sooner, I should have done this mission myself.”

I shook my head then. “You didn’t know, it’s not your fault. It’s not like he did anything anyway, he was so obsessed with his fantastic plan for vengeance that he forgot how easily I’d kicked his ass the first time.”

She laughed at that. “Come on, let’s get the hell out of Moscow.” I nodded eagerly.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

…

“By the way, what the hell were you and Maximoff doing when I got to the factory?”

I closed my eyes, tensing in my seat at Natasha’s words. “Nothing, we just had a disagreement.”

“Right, of course. It’s just… well, do you often stick your tongue down someone’s throat during disagreements?”

“That is a vile and outrageous insinuation!” I instantly protested, giving her a look of utter indignation.

She raised her eyebrows at me. “The two of you have had a damn lot of disagreements since he came along, that’s got to be a lot of making out.”

“There was no making out!” She gave me an accusing look. “Nor has there ever been.” I clarified. “We were disagreeing because he is a complete and utter fucking idiot… I had a cut on my cheek, and he was just checking to make sure it wasn’t infected or perhaps he was hexing me, either way there was nothing else going on.”

“If you say so.”

The little smirk on her face had my blood boiling. “Absolutely not, this is not a conversation that I am facilitating, nothing was going on he drives me insane; I would rather stick my tongue into an electrical outlet than have it anywhere near his!” With that I turned and moved to a different section of the jet. Her laughter echoed down the aisle, following me even when I could not see her. “Shut up!” I yelled, plopping down into a seat and drawing my knees up to my chest.

#pietro maximoff x ofc #pietro maximoff fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #pietro marvel #pietro maximoff #aaron taylor johnson #pietro maximoff x reader #aaron taylor johnson fanfiction #marvel avengers #aaron taylor johnson x reader #aaron taylor johnson smut #atj smut #avengers smut #marvel smut #pietro x reader #pietro maximoff smut

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alpaca-clouds · 1 month

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A measured critique of Love Death + Robots

Okay, let me talk about something I kinda wanted to talk about for quite a while: The Netflix anthology series Love Death + Robots. A show with which I very much have a love-hate relationship.

Because I absolutely love the concept. The idea of turning short stories (a piece of literary media that often gets ignored) into short films (that also tend to get ignored)? Genius! It gives a chance for some authors to shine, that normally do not get that much attention. Same for smaller animation studios/teams. It really is a super cool idea.

And I gotta say, that there were some short films in there, that I really loved. My favorites are:

Three Robots (Just LOVED the humor in both stories)

Sonnie's Edge (I loved the Cyberpunk-Monster mix)

When the Yoghurt Took Over (Again, something that hit my humor nerve right)

Good Hunting (Ken Liu still is among my favorite authors)

Fish Night (Pretty)

Zima Blue (The Artstyle was just super cool)

The Tall Grass (I liked the atmosphere)

Snow in the Desert (I really liked the aesthetic in this one)

The Very Pulse of the Machine ( I mostly liked the main character)

All Through the House (Once more: My type of humor)

Mason's Rats (Because Rats)

You will notice one thing: Most of these are from season 1. Though to be fair: Season 1 had 18 episodes, while seasons 2 and 3 put together only had 17. So generally... Well, there is a few issues I had with season 1. Issues that not only I had. And seasons 2 and 3 did not improve on either.

The one critique you have probably heard quite a few times: A lot of those stories really love to objectify and/or sexualize the female characters. There is a ton of unnecessary sexualization of female characters going on. At times sexualization in a way that is not even precedented by the short stories the movies are based on.

At times this goes as far as some of those short films fetishizing violence against women. Jibaro was the worst example of this, but it is something that happens in quite a few of the short films. And that just leaves a really bitter aftertaste after watching the stories.

Again, I am not the first person to criticize this aspect.

Meanwhile the other criticism I have is one that I barely have seen anyone bring up, even though it is very much connected to that first one: Almost all of the short stories that the short films are based on have been written by men. Of the first season there are two movies based on stories written by women (Sucker of Souls and Helping Hand). Of seasons two and three, not a single short film was based on a story written by a woman. Or to put it differently: Out of the 35 episodes, 33 have been written by men. And, while we are on it, mostly white men.

And... Look, fantasy/scifi already has a big issue when it comes to major novel publishing that often female, queer and non-white authors are overlooked outside of the YA genre. Still, when it comes to the short story magazines, like @uncannymagazine female and otherwise marginalized writers get more of a voice. The same is also true for a lot of anthologies, that are not dependent on "oh, we just will publish a couple of short stories by already known authors". So... Why the hell does Netflix not give those writers a chance to shine in this anthology series?

Like, fuck... This annoys the living hell out of me. Just allow other people some time to shine as well.

#love death and robots #love death + robots #netflix #anthology #anthology series #short films #short stories #misogyny #netflix series #cyberpunk #scifi #science fiction #horror #fantasy

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idesofrevolution · 2 years

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Whatever Happened to Eddie Ray

There he is. The target. The prey. Damn, I feel like a creepy lil stalker, but I swear, this is what I’ve been planning for months, and I need this. I need this to feel normal. To get what I want.

See, I got a brother. A sexy, studly, badass big brother named Josiah. And as his little sister, of only a year I might add, I have always looked up to him. Josiah and I were always close. He would go out onto the driveway and show me his super cool skateboarding tricks, and i’d sit out on the front steps cheering him on. That was the way it was.

That is until Eddie came along. I mean, yeah. He was super nice to me, and we could be classified as “friends,’ I guess. But here’s the catch: he stole Josiah. Instead of me cheering him from the porch, Josiah was at the skatepark with Eddie. Instead of coming and playing N64 in the living room, he was at Eddie’s place smoking the weeds. And all the entire time, I was never allowed to come with! I mean, he’s 23 and I’m 22. So it’s not like I’m the annoying lil dweeb. This weird bromance blossomed, and I lost my brother to it. But, I’m gonna get him back. I have a plan.

I spent around 5 hours last night at the Sunnmore University library studying occultist books. I was looking for some curse to cast onto Eddie, when I found one better than some lousy curse.

He left his economics class, which he was failing I’m sure, at around 5:30. I followed him from the business school to his dealer’s house, and now onward to the “skatepark.” What I mean by “skatepark” is this old vacant lot that used to have an inground pool, so there’s this giant cement hole in the ground where the “tough” skaters go to inject marijuana or something. I see Eddie and Josiah there, with two really weird looking cigarettes, just smoking and talking. I know that they aren’t gonna skate tonight, since they had already done so at lunch. I also know that Eddie keeps his special skate shoes in that massive backpack of his, and that’s just what I need.

I creep ever so slowly to this bramble bush near them, and watch quietly as they smoke. The backpack is so close, but I don’t want them to see me, and I really don’t want to spook them: Josiah carries a gun, and I’m not feeling getting shot tonight. I decide to wait until the right moment arrives. But, it seems like that moment is now! Two of their friends just showed up, and they left there stuff on the edge of the “pool” to go meet them. Perfect.

I’m like a ninja. I run over to the backpack and start rummaging as soon as I hear them talking. There isn’t enough time to waste. I’m pushing past books and sweatpants and some sticky green plant, when I feel them at the bottom. I grab them and tear out of there, hiding right behind the bushes.

Eddie is a tall guy, maybe around 6′2, so it makes sense that his shoes are gigantic too. Size 14? I’m a women’s size 9! This is so stupid! And, even worse, they stink to high hell! I know Eddie wears socks, so I don’t understand how these are that damp and sweaty! I guess after years, they just kind of gather fluid like a sponge. I don’t wanna even touch these nasty shoes, but as I look over at Josiah, laughing and smiling with his friends, I remember our good times together, when we smiled and laughed… Just do it.

I kick off my flats, and my left toe touches the blackened insole of the shoe. The squish I hear is absolutely visceral. It’s warm, wet, and sticky. I hold back my gag reflex as I push forward, letting my entire foot enter the steamy cavern of Eddie’s Vans, coming to rest on his disgusting insole. I let out a sigh of relief, which is quickly stifled. It was too loud! I whip around, and see Eddie and another guy casually turn around in my direction, but they quickly get back into their conversation.

I feel the heat and smell emanating from the shoes, completely enveloping my left foot. Decidedly determined, I take a huge breath, and immediately slide my foot into the right sneaker, and it’s even stickier and hotter than the first! He’s regular-positioned, so his right foot is always on the board. Always glued to it, letting all of his sweat pour from his body down into the shoe. Shivers run down my spine, as my foot sticks to the sole. I whip out the book, which I temporarily borrowed from the library reference section, and turn to the page. I fuddle my way through the weird incantations, mispronouncing every word. A twig breaks behind me, and I spin around to see Eddie, staring at me confusedly.

“Vicki? What are you doing here? Are those my shoes?” I stand up, confident in my stance.

“Where’s my brother?” I demand. Eddie crosses his arms and smirks at me, clearly amused by my compromising position.

“He went to go drop off Dwayne & Emmett. Whatchya doin’ with my kicks, Vick?”

“You stole my brother, Eddie! Fucking stole him!” I shout and point at him as he leans casually against the tree. Nothing is happening, which makes me even angrier. “You think you can take him from me? You think you own him?” Eddie begins to speak, but I look down at my feet, and am immediately shocked. Black tattoos begin to burn into my skin… Identical to Eddie’s. I feel my feet inflate, like water into a balloon, into the shoes; my toes meet the indents in his well worn insoles, and I know my spell has worked.

Whoa… Vicki… What the fuck.” Eddie falls off the tree onto his back, and I take the opportunity to jump atop him. He’s stunned. Shocked. Maybe even a bit scared. Nonetheless, he pushes me off, and tries to run toward the street… But the spell has already been cast. He trips over himself, falling every few feet, before he finally collapses onto the ground. I follow after, gleefully watching him writhe and spasm. He seems smaller by the time I reach him, his muscles are smaller, he’s shorter… It’s working just right.

“I promise I’ll take care of him. You know I will.” Eddie continues to disappear, being slowly absorbed into the clothes he donned. His big blue eyes screamed in mortal terror, but I can’t hear him as the last of him sinks into his cap.

I must be quick. I slip off the shoes quickly, not without strenuous effort (they are so fucking sticky), and pick up the socks. They’re hot off the foot. I look down at my… HIS feet, tattooed and glistening with sweat, and I slip on the socks. Immediately, my calves bubble and inflate, jiggling like a waterbed. I feel myself grow tall, and hairs spring out of my tight, manly calves. I strip out of my jeggings and throw on his off-white silk boxers. They drip with sweat, and stink of balls, but I’m too far into this to give up. A strange stirring whirs inside me, and a grumbling resonates from my stomach. Pressure builds, and I moan in ecstasy. I feel something sliding out of me, hard and long, certainly slippery. I hear a loud “pop” and look down to see a huge fucking cock sticking out of the opening in his sweaty boxers.

Jeans next, I’ll have plenty of time to play with my toy. His ripped and tattered skinny jeans are too wide for my waist, so I hold them up as my body plays catch up. My quads burst out in an instant, and my ass bubbles into a firm, muscular rump. I can take my hands off the lower body, and everything stays in place. There’s power under my tan, sweaty skin, energy I hadn’t experienced before. I feel my muscles tense up and flex. Slipping my shoes back on, they openly welcomed my damp feet back into their sticky home. From the waist down, I am one sexy man. But I had two more articles to go.

His black tank seems dry, and even at first smells like old spice. But it doesn’t take long for the pitsweat to waft out of his sweat stains. At this point, I’ve grown to accept that I’m a sweaty, smelly, sexy skater boy, and that it’s something to embrace, be proud of. Even show off… I throw on the shirt, and even take a second to rub the damp stains onto my pits. Butterflies gather in my stomach, and I feel rumbling, even pressure building inside my core. I lift the shirt up to see rippled abs expanding beneath my sunkissed skin, my lovehandles disappear and my breasts begin to sink back into me. Biceps and triceps surge with growth, and I begin to falter, unfamiliar with the sheer weight of my new body! I fall to my knees, my hands landing on the concrete. I watch with a psychotic grin from ear to ear as my fingers stretch and callous, and veins bulge from my forearms. I couldn't help but rip the shirt off and toss it to the side, letting my glistening sweaty muscles sparkle in the sunlight.

It’s time. Immediately, my hair recedes into my scalp and darkens, turning from blonde to a wavy deep brown. I feel my face go numb, and my sight starts to blur. I bring my hands to my face, feeling it shift and morph beneath my meaty fingers. My lips are unfamiliar to me, so plump and kissable. My brows furrow and thicken, sitting on my face like caterpillars. My vision comes back, and I look down at myself.

I am Eddie. I run my hands over my perfect muscles and flex my veiny biceps. I take a deep whiff of my manly musk wafting from my pits and my dripping ballsack. Speaking of which, I grasp my golfballs and thick cock, and moan. It’s so sensitive! I hear my deep voice, which takes me off guard…

“I… I’m Eddie Ray.” I smile at my velvety voice, and hear footsteps behind me.

“So…” I turn around to see my brot… My best friend. “What do you say we head home?” He has this strange look on his face, I can’t read it!! Suddenly, I feel a new sensation writhe through me, however, it’s nothing physical this time…

My head grows fuzzy, light, even… dumb… I’m forgetting… Who I am. No! I’m Vicki! I… I’m… I’m Vi… Eddie… What’s happening? I just… Everything is going dark… I’m… Fading! Stop… Wait… No…

“Hey, Eddie, you okay?” Josiah looks down at Eddie in the pool, who’s sitting there looking at the ground, wide eyed and confused. He jumps down and puts his hand on his friends shoulder. He’s shaking! “Yo! Man, what’s wrong!” Eddie jolts, as if he stuck his finger in an electrical socket, and looks up at his bro with the same dumb grin as normal.

“Aww nothin, man. Don’t worry about it. Lost myself a minute there. I’m all good now. You wanted to… head home?” Eddie slides his fingers into Josiah’s shorts, wrapping themselves around his throbbing cock. He smirks and grabs his friend’s wrist.

“Hey, wait til we get home. Then you can take it in the mouth.”

#male possession #male transformation #ftm transformation #skater transformation #musk #punkification #clothing tf #original #smelly feet #body transformation #gay transformation #male tf

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baldursyourgate · 6 months

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The Neverwinter MMO has some modules (Menzoberranzan, Demonweb Pits?) that were supposed to be set between the events of "Glacier's Edge" and "Lolth's Warrior"... but damn I'm not getting into MMOs again 💀 So I was on Youtube watching videos about it...

Anyway, some of the characters from the books are in game!

Screenshots below the cut, even if you don't really care for the books or the game, the drow armours are pretty cool.

First off, Mal'a'voselle "Voselly" Amvas Tol, a Blaspheme, drider-turned-drow soldier, returned from the Abyss after millennia of servitude and torment by the Spider Queen. Described as tall and board-shouldered 🫣...

Both her and her fellow Amvas Tol house member Aleandra are much taller and larger than other drows seen in game. There's a comment in the book saying that perhaps back in the day, pre Lolth's supreme rule, more drow women were warriors.

Next is Braelin Janquay, from Jarlaxle's Bregan D'aerthe.

Noori Baenre is a wizard.

Next are some members of house Fey-Branche.

Seems like a lot of the drow women have short hair. The one with the most elaborate hairstyle so far is matron Halavin Fey-Branche.

Almost forgot Jarlaxle!

#lore #read: glacier's edge #read: lolth's warrior

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fieldofdaisiies · 9 months

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Ars Amatoria | ch. XV

Elucien AU word count: 3,3k words warnings: none

masterlist

“Elain,” Lucien breathes, but kisses her once again. Their lips meet and it is a delicate collision, their souls glowing vividly inside their chests. Ripples of warmth and bliss cascade through Elain's body — she has never felt anything like that. The world around them fades into nothingness, she is fully lost in the sensation of Lucien’s lips against her—the softness of his mouth, the gentle pressure he adds, the unspoken conversation passing between them.

Time stops as he tenderly kisses her, his tongue sliding over the seam of her lips. She does not know what to do, so she parts her lips and his tongue sweeps into her mouth with a gentle caress of her gums.

Their bodies melt into one another, as if they are two halves of a whole, finally reunited. Hunger fills their bodies, as they explore and devour the other through their lips and tongues. Elain tries to meet the stroke of his tongue with hers, and it elicits a soft sigh, edging on a moan, from her. Lucien’s fingers trace the contours of Elain’s cheeks, as she tangles her hand in his long hair, tugging ever so slightly.

Their kiss deepens and Elain feels the cool stone of the building press against her back — Lucien has moved them backwards, cages her between the wall and his tall figure and she loves it. Lucien groans deep in his throat, the sound so pure and raw as it reverberates through Elain. Her toes curl inside her shoes, her hand fisting his shirt. Their hearts beat in harmony. Lucien places his hand on the small of Elain’s back, bringing her delicate body closer to his, his passion just acute as his wife’s.

Eventually, they have to pull apart, needing air to breathe. But they stay close, noses touching, and their breathes tenderly caressing the other’s face. Their eyes open slowly, almost as if waking up from a beautiful dream, as they still hold each other closely. A beautiful smile spreads over Lucien’s face, and Elain mirrors his expression, her heart skipping happy beat after the other.

And as he looks at her, Lucien knows that he is no longer falling in love, he has already landed. He likes her more than he could have ever imagined, and yes, yes he loves her. This wonderful and smart and kind woman.

“Elain,” Lucien whispers again as he leans in closer again, his lips brushing hers.

“Hm?” she answers and her lips vibrate a little with the hum. The corners of Lucien’s mouth curve upwards. “You are full of wonders, my beautiful wife.”

A joyful giggle parts Elain’s lips and she bounces on her toes once again, kissing his lips in a short peck. “I think I just like kissing you.” She beams up at him, her whole face aglow in the sunset behind them.

“Do you?” Lucien grins as he cocks his brows. “We have only kissed once, can you already tell you like it?”

“It was my very first actual kiss. And yes, I can tell.”

Lucien is not really surprised, he has expected her to have little to no experience as it is common for women at that time. But somehow, as much as he wants to avoid it, it does something to his ego — he was his wife’s first actual kiss.

“Should we then kiss some more to really find out if you like it that much?” He does not give her a chance to answer, his lips close over hers again, gently kissing her, but not with less hunger than before. “You taste like honey,” he hums against her lips when the kiss — much to Elain’s displeasure— ends way too quickly. "And smell like jasmine." He grins. “I wish I could keep kissing you forever.” Lucien leans his forehead against hers and his eyes close. “Why don’t you do it then?” Elain's voice is joyful.

Lucien smiles at her, loving her eagerness. And then, he hums low in his throat, his arms snaking around her so he can pull her to his chest and rest his chin on the crown of her head. “I really want to and will do so, my lady. But first of all, the sun has nearly fully set and we should head home.” He pauses and draws in a deep breath. “And then…there are quite a few things I want to talk with you about. Starting with our wedding night.”

This is enough to dampen Elain’s mood, her happiness. She wants to pull back a little, as the rejection from that night suddenly reaches the front of her brain and the pain she felt that night becomes poignant once again. She can only lean her head back and look up at Lucien.

“Will you this time explain in detail why you left?”

His eyes are closed, there is a tick in his jaw as Lucien clenches it, his expression almost pained. “I will, and I really hope you will understand my reasons.”

Lucien lets her leave the embrace. Elain’s expression is somber, the former bliss slowly fading as she prepares herself for what is about to come. They walk home in silence, deciding they will only talk at home.

The fiery sun descends behind the large buildings and casts a warm glow across their skins. Most people have already returned to their houses, the merchants closed their stands and hardly anyone is still in the streets. It is warm evening and only a light breeze is blowing through the streets. The fading light painted a picture of dancing shadows and soft hues onto the cream-coloured walls. The scent of freshly baked bread was gone, but the one of wood fires still lingers in the air, accompanied by the herbal and floral scent Elain picked up earlier for the first time. The lowering sun creates a warm and intimate ambiance that, despite their coming conversation, makes Elain feel comfortable and good.

Lucien guides her inside and Elain internally prays she won’t cross Ianthe’s path, not wanting to see her…ever again. But her prayers arrive to late, or are simple ignored as not only Eris but also his wife, arguing loudly, step out of the latter's office on the first floor.

“Even your bastard of a brother manages to undress his wife with his eyes, and I can’t even expect a kiss from you when I return after weeks in Rome!” she hisses, her teeth clenched.

Eris’ expression is cold, his posture rigid. “I don’t love you and kissing you would feel wrong,” he says in a calm tone and Elain wants to disappear. This is not a conversation they should be listening to and she wants to run, giving them the privacy they deserve. Lucien must be thinking the same as he clears his throat, making themselves known.

“Evening,” he says as both his brother and sister-in-law’s head whip towards Elain and Lucien, their hands intertwined. He hasn’t let go off her hand since they set out to go home.

Ianthe glowers when her gaze drops to their hands, and a huff slips through her lips. “I think my warning has meant nothing to you, Elain, huh?” She cocks her brow.

“Bath in your pity, but leave my wife out of it.” Elain thinks, Lucien even grows another ten centimeters as he squares his shoulders and the fingers of the hand that does not hold Elain’s curls into a fist.

“Cute, how he protects you, Elain? Just for you to spread your legs.”

Elain grinds her teeth, hating how she is talking to her — that she is talking to her. And saying such vulgar things.

“If I spread my legs for him, I do it because I want to and not because he takes advantage of our marriage!” Elain speaks in such a bold way, she is even a little proud of herself. And this pride also appears on Eris’ face who curls his hand around Ianthe’s upper arm.

"We leave them alone now, this and their bedroom activities are none of our business neither is Elain’s life.” Lucien squeezes Elain’s hand in assurance, a grin tugging on his lips. “My brother is damn right. You stay out of Elain’s life and you stay out of mine, you have done enough damage. Better you return to Rome, no one missed you here anyways.” He gives her no chance to answer, in one quick and swift movement, his arms move under Elain’s figure and he picks her up. “Good night.”

Lucien cradles Elain to his chest as he turns and ascends the stone staircase, leading to their bed chamber.

And as he carries her, thoughts about watching him bathe return to Elain — she imagined him carrying her just like that. And now she revels in the feel of it, his strong arms holding her, she is pressed against his hard chest and the only scent that lingers in her nose, is that of Lucien. “Thank you,” Elain whispers and glimpses up at him through her lashes. “For protecting me from her.” “There is nothing to thank me for, but…when have you met her?”

“Before I left for Jurian’s place. This is also something we need to talk about.” Lucien nods, holding her just a little tighter as they enter their bedroom and then carefully lowers Elain to the ground, guiding her to the bed where she sits down. Lucien lights two of the oil lamps; they cast a beautiful glow over the beige walls, shadows and hues dancing on the walls.

When he sits down next to her, he takes her hand into his, and looks at them. “It wasn’t fair of me to just leave in our wedding night without talking to you. I have told you so already, and I’ve blamed myself since. I have nothing but regrets about this decision and I think we should talk about it again.”

Elain brushes her thumb over the back of Lucien’s hand and sighs. “You said you did not want to push me to do something I did not want. You said you did it for me. You can't blame yourself for that,” Elain says, her voice tinged with nothing but sympathy.

Lucien shakes his head a little. “I want to be a good man. I did not want to sleep with you and take advantage of this marriage. But I assumed if I told you so that night, you would have jumped to wrong conclusions, thinking I do not find you attractive or do not want to bed you. Which is and was not the case. But I couldn’t really find the words then, and so I did the only thing I could think of — escaping instead of facing the matter.” He releases a breath, almost in a long-suffering manner.

And although Elain wants to tell him this is bullshit, she has to admit that this would have exactly been what she would have thought. It was what she had thought.

“I don't want you to see it as your duty to sleep with me. I want to sleep with you, Elain, when you are ready for it. When you want it. When you feel comfortable to do so. I want to sleep with you for your pleasure. For our pleasure. For you to enjoy it. And not because a married couple should have sex from time to time.” The corner of his mouth curves a little as he lifts his gaze to her, watching colour appear in her cheeks.

“You are a very good man,” Elain breathes and her throat feels a little dry. She watches Lucien’s throat work on a swallow and he gives his head a little shake. “I am not a good man.” “But you are! To me you are.”

“I want…intercourse to be something you enjoy and you look forward to whenever we enter this bedroom, but I don’t want it to be something you only connect with giving me an heir or with bringing me pleasure.”

Elain nods, as her chest fills with warmth and happiness. “Thank you,” she whispers and leans in a little. “But I want to bring you pleasure as well!”

“I have no doubt you will do so, Elain. It is quite impossible that you won’t manage that.” He grins, his own cheeks flushing just a little.

“But I have so little experience…none actually. I don’t know…what to do. How to do it. I don’t even know…how it works. I don’t know…I know nothing.” She turns her head a little, looking at the book on her bedside table. “I picked the book up today, hoping it will teach me a little about…intercourse and seduction.”

A soft and kind chuckle parts Lucien’s lips. His hand comes up and he tenderly brushes his thumb over Elain’s warm cheek. “You definitely don’t have to read Ovid in order to be acquainted with the art of seduction, you already mastered that. And for the part of intercourse…” His grin returns, his gaze moving to her lips for a split second. “I will teach you all about that.”

“So you have done…it before a lot?”

“Say the word, Elain.” Her brows furrow a little as more colour fills her cheeks and she blushes, looking away and then returning her gaze to his.

“No…” she breathes, smiling a little.

“I really want to hear it from your lips, my lady.” She knows he does. She can practically feel it — his passion, his hunger, his heat.

“Lucien.”

“Say it,” he drawls and places his lips on her temple, softly kissing her and then her cheek. “Do it for me, and also for you. I want you to be comfortable with it.” Lucien smiles at her in an assuring way and Elain draws in a deep inhale.

“You are impossible, my husband.” She shakes her head with a chortle and then inhales again. “Have you had a lot of…sex before?” She speaks the word fast and a little high-pitched but still it is there and purely male pride ripples through Lucien.

He grins, from one ear to the other. “There we go. See, that was easier than you thought.”

Elain feels the urge to roll her eyes and as she can’t resit it, she does so, chortling a little at her silly husband.

"I few times," he tells her and smiles, a little boyishly. Elain knows that it has probably a few many times, but she will leave it at that. She does not have to know everything about his past.

“So…we addressed the wedding night…anything else you want to talk about?” she asks, to change the topic and hoping her burning cheeks will cool down a little.

“You mentioned you wanted to talk to me about your first encounter with Ianthe?”

That definitely cools Elain’s skin and her blood. With a nod, she draws in a breath, her chest rising and falling slowly. Her lips part, and she closes her eyes for a moment. “Ianthe said you wanted to sleep with her and that Eris took advantage of her.”

Every small hint of the former happiness and passion disappears from Lucien’s face within the blink of an eye. He stares at Elain in disbelief, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “She did not!”

“She did.” Elain’s swallows thickly, Lucien’s cold demeanor filling the whole room where it feels like the temperature drops at least five degrees. He shakes his head, brings his hands up and folds them behind his head. Then he stands up, pacing back and forth before turning sharply. “You believe her?”

“I do not!” Her answer comes as quick as a shot and Elain shakes her head. Lucien releases a breath, his expression nothing but pained as he clenches his jaw.

“Eris has loved Azriel from the first day he laid eyes on him. He has not once touched Ianthe.” Lucien closes his eyes, and wipes his damp hands down his thighs. He swallows thickly, memories filling his brain.

“I don’t know what had driven her…was it pure lust or her wanting to hurt my brother, but…” His voice breaks as Lucien turns away from Elain for a moment. Her stomach coils, having an inkling of what is about to come. But still…the words are more awful and painful to hear than she has expected.

“She forced herself on me.” The words leave a bitter taste behind in Lucien's mouth, like acid burning down his throat.

He watches Elain’s expression. And then she gets up, closing the distance between them. She curls her arms around Lucien’s middle and rests her head against his left pec. “I want her to burn in hell for this,” she says with venom in her voice.

Lucien’s arms protectively wrap around her small figure. “She will, Elain. I know she will. She did not manage it. She gave me a strong wine, but it wasn’t strong enough. I never liked her, but I loathe her since that day.” “I do too. I hate her!”

Lucien kisses the top of Elain's head, finding comfort in her embrace. It is good to have told her, finally having opened up to someone about it. “I told you she said to behave like a man when someone close to me died, yes?” Elain nods against his chest. “Her name was Jesminda. She was my first love and she died of Tuberculosis…at a very young age. Ianthe was jealous of her, envied her and hated her.” “She is an awful snake!”

Lucien’s chest vibrates a little as a low chuckle parts his lips. God! He likes this woman in his arms so much and now he also allows this. Once he thought his heart forever belongs to Jesminda, but now he is ready to move on — to love another, knowing it is what Jesminda would have wanted for him as well. “You are wonderful, Elain.”

“You are, Lucien.” His wife tips her head back a little and looks up at him, her eyes full of love and empathy. “I am sorry you lost her.”

“I was hurt for a long time…but somehow I think everything happens for a reason. I loved her and she was a major part of my life for quite some time. But now I found you, my dear wife, and so I think that fate knows exactly what it is doing.”

Lucien tips Elain's chin up with his thumb, softly lifting it closer to his head when Elain pushes up on her tip toes to close the distance between their mouths.

Their kiss if soft and tender, lips touching gently and a soft moan slips through Elain’s lips when Lucien’s hand brings her body closer to his. She is pressed against his front, and it is then that she can feel the hard press of…one specific body part against her belly.

He wants her, that is clear, but Elain…Elain wants him too. She wants this too happen now. She wants him to fully claim her as his wife. She wants to experience this pleasure and she wants to bring him pleasure.

So lost in her thoughts she forgot about the kiss and Lucien pulls back, a hint of irritation obvious on his face. “Elain?” he asks, his warm breath caressing her face.

Elain opens her eyes, and looks at him with nothing but confidence on her face, her eyes aglow with anticipation. “I want to have sex with you, Lucien.”

~~~~~~~ taglist AA: @octobers-veryown @velidewrites @areyoudreaminof @acourtofthought @liftyourhipsformelovex @hallway5 @stickyelectrons @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @bibliophiliaxvignette @thelovelymadone @sunshinebingo @arabellatheauthor @autumndreaming7 @nestas-workwife @rarephloxes @tuzna-pesma-snova general el. taglist: @rippahwrites @shadowhunter2003 @my-inner-crisis @ladyelain @acourtofthought @itwasalwaysaboutthetea @multifictional @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @sunshinebingo @gracie-rosee @a-frog-with-a-laptop

#elain x lucien #elucien au #elucien #acotar #acosf #acotar au

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