#[[ snorts in every language in existence ]]

[intergalacticstarlight]

╔════════《✧✧✧》════════╗ . ♡ 𝕀 𝕃𝕆𝕍𝔼 𝕐𝕆𝕌 ♡ . 𝕀𝕋'𝕊 ℝ𝕌𝕀ℕ𝕀ℕ𝔾 𝕄𝕐 𝕃𝕀𝔽𝔼 ╚════════《✧✧✧》════════╝

#thoschei #It Isn't Over Yet #The Better Half Of Me #The Eleventh Hour #Elegance Unbound #My Sanctuary #Lyricals #Fortnight TTPD #[[ snorts in every language in existence ]]

[aquaquadrant]

Philophobia

Word Count: 5,271 Warnings: Shipping, inappropriate/crude humor, paranormal activity, suspense/mild horror, descriptive kissing, mild language Summary: For architecture major and paranormal skeptic Grian, his friends’ after-hours ghost hunting group was just an excuse to spend time with his crush, Scar, without having to actually ask him out. But one fateful night, he finds there just might be things in this world that are scarier than emotional vulnerability… even if only by a very slim margin.

A/N: Did someone ask for a Phasmophobia-inspired Scarian au? Oh yeah, my friend @lunarcrown did! Inspired by the art she made here.

So this is kind of a modern-day college au (not set within the fictional universe of Minecraft), howEVER there are some fantasy aspects in that non-human species (like mob hybrids/monsters) still exist cuz they’re fun and I’m not giving anyone a normal modern name cuz that’s too weird. This is only Phasmophobia-inspired in that GIGS have a ghost-hunting group that functions the same way, but rarely find any conclusive evidence, and don’t have unlimited lives cuz they aren’t playing a game. With that out of the way, hope y’all enjoy, please reblog/comment if u do! - Aqua

~*~

Philophobia

~*~

“I think this is gonna be the one, guys,” Impulse says, turning their van into the driveway.

The suspension creaks as they roll over gravel, rattling the frame in a way that hums through Grian’s hollow bones. His arm is cold where it presses against the window; it’s almost sunset and Impulse has yet to get the van’s heater fixed despite his promises. Stupid demon blood keeping him warm while Grian shivers in the stupid custom pleather jumpsuit that Scar insisted they had made, for their stupid ‘brand’ as a stupid ghost-hunting group. Great, his stupid zipper’s come down again- he stubbornly zips it back up because unlike Scar, he doesn’t like constantly having his bare chest out on display.

Of course, he hasn’t got as much to show off as Scar, who must be getting up at 3 am every morning to work out in order to maintain all that muscle. No wonder Scar prefers to keep his zipper down to his belly button, and doesn’t seem to have ever met a shirt that fits him properly.

… Not that Grian’s ever paid much attention to that sort of thing. 

Grian gives an exasperated sigh. “You’ve been saying that about every case we’ve had for three years!”

“No, no, I really mean it!” Impulse insists. “I feel it in my bones.”

“Yeah,” Scar agrees, leaning forward so his shoulder brushes against Grian’s, “you know Impulse bones good!”

The earnest nature of his statement- and the unexpected physical contact- makes Grian flush. “Scar!” he shrieks, swatting Scar’s shoulder.

“What?” Scar defends. “What, he- he’s got big and strong bones, wonderful bones…”

He acts as if he’s got no idea he said something that could be taken the wrong way. And if it weren’t for the upturned corners of his mouth and the barely-restrained laugh in his voice, Grian might actually believe him.

“Dude,” Skizz chuckles from the front seat, “shut up, that’s awesome.”

Impulse sighs. “Anyway,” he says pointedly, “the place recently had a change in ownership. Previous owner passed away-”

“From murder?” Scar gasps.

Another sigh. “No, from liver failure.”

Grian snorts. “From all the drinking he did to forget about the ghostly hauntings?” he presses, exchanging a cheeky grin with Scar.

“No,” Impulse says, with the patience of a saint, “just normal old-age organ failure. The guy was ancient, and some kinda recluse. House had been in his family since it was built, but uh, he had no living relatives, no will when he died. So the bank took ownership and it’s been sitting off-market for like, fifteen years, til some hot-shot investor thought he could flip it-”

“Ughh,” Grian groans, tipping his head back against the seat. “Investors are the worst-”

“I know, I know,” Impulse soothes, “but um, he’d barely begun when things started happening. Contractors reported it day one, then the owner experienced an event himself and called us. So it’s basically still untouched.”

They haven’t even reached the end of the driveway yet, passing by seemingly endless rows of tall, gnarled pines. Admittedly, Grian’s curiosity is piqued. When he agreed to join this stupid ghost hunting group three years ago, he didn’t do so in the hopes of actually discovering any real paranormal activity. The whole idea is laughable. Ghost hunting is a pseudoscience, at best. Just a bunch of idiots scaring themselves silly in an empty house- and now they’re the idiots! Even their name is stupid: Ghost Investigation Group Services, or GIGS, embroidered on their ill-fitting pleather jumpsuits.

But despite his outright skepticism and dislike for pulling late nights in his already extremely limited free time, Grian’s got one very good reason for agreeing to join.

And his name is Scar.

Grian spent half a semester pining away at the fellow architecture major from across the lecture halls of their many shared classes. Charismatic and easy on the eyes, it was inevitable that Grian would develop a bit of a crush. But as they spent more time together during class projects and conversations in the hallway, he found out just how kind-hearted and passionate Scar was, and how easy he was to talk to, and how strong his arms looked in long-sleeved shirts…

… Yeah, ‘crush’ perhaps isn’t the right word.

So when Impulse- the engineering major who Grian was partnered with for physics lab- got the brilliant idea to start a ghost-hunting group with his best friend and roommate Skizz, and Scar expressed interest in joining, Grian made a split-second decision in a moment of weakness. He maintained his skepticism, claiming that he wanted to tag along just to prove how silly the whole idea was. Impulse was fine with it, while Scar said Grian had to wear the same uniform as them, and the rest was history.

(To be fair, that was before Grian knew it’d be a pleather jumpsuit.)

So here they are now nearly three years later, rumbling down a long gravel road in the dark and cold, up late on a Saturday night even though he still isn’t finished with his condominium model that’s due at 8 am on Monday and he’s fresh out of popsicle sticks. Moments like these almost make Grian wish he could just ask a guy out like a normal person, so they could spend time together without chasing pretend ghosts around dusty houses all night.

But that’d require him to talk about his feelings. Ugh, he’d rather let the ghosts get him.

“Alright.” Impulse slows the van to a halt. The doors unlock with a heavy clunk. “What do you guys think?”

Grian isn’t expecting much when he glances out the window. But the sight that greets him immediately prompts a hasty exit from the vehicle, scarcely noticing the sudden chill, his jaw dropping open in awe.

It’s a Victorian. Not a house that someone has mistakenly called ‘Victorian’ just because it looks old. A genuine, honest-to-goodness, Queen Anne’s style two-story Victorian manor with an asymmetrical facade and a rounded corner tower and a generous wrap-around porch, silhouetted against the fading light of the evening sky.

Grian reaches for his flashlight. Sweeping over the exterior, his breath catches. Knots of ivy creep up the walls, and there are a few places where the intricate wood trim has been lost to previous repairs and weather damage. A couple of the windows are bricked up. Most of the paint is faded and peeling. But overall? It’s beautiful.

“Oh man,” Grian murmurs, pushing his glasses back up, “look at the shape of it... look at the dormers!”

A second beam of light joins in; Scar’s emerged from the van. “Lots of character,” he says, sounding similarly entranced. “And still in great condition! Oh, it’s beautiful. It’s enough to make a man cry.”

Impulse hops out of the driver’s seat, chuckling. “I knew you two would like it. It’s an ‘85.”

Grian gives an appreciative whistle. “Look, I still don’t think we’re gonna find anythin’,” he says with a sideways look at Scar, “but I gotta tell ya… if- if I were a ghost… I think I’d haunt a proper house like this. Not those builder-grade boxes in the suburbs.”

“Right?” Impulse says, his forked tail flicking through the air. “That’s what I’m sayin’... I uh, I think this place has real potential.”

Skizz, who’s come around the van to stand with them, nods thoughtfully. “Definitely somethin’ special ‘bout it, that’s for true,” he says, exchanging a look with Impulse. Then he claps his hands together. “Alright gentlemen, let’s get movin’!”

Impulse and Skizz turn towards the van, heading to open the back.

Grian stares after them, squinting suspiciously. That wasn’t just any look. That was a Look. A Look that he knows all too well. They had that same Look on their faces at last year’s frat mixer, when they rigged the speakers at the Heta Kappa house to play ‘Margaritaville’ every time someone flushed a toilet.

It means that they’re Up To Something.

… Grian’s sure he’ll find out sooner or later.

“Well, Grian,” Scar says, hands on his hips as he surveys the property, “if it’s any connotation, at least we’ll get to study some real architecture tonight.”

Grian gives him a bemused look. “Consolation?”

Scar blinks. “Cono- what, what’d I say? Con- coronation?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, ey,” Grian chuckles, patting him on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

~*~

“Check it out, dude,” Skizz calls excitedly, “temp’s dropping in here! Five degrees colder than the rest of the house!”

Grian makes a noncommittal noise. “It’s an east-facing room and the sun’s only just set, of course it’s colder than the rest of the house,” he says, idly passing his UV glow stick over an armchair. No prints, of course. “I doubt they’ve updated the insulation anytime within the last two decades.”

“And hey, look,” Impulse chimes in from the corner, “I’ve got EMF 1.3!”

Grian doesn’t even look up. “There’s an exposed outlet in here and I’ll bet the wiring’s older than I am. And in any case, it’s still below the recommended threshold.” Ew, okay, now that’s a suspicious UV stain on the floor, but not of the supernatural kind…

“Oh, it’s definitely not up to code,” Impulse agrees. He waves his EMF reader around a bit, making the pitch warble. “But I dunno, I think this must be the ghost’s favorite room. Might not be here right now, but I’m getting some real vibes…”

Grian rolls his eyes. “Sure…” 

Twenty minutes in, and despite the house’s hauntingly elegant construction, it’s been the same old story. The house is empty and quiet, as abandoned houses tend to be. Quite sparse, as most of the furnishings probably went to auction. The furniture that’s left is covered with tarps and every surface is coated with a fine layer of dust. He can smell mold somewhere in the floorboards and there’s apparent water damage in the ceiling.

The only renovation attempted thus far was the removal of some cheap linoleum tiles that were laid in the kitchen at some point- a renovation Grian can heartily agree with, there’s some absolutely gorgeous hardwood underneath- but they didn’t get far. The removed tiles are still sitting about in a haphazard pile, hammer and chisel abandoned on the floor beside them. Frantic footsteps smeared in the dust and powder paint the scene of a terrified contractor fleeing for their life from the reported ‘ghostly hauntings’. 

In any case, they haven’t heard any activity from the spirit box, nothing unusual has stood out on UV, and the salt Impulse laid out is still undisturbed. Surprise, surprise. Grian’s spent most of his time admiring the elaborate wooden trims lining every wall, scuffed as they are. What he wouldn’t give to properly restore this place…

“Hey, Dipple Dop?” Skizz calls suddenly. “Your radio working okay?”

Impulse gives him a curious look. “Huh? What, is there-” He pauses, glancing down at his radio. “Oh. Oh, yeah. Yeah, actually, mine’s on the fritz, must be overdue a battery change.”

“Oh?” Grian tilts his head innocently. “You don’t think it’s a ghoooost?”

Impulse purses his lips. “I don’t think everything is a ghost,” he says mildly. He clips the radio onto his belt, turning to the door. “I’ve got extras in the van, hang on…”

“I’ll go, too,” Skizz says quickly, slinging an arm and his wing around Impulse’s shoulders. “Buddy system! You know what, I- I’m tellin’ you, you never split up when hunting ghosts. That’s how they get you, dude.”

Oh. Oh, no.

Grian gives them a warning Look.

They give him a cheeky Look back.

“Yup, yeah, that’s true,” Impulse says with obvious feigned sincerity, steering Skizz out of the room. “So uh, you two keep at it, okay, and we’ll be right back…”

“Oh, okay!” Scar says cheerfully, busy setting up the tripod over in the corner and completely oblivious to their scheme. “Have a great time not getting murdered!”

Grian opens his mouth to protest, but Impulse and Skizz are already gone out the front door. Leaving him and Scar completely alone. Totally by coincidence, surely. Oh, he knew his drunken confession to Impulse at the school’s annual bar crawl fundraiser night would come back to bite him eventually.

It’s almost insulting, in a way. Like they think the only reason Grian hasn’t made a move is because he hasn’t had ample alone time with Scar. Like he needed them to give him an opportunity. But if he’d wanted to confess to Scar, he already would have. He’d have had it well done by now. They could give him a little credit.

See, the thing is, he’s thought about it. Plenty of times, in fact. But the issue he keeps coming back to is that if he tells Scar about his crush on him, then Scar will know about it. There’ll be no going back at that point. And if Scar doesn’t feel the same way- well, Grian can kiss their friendship goodbye. So yeah, no, he doesn’t think he’ll be making any dramatic love confessions tonight, strangely enough.

The risk of an awkward silence developing is astronomical, so Grian clears his throat. “Man… isn’t this place somethin’,” he says, then immediately fights the urge to cringe.

Scar, luckily, gives an emphatic nod. “It is, it truly is amazing.” He straightens up, dusting his hands off as he turns to Grian. “You know who’d really love this place, is Gem?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” Grian agrees. He busies himself with the UV, so he’s not just standing around. “We should take some pictures for her.”

“Oh, good idea!” Giving the tripod a final once-over, Scar wanders over to Grian. “So, any fingering goin’ on, yet?”

Grian nearly drops his glow stick. “Sorry- any what?!” he screeches, whirling around on Scar.

“You know, ghost fingers!” Scar says, perfectly innocent. He holds his hands up, wiggling his fingers in demonstration. “On the- on the glowy light?”

Grian takes a deep breath, face burning. “Oh Scar, buddy, you gotta think through your words better before you say them, alright?”

“Whaaat?” Scar pretends like he doesn’t know. “What, I’m just- you’ve got the stick, you know, little glow stick for when the ghost touches, uh-”

“Nevermind,” Grian groans. “Anyways, no, I haven’t found any ghostly handprints and I never will, because ghosts aren’t real.”

Scar folds his arms. “Well, hey, maybe the ghost is just polite! You know, he- maybe he’s just minding his business, not touching anything or- or anyone. Just because we don’t get anything on UV doesn’t mean ghosts aren’t real, I’ll have you know.”

Grian sees the challenge for what it is. “Alright…” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his spirit box. Holding the transponder to his lips, he belts out, “Where ahhre yewww?” in his best imitation of an over-exaggerated pop-punk accent. If Impulse and Skizz are eavesdropping through their radios, he hopes he gave them a start.

Scar laughs. “Oh man, been a while since I heard that one! You-”

I’m close.

Grian jumps so badly he nearly drops the box, his wings puffing out involuntarily. “What?! Wha- who said that?” he demands, spinning around.

Scar blinks at him. “What? Did you hear something through the box?”

“I- I dunno?” Grian says uncertainly. The box seems to be working as normal; when he holds the receiver down, there’s a faint hiss of static, and the bulb remains white. No further noises come from the speaker.

After a couple seconds of tense listening, Grian feels silly. Way to play it cool. He switches the box off with an exasperated sigh. “No, of course I didn’t hear anything through the box. Like I said, ghosts aren’t real.”

Scar hums noncommittally. “Oh, Grian... you know, there are some things in the world that can’t be explained.” 

Grian snorts. “Oh, yeah? Well, I- I got a few explanations for ya.” He counts on his fingers. “It could’ve been this old house creaking in the wind, or an electrical surge causing feedback through the transponder, or- or, not to mention, Impulse and Skizz pranking us through the radio?”

Scar snickers. “That does sound like something they’d do, I’ll give you that.”

“Yeah.” Grian slips the box back into his pocket. “And y’know, being in a creepy abandoned house, after dark, out in the middle’a nowhere... it’s easy to think you’re hearin’ things.”

Scar rolls his eyes, but his expression is fond. “I know, I know, so you’ve told me. But one of these days, mister, you’re gonna eat your words.”

“Right,” Grian drawls. “I’m so scared…”

The front door slams shut.

That makes Grian pause. They always leave the front door open while out on a job. It saves time when they have to go back and forth from the van, and saves battery life on their radios when they can just shout to each other through the open doorway. Obviously this job is a little different, because Impulse and Skizz have clearly got it in their heads to try and get him and Scar together, but he wouldn’t think they’d go so far as to-

The lights suddenly flicker and go out. But in the split-second before they do, Grian sees a shadowy figure silhouetted against the door.

Pure instinct takes over. Grian spins on his heel, grabs Scar by the arm, and absolutely flies down the stairs to the basement. He knows they’ve disturbed one or two piles of salt but right now, he can’t bring himself to care. His wings are bumping against the walls and he’s certainly never tried carrying someone as big as Scar before but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even process the ache of it rattling through his body. He bursts into the basement, feathers flying, and careens towards the back of the room, around a tall shelving unit, and into the corner.

There’s a heap of boxes stacked up in this corner; Grian unceremoniously shoves Scar over top of them, dropping him in the narrow space between the boxes and the wall. He’s wedged in as far as he can himself, laying across the boxes, his double pair of wings preventing him from squeezing in beside Scar. He’s still got the UV light clenched in his fist, he realizes belatedly- he braces his forearms against the wall to try and cover it, fanning his wings out behind him to block it out from the rest of the room. Glancing back over his shoulder, he tries to gauge how much light is getting through when a noise makes him freeze.

Footsteps.

They’re soft and light- certainly not the heavy boots of Impulse or Skizz. No, they sound almost barefoot. And as they gently tap down the stairs, the sound of giggling fills the air. It’s a feminine voice. Young, like a child. Like a little ghostie girl is prancing down the stairs to murder them.

Grian thinks he might pass out. Can ghosts actually kill people? How would they do it if they’re incorporeal? He’s never considered the question before, he never thought he’d have to because it’s ridiculous, ghosts aren’t real, of course they can’t kill people-

The footsteps stop. 

Grian isn’t sure if he’s still breathing. He doesn’t dare move. A chill runs up his spine, making every single feather stand on end. He can almost hear the high-pitched violins that would be playing right now if this were a horror movie; the cheesy, overdrawn kind of horror movies that are always playing at the drive-in that the four of them watch while piled into the back of the van in a tangle of limbs and spilled popcorn and oh god he’s spiraling now because he’s about to be killed by a ghost-

Bye-bye!

The chill recedes. Somewhere in his peripheral vision, he sees the faint glow of light from upstairs return.

It’s over.

Grian’s mind is spinning. What was that? What was that? It seems impossible, it doesn’t even feel real to be in this situation right now but he is, there was a ghost, there was a ghost. It feels insane to even think it. But the residual adrenaline coursing through his body reminds him it was very real, he just encountered a ghost.

A ghost! Oh, after three years of very loudly decrying the entire concept as rubbish. He can’t believe it. He really can’t believe it, this is the absolute last thing he expected to happen tonight. Ghosts are real. Ghosts are really, really, real. He doesn’t know what to do, who would ever believe him? Is this how the others have been feeling this whole time? God, he can’t believe this-

“G...?” Scar’s voice pipes up hesitantly. “What... what are we doing?”

Oh, right. Grian glances down at Scar- and his heart jolts. He’d been so focused on getting away from the ghost, he’d acted without thinking, so only now does he realize the... predicament he’s put them in.

Scar’s slumped against the floor beneath him, head tucked just below Grian’s arms. His long legs are still draped over the box that Grian’s laying across, resting on either side of his waist. And due to the odd posture Grian’s in, his chest has been thrust rather close to Scar’s face, lit by the soft purple glow of the UV.

This is probably the closest Grian has ever been to sitting in Scar’s lap.

Grian’s not proud of the yelp that escapes him. “Sorry, sorry!” His wings flail as he struggles to push himself off of the wall, stumbling back onto his feet. It’s clumsy and uncoordinated and he nearly falls backwards, his heart pounding.

Scar manages a laugh, easing himself up off the floor. “No, no, it’s okay, I- I just... what- why’d you bring us down here?” he asks, dusting off his jumpsuit.

Grian catches his breath. “Wait, you... didn’t hear the creepy ghost on its way to kill us?” he asks, frowning.

Scar‘s eyes widen. “What? There was a ghost?”

No way.

“Are you-!” Grian throws his arms up. “Honestly, I- I know avians have better hearing than most but that’s insane. She was laughing! Laughing and skipping down the blumin’ steps! And you didn’t hear any of it?”

“No…?” Scar shrugs helplessly. “I’m sorry, okay! I- I don’t know, I was- a lot was happening, you- you’re grabbin’ me, pulling me down the stairs and into this little corner, I didn’t know what was going on! I didn’t know, I- I was all disconbodulated- disco- bobo, bobumated? I was a little distracted, okay. Jeeze, give a man a break…”

“Distracted?” Grian repeats incredulously. “You’re the one who actually believes in ghosts, here, how could you get distracted? What do you…”

He trails off. Scar is very clearly fighting to avoid looking at Grian, but for the briefest moment, his eyes dart down to Grian’s chest. Suddenly confused, Grian follows his gaze, and-

Oh, for goodness sakes. At some point during his frantic flight, the stupid zipper on his stupid jumpsuit came down again, exposing a frankly scandalous amount of skin. Not Scar-level of scandalous, but pretty close.

Grian immediately feels himself turn red. “Oh. Uh- right,” he hastily pulls the zipper back up, “sorry ‘bout that…”

Wait. Wait just a second. 

Scar was distracted from a literal ghost hunt going on... because Grian’s bare chest was showing? Does that... does that mean he liked it? 

Scar’s avoiding his gaze again. His cheeks are tinted pink.

“Scar...?” Grian ventures carefully. “Were you... lookin’ at my chest?”

Scar’s cheeks darken. “Ah, I- I- don’t- I mean, why would you- I didn’t mean to, it’s just...” He fumbles for the words. “What- what am I- hey, your pecs were basically in my face! I wasn’t trying to look, I- I just-”

“Scar,” Grian says, keeping his voice light and teasing, “did ya… did you like what you saw?”

Scar splutters for a moment. “Well, sure, Grian,” he tries to laugh it off, “I mean, anyone- anyone with eyes can see you’re uh, you know, you’re- you’re pretty attractive. I- I’m secure enough to say it, I don’t care, it’s- sure, of course, you’re very muscular! You’re a- you’re a muscular man, it’s just not always obvious with the sweaters you wear. Or- sorry, you call them jumpers in Britain land, right, they’re jumpers-”

“You been checkin’ me out, Scar?” Grian asks, caught somewhere between playfulness and utter disbelief.

“Uh...” Scar rubs the back of his neck. He exhales slowly, clearly debating with himself. “I... maybe? What... what would you say... if that were the case?”

Grian swallows. His heart is absolutely racing now, and he’s broken into a cold sweat that’s definitely not supernatural in origin. The air between them feels fragile; he’s acutely aware that a single word from him could swiftly plunge them back into the realm of safe familiarity, of casual light-hearted teasing between friends. Scar’s always said things that bordered on the flirtatious, and Grian can hide behind the plausible deniability of teasing. This entire interaction doesn’t have to mean anything. It can be easily moved past and forgotten.

And yet, strangely enough… Grian doesn’t want it to. Maybe it’s the post-haunting adrenaline or the fact that he could’ve died tonight, but all of a sudden, he feels like taking a chance. Like he could finally say what he’s wanted to say for the last three years. He managed to hold his own against a blumin’ ghost, for goodness sakes- he should be able to face his own feelings head on.

He takes a breath. “I’d say that’s a relief… ‘cause I’ve been checkin’ you out since day one of first year.”

Scar stares at him for a long moment. His expression is utterly unreadable. The silence draws on long enough that Grian feels a spike of panic, worried that maybe he’s mishandled the situation-

 “... oh my god,” Scar says finally. “Really?”

It sounds like the good kind of surprise. Grian offers a shy smile. “Yeah, yeah,” he admits. “I- Scar, I know I’m real good at playin’ these things close to the vest, but uh, I- I’ve had a massive crush on you since... basically since the day we met.”

“Huh.” Scar blinks. “You’re serious. You- you’re not pranking me right now?”

That startles a laugh out of Grian. “No! Scar, I don’t- we just survived being hunted by a ghost, I’m not pranking you!”

“Well, that’s- that’s amazing!” A grin spreads across Scar’s face- and man, oh man, does he have just the most wonderful smile. “Oh my gosh, G, I don’t- you don’t even know how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

The relief is almost overwhelming. “Yeah, me too!” Grian laughs, half-dazed and half-giddy, running a hand through his hair. “I- I even- look, the whole reason I even joined this group was as an excuse to hang out with you!”

Scar’s mouth falls open. “No way! That’s- that’s the whole reason I joined in the first place, too!”

Now it’s Grian’s turn to gawk. “Are you joking?”

“I’m not!” Scar insists, “I swear, I’m not- Impulse said he wanted to start the group and maybe we’d all join and get to hang out and I thought ‘hey, ghosts are cool and Grian is cool’ so I just-”

“Oh, I can’t believe this…” Grian groans, hiding his burning face in his hands. “We really are idiots, we’ve wasted nearly three years…”

Scar’s hands close around Grian’s wrists, lightly pulling them down from his face. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to make up for lost time,” he says smoothly, leaning in.

Corny, but Grian will allow it. He closes the gap, tilting his head up to meet Scar’s lips.

In that moment, everything else fades away. All the nervousness, all the second-guessing, even the bombshell discovery of the existence of ghosts- there could be one standing in front of them right now and Grian wouldn’t care. The way Scar gathers Grian in his arms, hands gently roving through his feathers- it’s bliss. It’s perfect.

Scar kisses him strong and purposefully, with no trace of carelessness or haste. He doesn’t rush. There’s intent written into every single movement, jaw working to deepen the kiss. Grian curls against him, hands splayed across Scar’s chest. He can feel Scar’s heart pounding through his flushed skin, and it’s wildly exciting- to think Scar is just as breathless as he is. 

Growing bold, Grian dares to slip his tongue into Scar’s mouth, and the noise he makes- part surprise, part delight- sends pure electricity fizzling up his spine. His mind is starting to drift away from him, lost in the sensation of weightlessness, of floating, that almost makes him feel like he’s gone completely incorporeal- like his own spirit has become untethered from the mortal coil.

Then Skizz’s voice comes down the stairs.

“G-Sharp! Scarface! You down here? We just saw a freaking ghost on the cams, and- oh my god!”

Grian breaks away from Scar, but not quick enough. He turns to see Skizz and Impulse standing at the bottom of the stairs, expressions shocked. And then, as if they’d rehearsed it, they both break into massive shit-eating grins and spin around to high-five each other.

“Woo!” Impulse cheers. “We got ‘em! Ladies and gentlemen, we finally got them.”

“Yeah, baby!” Skizz pumps his fist in the air. “Oh, I love it!”

“Oh, would you two stop it?” Grian huffs, but he’s not really cross. Hard to be cross when he’s on cloud nine. “The ghost did most of the work, alright?”

“That’s right,” Scar sniffs, winding an arm around Grian’s waist. “You know, I- I’m startin’ to think you all were in cahoots! Cahoots, I say!”

“Dude, if only,” Skizz laughs, walking over to clap them on the shoulders. “Could not have planned it better, that’s amazing. Well done, gentlemen!”

“Yeah, it’s about time!” Impulse adds, crossing his arms. “I was starting to think we’d graduate before either of you fessed up, I- I had to take drastic measures…”

“Impulse,” Grian says warningly, “if you’re about to tell me you started this whole paranormal investigation group just as a way to push me and Scar into confronting our feelings, I swear-”

“No, no,” Impulse assures him, chuckling. “I really do like the ghost-hunting deal, don’t worry. But uh, we did deliberately ditch you guys in the hopes that something would happen.”

Scar waggles his eyebrows. “Oh, things happened, alright.”

“Scar!” Grian swats at him, but he’s laughing and it feels good. It feels right. After all this time spent worrying about worst-case scenarios, about denying his feelings for the sake of maintaining the comfortable mundanity of his comfortable life, it turns out the scariest part was the fear itself.

The irony doesn’t escape his notice. A bit on the nose, if he’s honest.

“But in even bigger news,” Impulse graciously continues, “you saw the ghost? And you believed it? You, Mr. Non-Believer in all things ghostly?”

Grian sighs. “Yeah, yeah, I know…”

“This is incredible!” Skizz claps his hands together. “Okay, okay, we gotta go cleanse the area and I wanna hear everything, got it? Don’t leave a single detail out!”

Grian slips his hand into Scar’s as they follow Impulse and Skizz back up the stairs. “Yeah, alright,” he relents. He supposes he’s due for a lot of ‘I told you so’s’. But really, it’s a small price to pay for the life-altering knowledge that ghosts are real… and for finally finding the courage to believe in something extraordinary.

Scar hums. “Wait, details about the ghost or about the kissing?”

“Scar!”

~*~

#hermitcraft #hermitshipping #scarian #my writing #listen i am only a casual phasmo enjoyer and idk anything about architecture school pls don't come for me abt any inaccuracies #just here for a good gay spooky time #wanted to see if i'd be any good at writing commissions (ie. solely based off someone else's idea) and i had FUN #but it's always easy to be inspired by mel <3

[denwritesandcries]

Call me Yours – Natalie Scatorccio

Pairing: natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

Summary: You’re in a closet with Natalie Scatorccio. How ironic.

Word count: 2,3k.

Content: NSFW, no crash!AU, cursing, arguing, jealousy, makeout session, thigh riding, slightly toxic behavior?? but it wouldn't be a yellowjacket relationship if it weren't just a little.

Note: Is it a secret relationship?? Friends with benefits??? I don't know man but they’re horny.

English is not my first language.

You're in a closet with Natalie Scatorccio.

There is a party going on outside, students filling the rooms of Lottie's house with loud generic music playing in the background, but the small room you two were locked in remained silent, too silent.

“See ya’ in 7 minutes, ladies!” Van's mocking voice cuts through the air, but a knife could have done the same; the blonde snorts and you roll your eyes, fixing your gaze somewhere in the darkness so you don't have to face her.

“Ugh, how old does she think we are?” Natalie hisses, you can feel her eyes on your face, even though you can't see much more than the outline of her body at the moment.

You say nothing, arms crossed over your chest and a frown covering your face, Nat tries again:

“I didn’t even want to come to this stupid party.”

“I get it,” you bite, just because you know her well enough to guess that she won’t stop complaining until she gets something out of you, “I get that you don’t want to be here, Natalie.”

She must finally realize how mad you are – mad at her – at the sound of her full name instead of the nickname that always seemed to be on the tip of your tongue, because you swear you can hear her teeth chattering when she shuts her mouth.

With a growl of frustration, you let your head hit the wall with a thud. Great, your night was already being shit, the last thing you needed was to end up playing 7 minutes in heaven with the person who was the cause of your bad mood. Simply amazing.

You see, Natalie had been acting weird for days now, randomly avoiding your company and acting like she didn't know you in the school hallways and being really rude to you during practice. Now, this might even be normal and acceptable behavior from the quiet blonde if you were anyone else, but you weren't. You are her girlfriend.

Are? Were? You don't know for sure anymore given the way she's been acting lately.

Maybe it wouldn't have made you so angry – confused? Yes. Sad? Definitely, but not angry like that – if it weren't for today, for the party.

You had planned to meet Nat at Lottie's party and corner her to finally make her explain what the hell is wrong, dammit, because one afternoon you're smoking with your girlfriend and friends quietly in the basement and the next she's throwing you daggers with her glance every time you open your mouth around her. Anyway, that's what you were going to do, until you found her in the Matthews' giant kitchen leaning against the counter with a cup of beer in her hand and Kevyn Tan practically throwing himself at her, keeping an arm full of spike bracelets wrapped around her shoulders and face with heavy makeup too close to hers to be considered friendly, drooling for Nat like he's always done since you've known about his existence.

Now that really pissed you off.

Who does that sad, emo, pitiful boy think he is to touch your girlfriend like that? And why is she letting him?

You think she could feel you fuming as you stared at them from the door, because the next second she lifted her head and looked at you like a deer caught in the headlights, as if she knew exactly that she was doing something she shouldn't have.

Screw it, you thought, if she'd rather act like you didn't matter anymore, then fine. You won't be standing just watching.

You turned around and only managed to disappear around the house for the next half hour before Taissa appeared with a tired frown and practically dragged you to where the group had gathered with an empty bottle, because Van and Jackie wanted to play something – 'If I'm in this, then you’re too!’ – and well, fuck.

You two have been completely quiet for almost a whole minute and that it's eating you alive; Nat has always handled silence well, you haven't.

Fidgeting with the hem of your own shirt angrily, you huff and give up on the tough act, the blonde straightens up when she hears your footsteps approaching her.

"What is happening?" Your voice comes out in a shamefully desperate tone, “Why are you acting like this with me? What did I do?"

You can see her now, being so close and now used to the dark; her fists are clenched, Natalie keeps her eyes fixed on your figure. For a moment, you think she's going to keep her cold facade and avoid your question with some sarcastic response, she most likely considered it, from the way her mouth opens and closes for a quick moment.

She turns her face to the side, trying to hide, but you can see the difference in tone in the paleness of her skin anyway. Oh, she's embarrassed.

“Nat?”

She mumbles something you don't understand, then your curiosity gives way to the anger and your hands find her face, turning it so Natalie is looking at you.

"What was this?" You ask again, softly this time.

“You called me your girlfriend.” She spits it out fast as if it were just a single sentence, rolling her eyes at your confused face, “You called me your girlfriend to everyone when we were smoking after practice last week.”

Oh, you remember that, when Jackie decided to lecture you all about the smell of smoke that lingered on her clothes after she and Shauna decided to tag along on one of your hangouts with Lottie, Van and Tai, turning up her nose and talking about how you all – and especially Nat – should stop with this habit. ‘Jackie, stop bothering my girlfriend!’, that’s what you said. Is that what made you spend a whole week grounded in the doghouse?

“...And isn’t that what we are?” You try, unsure. This conversation is not taking a very pleasant turn toward a reconciliation.

Nat bites hard her bottom lip, you can see her struggling with the next words:

“It’s just… no one was supposed to know.”

“Oh,” you mutter pathetically, sounding very much like a wounded puppy, “So that’s the problem.”

You're in a closet with Natalie Scatorccio. How ironic.

You can tell she regrets it the moment she says it, grabbing your hands in hers as you pull away.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I– I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How did you meant that then?” Your initial anger and frustration return with a vengeance, you move forward until Nat's back hits a shelf in the small room.

Natalie always does this. Avoid anything that labels your relationship as real; calling your dates ‘hangouts’, not touching you when there are people around, leaving your house before you wake up in the morning, avoiding kisses and caresses that don't initiate anything sexual, calling you ‘friend’ when you can see that the whole team knows this is not all you two are.

Still, – still – she always shows up at your house when she's upset; she doesn't like it when you miss your 'hangouts'; always stays close to you wherever you are together; gets mad when she sees you talking to other girls, even if they are nothing more than classmates; leaves marks all over your body, but doesn't let you do the same, spots and more spots all over your neck that are impossible to cover. People know that you're dating, they just don't know that you're dating Natalie.

And then she gets mad at you for finally putting a name to whatever this is and starts avoiding you completely, even though it's been months since it all started and you've known each other for years.

Nat gasps when your hands find her waist with a firm grip, bringing your lips closer to her ear:

“I’m gonna make you want me to be your girlfriend.”

You swear you feel the shiver that runs through her body. Nat smells like cigarettes and mint gum and it tastes the same when your mouth meets hers.

Her arms are around your neck before she's even processed what's happening, black painted nails playing with the hair on the back of your neck like it's second nature – and it is.

The way Natalie tilts her head to deepen the kiss and bites your lip hard when your hands come up to caress the skin under her shirt says your actions are much appreciated.

The husky, needy moan that escapes your throat when you realize she's braless, palming and massaging her soft skin brings a cocky smile to her face, she sighs, breaking the kiss and letting her head fall back against the shelf in satisfaction.

Nat doesn't moan, not like you do. She seems to want to hold back as much as possible, taking all kinds of reactions from you and your body, but not giving the pleasure of having the same from her. You want to change this.

You let your mouth roam from her strong jaw to her pale neck, leaving wet kisses, bites, and marks. Many marks. You bite the thin skin in different spots, soothing the bite with your tongue, hoping for the spots to form and stay there for days, for everyone to see.

You lazily slide a knee between her legs when you feel Natalie try to turn you around to take control. You usually let her do it, but not today. She squeals in surprise and pleasure, hips instantly grinding against you.

“Nah-ah, Nat,” you cut, bringing a hand down to slow the pace of her hips, “I guess you shouldn’t take anything today, or do you think I forgot about how much you paid attention to that little emo bastard earlier, huh?”

“You hate him that much, huh?” She tries to say in a mockery tone, wanting to turn the tables again, but it sounds pathetic as her voice breaks later in the last words.

“Yes,” you say easily, leaving a lingering kiss on her shoulder, finding her pulse point, “He was touching you. Touching my girlfriend.”

You bite down hard on the skin when Natalie turns her head to grant access and she moans, actually moans, fuck, you did it. A full sound, loud enough to make your pupils dilate until your irises almost disappear. This, this sound, you want to hear this forever.

It's been more than seven minutes, you think, or maybe our discussion was just really quick. You wonder if you would have time to take one of her breasts into your mouth, feeling the way she rolls her eyes and thrusts her hips against your thigh, now free from your hands, when you roll her nipples hard between your fingers.

She sighs as she receives another kiss from you, much softer now, more affectionate, feeling her hand tracing circles on your cheek.

A quick, loud knock on the door startles you both, making Nat jump and bang her head against one of the shelves behind her and knock something over, “Fuck!” She screams and you instinctively reach for her head to check for injuries.

You look at the source of the knock, it's definitely not Van calling, she would have opened the door at once just to laugh at your faces.

“Girls, time is over!” Jackie's voice sings on the other side.

“Ugh,” Natalie grunts, clearly frustrated at being interrupted so abruptly, she takes the opportunity to finally take a look at the closet as you head towards the door, “Is this some kind of pantry?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “Rich people have so many random rooms scattered around their houses.”

There are loud whistles and jeers as you leave, half the football team gathered in the busy room and giving you knowing looks, you give Van the finger when she points out the traces of dark lipstick on your mouth.

“Were you guys actually going to fuck in there?” She teases, arching an eyebrow with a smirk.

You open your mouth to retort – probably with something stupid – but Natalie is quicker:

“Fuck off Van, stop bothering my girlfriend.”

Van gives up the provocation, raising her arms in surrender and Nat rolls her eyes as if she hadn't said anything important, but you're absolutely frozen, listening to your heart beating rapidly against your ears.

Natalie looks back when she notices you standing still and snorts in amusement at your reaction, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you with her.

“C’mon,” she says, “Let’s go, silly, I got something to do–”

“Move!” Jackie interrupts with an anxious tone, pushing you gently by the shoulder and bouncing on her heels, “It’s our turn.”

You catch a glimpse of Shauna standing shyly behind her like a shadow being dragged to the closet and Jeff sitting on the floor with the rest of his classmates with the most confused and defeated expression you've ever seen as Nat hurriedly guides you out.

When you're about to get into her car, Natalie surprises you, grabbing your waist with her cold hands and pressing you against the door, hungry eyes fixed on your form.

“I–” you stutter nervously, “I thought we were going home?”

Natalie nods.

“We are,” she agrees, “I just have to do you first.”

Well, maybe your night won't end as bad as you thought it would.

#yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets #nat scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio #nat yellowjackets #denwrites

[perpetualfox]

Whoa dude, I love your work mate! I was wondering if I could ask for a NSFW König x female reader, where he comes back home from a long mission, that lasted several months, and sweetly (but with passion) absolutely RAILS his wife. I would me most grateful! Keep up the awesome work!

Language Lesson - König x Fem!Reader [NSFW]

Warnings: Manhandling, Semi-Rough Sex, Creampie

Wordcount: 2521

Well. This got away from me a little bit. Please forgive how long this took and any grammatical fuck ups in the German. I'm still learning (and lowkey using this as practice since I have no one to speak with lmao) (also thank you so much <3 I'm so glad you're enjoying these)

→The mattress groaned as König shifted his weight, bearing down upon you, pressing your body into the plush memory foam. He revelled in the glory of it beneath his battered knees. After so many months sunk deep into mud, and dust, and blood; after so many months catching sleep where he could—in the back of a transport, on the cold metal benches of an evac helo, or the cold, hard ground—he could hardly believe something so soft even existed.

→You on the other hand, he could believe in. Every dip and curve of your body was etched into his memory; burned against the backs of his eyelids. You had graced his thoughts during every precious moment of downtime and haunted his dreams at night. But those echoes were nothing when compared to you—the living, breathing you who looked at him like he hung the moon and stars each night, and bid the sun to rise in the morning.

→How lucky he was, how privileged, how honoured to have you like this: to growl against your throat, his teeth bared against your flushed skin. How blessed he was to strip you naked and marvel at your beauty, to have you to himself—all to himself. He pressed forward, crowding you against the headboard, his hips slotting against yours as though they had been made to do so. His cock lay heavily against your stomach, already flushed and leaking.

→Always so eager.

→You had missed that terribly in the months since he’d been deployed.

→You had missed everything about him—the way he loomed in doorways, always uncertain if he was welcome in to sit with you; the way he held your hand in public, his thick fingers flexing around yours, grip tight: a lifeline and a warning; the way he snorted when he laughed, blushing to the tips of his ears as he did so, and burying his face in his hands.

→You missed the way he always left the grocery shopping to you, but wouldn’t allow you to lift a finger in the kitchen; the way he sat on the bathroom floor while you bathed, his back braced against the side of the tub, long legs splayed out on the tiled floor, just listening to you chatter on about your day; the way he curled his body around yours at night, his strong arms wrapped around your waist, murmuring about what he’d like to make you for breakfast in the morning.

→Even the things you hated about him, you missed—the way he always left his boots right in the middle of the doorway: in the perfect spot for you to trip over them later; the smell of his cigarettes and how he thought he could get away with smoking them indoors so long as he opened a window first; his complete and utter aversion to putting his dirty shirts in the hamper. Then there was the way his tongue sharpened when something put him in a mood; his tendency toward catastrophizing even the most trivial problems when he could not solve them for you immediately; the sulking; the jealousy; the territorial possessiveness; the paranoia.

→You missed it all. The memories were not enough, the few short phone calls he’d managed were not enough—memories and phone calls couldn’t hold you, couldn’t satisfy you, couldn’t fill the empty parts of you. It wasn’t enough to know that he was alive. You needed him home.

→His fingers tightened around your thighs, nails biting into your flesh as he dragged you down, pinning you beneath him. His face remained tucked into the crook of your neck, but his hands were busy, one kneading at your inner thigh, the other guiding himself toward your entrance. He pressed himself against you, warm and thick, the length of him slipping against your slick folds. The crown of his cock bumped up against your clit, and you gasped, nerves sparking.

→“Mmm, babyyy, no fair! Don’t tease!”

→You felt his breathy chuckle more than heard it—a warm puff of air ghosting across the side of your neck. For a moment, he was still, stamping heavy, open-mouthed kisses against your flesh. Your skin felt too tight—overwarm and buzzy. You needed him. Now.

→The breath fled from your lungs in a heavy rush when, at last, he pushed forward, the blunt head of his cock stretching you open for the first time in months. You grabbed for him, hands clutching desperately at the short hairs at the nape of his neck. God, you’d forgotten just how much of a stretch it was to take him like this. The burn of it licked at you, thrumming through your quivering thighs and up into your belly. Your fingers could never come close to the sheer girth of him, nor could they reach as deep as you needed them to—as deep as he could.

→“Scheiße…” The word was little more than a hiss, slipping out between the tight clench of his teeth, “Du bist sehr eng…ich hätte zuerst deine Muschi dehene sollen…”

→His English came back slowly when he’d been away for so long. Though he had been teaching you, and you’d been improving in leaps and bounds, with your brain leaking out around his cock, you were hopelessly out of your depth. He could have said anything to you—threatened your life, called you names, read out his to-do list, or the numbers in a phonebook—it wouldn’t have mattered. Not when he sounded like that. His voice, usually breathy and nasal, had taken on a new tone: fuller and deeper. He always sounded, to your ear, more confident in his native tongue, no matter how excellent his English was. You loved his voice no matter the language it spoke, but there was something about that self-surety that always sent a shiver through you.

→He groaned as he rocked into you, working you open around him little by little. The sudden gush of your warm arousal aided the slide of his cock against your walls. The slick sound of his movements was mortifying, and yet you could do little else but whine, your voice caught high in the back of your throat, “Ohh, fuck, please!”

→When at last he had sheathed himself to the hilt inside of you, König stilled. Your thighs shook, trembling with the strain and overstimulation. He was so big, his cock nestled up against every spot that lit your nerves on fire. After months of poor substitutions, you were finally, blissfully fucking full. Your pussy clenched tight around him; you were so close already, your body thrumming with the promise of it. Your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your breastbone—dimly you wondered if he could feel it too, throbbing beneath his chest and around his cock. Surely, he was deep enough for that.

→His lips brushed against the junction between your neck and shoulder. He trembled against you, shaking with the effort it took to hold still; to not simply hold your hips down and take you like an animal—rutting into you until you were a sobbing, writhing mess beneath him. What a pretty picture you’d make pinned beneath him, his cum leaking out around his cock as he fucked a third or fourth load into you.

→You stared up at him, eyes wet and wide—uncomprehending. His hands slid up your body to cup your face, thumbs stroking gently against your heated cheeks. His lips ghosted against your own, warm and wet as he spoke, his tongue tripping over the words as his brain struggled to form a sentence you could better understand. “Let,” he panted, his hips kicking impatiently forward, burying another inch of his cock inside of you, “Let me hear you whine like I taught you, yes?”

→You swallowed hard, dimly catching his meaning, but struggling to remember a single thing he had taught you. The hours you’d spent curled up in his lap, tracing the prominent bow of his lips as he spoke, trying (and often failing) to mimic the sounds he made seemed wasted to you now—a distant dream, the details of which you could no longer recall.

→“Um…­b-bitte…uhh…” Your brain sputtered and sparked, trying desperately to think around the rhythmic clenching of your cunt and the sheer heat of his cock inside of it. You could feel him throbbing—a steady thrum pulsing beneath the frantic beating of your heart, “Ich…Ich…möchte d-dein…mmm…schwarz—no! Schwanz!”

→A peal of laughter, dark and deep shuddered through you, rattling your bones and making your head swim, “Lange nicht gut genug. Nochmal.”

→He kept rocking into you in shallow little thrusts, stopping just short of the spots where you needed him most. Your thighs were shaking. You couldn’t think, you could hardly breathe. There was no room left inside of you for anything but him…

→“Nochmal!” The command rang in your ears, and he snapped his hips forward. The tip of his cock brushed against a spot inside of you that made your vision blur, the world tilting around you. You sobbed, nearly coming undone around him then and there, but with that single thrust, he ground to a halt. His cock pressed relentlessly against that spot, but it wasn’t what you needed—he wasn’t moving. It wasn’t enough. You writhed beneath him, desperate for stimulation, desperate to cum. Your cunt throbbed around him for it, but he had asked something of you, and you wouldn’t get what you wanted until the request had been satisfied.

→“S-Sei…gentle? Gentle…” You wracked your brain for the word, trying desperately to ignore the pulsing need that lay nestled between your thighs. “Ah! Sanft! Sei sanft mit m-mir!”

→König’s cock twitched inside of you, the sound of his language falling so prettily from your lips was almost too much for him to bear. A low, purring chuckle rose from the back of his throat, his hips grinding forward. Stars burst across your vision. A mewling cry escaped your lips as your nails dug into his flesh, leaving red welts in their wake as you clawed at his back.

→“Besser, aber nein, Schatzi.” He leaned down, scraping his teeth along the column of your throat, the salt-tang of your sweat blooming across his tongue. “Ich kann nicht, vor allem nicht jetzt.”

→He surged forward, taking your thighs in his hands and forcing them wider apart, pushing them back over the tops of your hips. The cold metal of the ring on his finger bit into your flesh, but even that keen sting melted into pleasure as he began to fuck you in earnest, using the leverage of your new position to bully himself deeper inside of you. You were sure the tip of his cock was kissing your cervix with each snap of his hips. Again and again, his name tumbled from your lips—not ‘König,’ but his name. his real name. It was music to his ears.

→“Ich liebe es dich winseln zu hören, Liebe.”

→Bracing a thigh against his forearm, his thumb found your clit and you thrashed against him, tears streaming down your face as he rubbed harsh circles into the sensitive nub. He cooed down at you, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His eyes flashed in the low light, “Fühlt sich das gut an?” His simpering tone sent another rush of arousal through you. You could practically feel yourself dripping around his cock.

→“Yes! Ja!” You whined, hips kicking up against his hand, desperate for more of his touch after so long without it. “Plea—uh, bitte!”

→“Gutes Madchen. Meine gutes Mädchen.”

→Your cunt throbbed around him, and he whined long and low into the darkness, his thumb still stroking your clit in time with each harsh thrust. You were going to cum—you could feel it building in your stomach and pulsing behind your oversensitive clit. Each swipe of his calloused thumb brought you a little closer to that edge; made you a little more desperate to finally reach it.

→“Fuck! Fuck! I-I’m…I-I’m gonna cum!” You didn’t have it in you play his game anymore. You hadn’t the room in your mind for it now, and he knew as much.

→“Ja, ich weiß.” His lips brushed against the crown of your head, a shockingly chaste gesture for a man buried to the hilt in your cunt. “Es ist okay, Liebe. Komm für mich.”

→Almost at once, as though his permission had been all you had needed, your muscles locked up, clamping down hard around him as the first waves of your orgasm crashed over you. Your eyes rolled in your skull, the whites flashing in the darkness. Your hips jerked beneath his fingers as he pressed them tight against your clit letting you grind against them as the pleasure rocked through you.

→You felt his head drop back down against your shoulder as he fell into you, losing himself in the rhythmic clench of your cunt. His pace was rough and sloppy as he shed the pretense of humanity and fucked into you like it was the last thing he’d do. His lips worked feverishly against your flesh—mouthing a silent prayer into the side of your neck; a devotional in your name: the only God he still believed in.

→His teeth flashed against your skin as he came, your flesh muffling his keening whine as he caught it between his teeth. He couldn’t fuck you through it, his shaking thigh giving out with the intensity of pleasure. Instead, he trembled against you, his hips pressed flush against yours as he flooded you with a searing warmth. He whined your name like it was the only coherent thought in his mind, slurring it against your kiss bruised flesh until it hardly made sense to your own ears anymore.

→How had you survived without him?

→As he slowly came back to himself, he rolled his hips, fucking into you with slow, languid strokes. He revelled in the soft whining sounds he pulled from your throat, grinning against your throat. “Mein.” His voice was little more than a whisper, his chapped lips ghosting over your soft skin, “Mein, mein, mein.”

→He peppered your neck and shoulder with gentle kisses, a contented sigh escaping his lips. His hips shifted to the left, as though he were preparing to roll over. “No!” You gripped his arm tight and shook you head. You felt the knot forming in his brow before he pulled back to look at you, his head cocked to the side in confusion.

→Your head was clearer now, his lessons easier to recall as the lust-addled fog began to clear from your mind. You locked your legs around his waist, “Kannst du noch einmal?”

→For a moment, it was all he could do to stare down at you, his eyes wide. At length, he spoke, “You…practiced?”

→You nodded, staring up at him, your eyes wide and hopeful, desperate for his approval.

→His eyes flashed, his fingers digging deep into the meat of your thighs, “In that case, du wirst mich anflehen müssen, damit aufzuhorenh.”

Translations (huge thanks to @disastersareajoy for their corrections <3):

→Scheiße - shit

→Du bist sehr eng…ich hätte zuerst deine Muschi dehene sollen - You're very tight…I should have stretched your pussy first

→Nein, Liebe - No, Love

→Frag mich auf Deutsch - Ask me in German.

→B-Bitte - P-Please

→Ich…Ich…möchte d-dein…mmm…schwarz—no! Schwanz - I…I…want y-your…mmm…black--no! Cock (hope this makes sense 'Schwarz' and 'Schwanz' sound similar to my ear and I get them confused all the time)

→Lange nicht gut genug. Nochmal - Not good enough by half. Again

→Sei sanft mit m-mir - Be gentle with m-me

→Besser, aber nein, Schatzi - Better, but no, little treasure

→Ich kann nicht, vor allem nicht jetzt - I can't, especially not now

→Ich liebe es dich winseln zu hören, Liebe - I love to hear you whine, Love

→Fühlt sich das gut an? - Does that feel good?

→Gutes Madchen. Meine gutes Mädchen - Good girl. My good girl

→Ja, ich weiß - Yes, I know

→Es ist okay, Liebe. Komm für mich - It's okay, Love. Cum for me

→Mein, mein, mein - Mine, mine mine

→Kannst du noch einmal? - Can you do that again?

→Du wirst mich anflehen müssen, damit aufzuhorenh - You will have to beg me to stop

#konig x reader #mw2 x reader #konig mw2 #konig cod #konig smut #mw2 smut #also super curious to know: do y'all have a name you call konig other than konig? #I'm particularly fond of Konrad or Klaus

[hyunjinners]

✧:･ﾟI Thought it Was Something Else → Hwang Hyunjin x reader ˚₊· ꒰☘️꒱

꒰ 命 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 ꒱┊Hyunjin's muscles were tense from the day's efforts, he deserved proper care.

꒰ 命 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ꒱┊Hwang Hyunjin x fem!reader

꒰ 命 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 ꒱┊established relationship, cute, soft, funny.

꒰ 命 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ꒱┊can be read with idol and non-idol, purposeful suggestive insinuation! It doesn't contain anything explicit, just humor and a cute moment between couples. ;)

꒰ 命 𝐖.𝐂 ꒱┊1,05k

꒰ 命 𝐀/𝐍 ꒱┊I have a lot of chapter ideas in my head, but since most of them involve a bit of anguish, I decided to post some cute ones first. English is not my first language! Have a good read, I hope you enjoy <3 - reviews of my writing are welcome ;)

⊹₊˚ʚ❛masterlist❜ɞ

A groan leaves Hyunjin's lips as he raises his arms, his right hand going against his left shoulder in an invalid attempt to ease his pain. His girlfriend watches him lie down on the living room couch while preparing snacks for them to watch movies together. She sighs displeased at the sight of her tired boyfriend.

It's been almost a month since Hyunjin has been coming home very late almost every day, busy with work that overwhelms him and keeps him busy until the early hours. Y/n admired the commitment he had to everything he did, always delivering the best results in his efforts. But when it started to affect him not only psychologically but also physically she had to talk to him.

He just explained with a tired gleam in his eyes that her hard work was paying off and that she didn't need to worry. Of course, she knew she would resist at first, but she couldn't help but worry about him and seeing him fidgeting on the living room couch on what was supposed to be their movie night, it made his bones ache and his heart squeeze in his chest.

Leaving what she was doing in the kitchen, Y/n cleaned the non-existent dirt from her hands by clapping them together before sitting down next to Hyunjin, He lifted her legs so she could settle next to him. "My love, do you want to go to sleep? You're tired and I promise I won't be upset-"

"No, no, no! Nothing like that, I finally arrived early this week and you already want to get rid of me?” His usual playful tone would make her laugh, but Y/n was more worried than anything else. Hyunjin gets up and wraps her in a hug, kissing the top of her head and speaking in a very low tone, his voice almost dragging in tiredness, "I promise I'm fine. I just want to spend time with the most beautiful girlfriend in the world." He laughs, kissing your cheek and then a simple kiss on your lips.

As if in a snap, an idea flashes in your head and a mischievous smile appears on your lips. Y/n quickly gets up, taking Hyunjin's hands as she pulls him towards the bedroom. Still laughing, Hyunjin looks at her confused and curious about where she wants to go. "Honey, what are you doing?" She lightly pushes him to sit on the bed while hovering over him with a loving, cheerful gaze. "Take off your shirt.”

Hyunjin's eyes widen as his voice catches in his throat. He watches her in surprise as Y/n walks towards the bathroom. "What?" He asks quietly, wondering if his tired mind made him hear wrong. "Take it off, I'll get the cream and be right back."

"What do you mean?" He stands up abruptly and feels pain in his back, making him lean lightly on the dresser next to him. His face started to heat up, his ears were red and he put his long blonde locks in front to cover them. His girlfriend enters the room with a smile and a slight expression of doubt as he is standing and clearly a little desperate. "What's wrong? Sit down. I'm sure you'll like it." She rests her hands on Hyunjin's shoulders, forcing him, albeit carefully, to sit on the bed again.

She snorts when she sees his resistance to taking off his shirt and walks around the bed, sitting behind him. She grabs the hem of his shirt, pulling it up. Hyunjin bites his bottom lip, still nervous, but leaves Y/n in control of the awkward situation. After taking it off, the girl ties his hair into a messy bun so that it is not visible from behind.

Hesitantly, Hyunjin waits for what will happen not before he feels something cold on his back, giving him a shiver, soon after feeling small, light hands massaging the area of ​​his shoulders and neck, relief and embarrassment almost completely takes over him, not before being led to lie on his stomach so that he could facilitate the massage being distributed to his back.

He felt his muscles relax with the soft and sure touch of his girlfriend's hands, as if she knew the right spots where the pain presided in his limbs. Some time later, when his eyes were too heavy to keep open, he hears the soft sound of the lid of the jar of cream closing and a weight sinks beside him.

With his sleepy eyes already open, he finds his girlfriend looking at him affectionately with a relieved smile at finally seeing her boyfriend relaxed after days of tension and a lot of effort. He puts the shirt back on but not before pulling it up, where her head rests on his chest now covered by the thin fabric. She breathes in the scent of vanilla and medicinal cream that Hyunjin now exhales, closing her eyes as well, exhaustion finally hitting her.

"Did you like the massage?" She asks softly, hoping for a positive review from her boyfriend. With a low, sleepy laugh, Hyunjin kisses her on the forehead before speaking, "Thank you so much, I loved it. I really needed it, I think I feel a lot better now." He ponders for a moment before confessing quietly, "but I have to tell the truth, I thought it was something else. I'm sorry."

"Another thing? What do you mean" Y/n asks him, confused, but too tired to think about what it could be.

"Oh, my love… it's too embarrassing to say out loud."

A/N - I hope you enjoyed! It was a different style of chapter that I decided to write. I'll try to post the maknae line from the stray kids Headcanons that I posted a while ago! You can access the first part here. Leave your feedback, I will be very grateful <3 like × reblog!¡ original by:: @hyunjinners ^-^

#hyunjin x you #hwang hyunjin #skz #stray kids #skz x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin #hyunjinners #stray kids fluff #stray kids hyunjin #fanfic #funny skz one shot #skz x stay #skz x you #skz x y/n #jinnie #hyunjinnie x reader #hwang x you #hwang x reader #hwang hyujin imagines #one shot hyunjin #fanfic skz #hyunjin fanfic #hwang hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin stray kids #koreanxreader #kpop x reader #jypartists #stray kids smut

[annmarcus63]

I've always love the idea of game Geralt x series Jaskier.

Here's an idea. While training, Ciri's powers went out of control sending Game!Geralt to the Series!The witcher universe. Game Geralt meets Jaskier and Geralt. The pair agree to help him get to Kaer Morhen, since when Ciri comes looking for him, she would look there first.  Here's a soulmate story, a thread with two ends. Geralt doesn't want him, but someone else might.

"Are there ....soulmates...in your world?" They are sitting in front of a small bonfire where a boar leg is getting cooked. The sunset shimmer has blue and purple shades that rain on them. The Geralt from another universe (Jaskier calls him BeardGeralt and BeardGeralt likes it cause it sounds like bear, like a...pet name) tilts his head towards him, showing he has his entire attention.

"I don’t think so."

“Oh” BeardGeralt smiles, his handsome face lighting with barely concealed fondness that shows every time they talk in private. His Geralt, the real Geralt, is currently brushing off Roach trying to appear as if he's not listening to their conversation. "Disappointed, are you?" Jaskier snorts.

"No really. Actually I'm relieved my counterpart doesn't have one, it wouldn't be fair, to me I mean."

"Then you'll be glad to know he's goddamn miserable. Couldn't catch a single fly." Jaskier's face lights up like a child on their name day. "Egotistical and malicious. You share those with Dandelion" adds BeardGeralt without a trace of judgment or anger, only amusement.

"But more handsome" says Jaskier with a wink, BeardGeralt gives him an appreciative look, a slight smile hidden under his beard. Jaskier has been feeling this tension between them. Not entirely sexual per se but more, something mysterious that's calling them. He has always flirt with his Geralt but he has never responded, has never been interested, but It's not the same with BeardGeralt and it feels nice, to be wanted for once, for more than a quick fuck. He must also admit that it is nice to hold the interest of one Geralt, even if it's not his, his soulmate. It shows him in a way that destiny wasn't wrong with them, that Jaskier could have been wanted by his soulmate, at least in another universe. That they could have been happy together. 

"He's happy. He's with Priscilla" BeardGeralt says calmly, looking at the fire briefly. Jaskier tries to remember if he has known a Priscilla, he hasn't.

“Bastard” Jaskier throws his arms in the air in melodramatic surrender. He's not upset, not really, he's glad his duplicate from this other universe in which soulmates don’t exist is happy, but that doesn't make him any less of a lucky bastard. After all his biggest competition has always been himself, this Dandelion is him, so, yeah it feels like a competition. One that Jaskier is losing. 

Jaskier is so immersed in his own reasoning that he gets caught up when BeardGeralt asks in a cautious voice "Where's yours?"

"My what?"

“Soulmate” And that's the thing, isn't it? He has a soulmate and a mark on his forearm to prove it and that soulmate is, in fact, a few meters from them tending to his horse.

There must be something in his expression, a dull compliance that has woven, somehow, on his heart (and people says the eyes are the windows of the heart), because the other Geralt dawns on the fact that Geralt from this world is Jaskier's soulmate. 

And suddenly his Geralt is there, in front of them whelling the leg above the fire "It's burning" he growls looking up and meeting BeardGeralt’s eyes. Cat-like eyes, they both have beautiful eyes, they're the same and so unique at the same time, apart from each other. His Geralt is younger, he has a soul of one who still hasn't found how to live with pain and self-hatred. BeardGeralt is older, the kind of good wine older, he has a soul of one who has learned to live with all of it, he’s wiser and is full of quiet regret.

The witchers are speaking with their eyes, two predators speaking the same language. They stop the staring contest after a few seconds. The other Geralt doesn't ask again and Jaskier is relieved. Later, when the moon is glowing in the sky and they're trying to sleep, Jaskier thinks of how warm BeardGeralt feels next to him, it's cold so they're sleeping close to each other and wonders what it would be to be loved by him.

I'm posting this here again with small changes

If you want to read more let me know

love u

#the witcher #geraskier #the witcher 3 #geralt of rivia #jaskier #dandelion #geralt x jaskier #What if BeardGeralt has a dandelion on his body #BeradGeralt thinks Jaskier is so extravagant and flamboyant and ridiculous and #chilsdish and generous and caring and beautiful and perfect and oh my gad is he in love? #SeriesGeralt is jealous as fuck #Jaskier deserves love

[chiriwritesstuff]

... in Every Universe - A Roswell-inspired Modern! Din Djarin x F! Reader Soulmates AU (Prologue)

Chapter Rating: M

Chapter Summary: At five years old, you're found wandering alone in a weird town called Roswell and have no recollection of how you got there. 20 years later, you're working at your adoptive family's diner and you can't help the connection you feel with the town's bounty hunter, who just can't stop staring at you... what happens when you're on the brink of death and the man in question saves you in a way you can't explain?

Chapter Tags and Warnings: Canon divergent, minor descriptions of violence towards the reader (she gets shot), flashes between different universes and POVs, eventual smut, explicit language, loosely based on 'Roswell' (the 1999 WB series), Grogu exists in all universes, no beta we die like men!

Word Count: 1.7k

Nova

"Here we go! One meteor shake and one Alien Blood for the lady!"

You place the drinks down on the table, a forced smile gracing your lips as you eye the eccentric couple across from you. Arching a curious eyebrow, you take in their vibrant Crash Festival shirts, suppressing the urge to snort. "So, are you two here for the Crash Festival this weekend?"

"We sure are!" the man excitedly says, placing an arm around his girlfriend. "It's our first time here in Roswell. Are you from here?"

"Proud to say my family's been in Roswell for at least the last four generations," you declare, a hint of pride coloring your words as you wipe your hands on your apron.�� Sure, you think to yourself.  I was actually found wandering around town by myself not knowing who I was at five years old before being found by your adoptive father one night, but how would they know?

The couple's faces light up with excitement, drawing closer to you. "So your family must know about what happened all those years ago then?" the woman asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "...with the crash, that is?"

"Well, I guess since you both seem like nice folks, it wouldn't hurt to share this with you," you say conspiratorially, reaching into your apron and withdrawing a folded paper. "I assume you can keep a secret?"

The couple's eyes widen as they slowly take the photo out of your hands, their mouths agape in astonishment. Your coworker Omera rolls her eyes as she passes by, coffee pot in hand, chuckling quietly to herself. "You are so bad," she whispers in your ear. "You're lucky your dad isn't around, I'm sure Greef would sprout another head if he had to deal with your antics once again," she adds, offering refills to the two men at the table next to you.  

"Refill, gentlemen?" Omera asks the men, frowning as she notices their aggravated state.

"Does it look like we need any refills?" one of the men asks harshly, waving her off. "Just go away!" he shouts, glaring at her. She gives you a frown as she turns around.  

You wave her off quickly, turning your attention back to the couple.  

"My grandfather actually was working near the crash site when he was younger and managed to take a picture before the feds arrived to clean up the scene," you whisper, glancing to your side to make sure no one else can hear your conversation. The photo shows a grotesque alien amongst the wreckage of a crash site, obviously fake.  

"Does anyone else know about this photograph?" the woman presses, taking note of your hesitance.  

"Well, I know about it, and now you guys know, too." You say seriously, trying not to laugh at their obliviousness.  

"Woah, this is fucking insane!" the man exclaims quietly, looking at the photograph once more.  

"I'll be right back, alright?" you suddenly say, a serious look on your face. "Don't show that to anyone, okay?"

"Yeah!" they both sputter, the man folding the photograph and placing it in his pocket. "Your secret's safe with us!" the woman whispers, nodding.

You nod back at her, straightening yourself up. You catch up to Omera as she laughs at the mischievous expression on your face.  

"You are such a menace!" Omera playfully smacks you as the two of you make your way back to the kitchen, a satisfied smirk on your face. "Oh, and Din Djarin is staring at you again," she adds, discreetly nodding in his direction.

"No way!" you exclaim, pushing her into the kitchen. "Omera, that is so in your imagination!"

You turn to look in the direction of the man in question, your eyes meeting his as he clears his throat, quickly breaking eye contact and glancing at his young son seated next to him. Your breath suddenly catches in your throat as you nervously glance back at your friend, the collar of your scratchy uniform suddenly too tight and constricting. "Din Djarin? This?" you point to yourself, shaking your head at your best friend. "No, uh-uh."

"Oh, but with those cheeks and that smile of yours? How can that handsome brooding man resist the princess of Roswell, huh?"

"Omera, come on, cut it out!" you exclaim, waving your hands in protest. "...and even if he was staring at me, it doesn't matter. I'm with Cobb! He's steady, sexy, and totally into me!" you declare, nodding to yourself as if trying to convince yourself as well.

"It sounds like you're describing a golden retriever or something," Omera deadpans, walking back towards the dining hall. "Sounds awfully exciting, shacking up with the Sheriff and all that," she mutters to you, shaking her head. "Why have dependable vanilla sex when you can have exciting mysterious sex with Roswell's resident bounty hunter? I bet he could fuck you five ways to-"

"I gave you a week!" the man from the neighboring table shouts, jumping up and pulling out a gun from his pocket. "You're about to see what happens when you mess around!"

"Nova!" Omera's voice rings out suddenly. "Call your dad, things are getting crazy!"

Before you can react, the other man lunges at the one with the gun, struggling to disarm him. In the chaos, the gun goes off, and you feel a sharp pain as you're hit.

"Oh my god!" Omera exclaims, turning to the other patrons. "Is everyone okay?" She looks towards your direction, her eyes widening in shock as she sees you curled up on the floor. "Nova!" she screams as the dining room descends into chaos, the two men running out of the restaurant in a hurry before someone calls 911. "Someone, help!" she screams into the crowd frantically.

Din 

Din jumps as he sees the bullet go in your direction, glancing at his young son still seated in the chair next to him. "Grogu, are you okay?"

"Yes, dada," he shakily responds, his eyes glancing at your crumpled form. "Nova's hurt!" he exclaims, pointing in your direction. "Grogu help her!" he cries, attempting to get out of his seat.

"No!" Din shouts, "You stay right there, I'll help her, okay? Stay with Uncle Boba!"

"Din, no," Boba warns through gritted teeth. "We can't risk getting exposed-"

"I can't just fucking leave her to bleed out!" Din cries helplessly, looking in your direction. "I need to help her!"

As he rushes toward you, Omera follows closely behind. "Call 911!" he commands, using it as a diversion to keep her away, not wanting her near the two of you as he grapples internally with what he's about to do.

"Nova," he whispers, ripping your uniform away from your body, his eyes trained on the blood pooling on your torso. "I need you to look at me, can you do that for me?" he pleads, placing a hand behind your head. "Nova," he begs, "Please baby, I need you to look at me."

Your eyes flutter open slightly as he gazes intently back at you, his hand applying pressure to your wound with gentle urgency. Vivid images flood your mind as Din focuses on healing you.

In an instant, you're in a desert, brandishing a laser sword against a lizard-like adversary. A voice calls out, and you're struck from behind by a blaster shot. Then, as Din presses harder on your wound, you're transported to a spaceship, writhing in pain as you clutch your abdomen. A figure stands beside you, armored and mysterious, their helmet removed. But before you can identify the man in armor, you snap back to reality, meeting the deep brown eyes of Din once more.

Din breathes a sigh of relief as the wound on your torso closes, his eyes fluttering closed as he recalls the visions he shared with you moments before. She can't be, he thinks to himself, his hands cradling your face gently as he draws you closer to him, pulling you into the safety of his chest. "You're okay, Nova," he whispers against your ear. "You're with me, alright? Stay with me."

"Dada," Grogu's sudden cry breaks the moment, his face etched with concern. "Did you heal mama?"

"What did you say?" Din's voice is filled with disbelief as he looks at his son. "What did you call her?"

"Mama," Grogu repeats, attempting to reach you. "I felt her pain just now, I knew I saw her in my dreams-"

"Djarin!" Boba's sudden shout startles you, and Grogu protests as he's lifted up, reaching out toward both of you. "We've got to go, NOW!"

Din swiftly assesses the situation, gently setting you back down on the ground before grabbing a nearby bottle of ketchup. Squeezing it over your chest and uniform, he meets your gaze with urgency. "You took a fall and broke the bottle accidentally," he whispers to you, swiftly rising to his feet. "Please, if Cobb asks, just say it was a nasty fall, okay?" With that, he dashes towards the door, joining Boba and Grogu already waiting in the idling car outside.

You nod as Omera rushes to your side, helping you up as you watch Din jump into the car and speed away.

"Nova," Omera says, her voice filled with concern as she takes in your disheveled appearance. "What in the hell just happened?"

"I don't know," you stammer, trying to make sense of it all. You close your eyes once more, and it feels as though you're still in that spaceship, with Din's hands clasping yours as he gazes back at you, tears streaming down his face. Your heart races as you glance down at your wounded form, only to find yourself suddenly pregnant, your eyes widening in disbelief at your swollen abdomen.

"Stay with me, Nova," Din pleads in your memory, tearing away your tunic as blood gushes from your abdomen. "Please, stay with me," he cries, tears cascading down his face as he tenderly caresses your pregnant belly. "Please Cyar'ika, please don't leave me!"

"Nova!" Omera's desperate screams are the last thing you hear as you slip into unconsciousness, the world around you plunging into darkness.

#Din Djarin #modern din djarin #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin/reader #mando #grogu #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x original female character #din djarin fic #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction

[glorious-spoon]

he speaks the languages of love [9-1-1 | Buck/Eddie | 1/1]

he speaks the languages of love

4k words | Explicit established relationship | phone sex

-

Eddie has been in Texas for nearly two weeks, and Buck has been extremely patient about it, in his opinion. True, it's possible that none of his coworkers would agree with that assessment, but in his defense, he's been existing in a state of sexual frustration not seen since Eddie shoved him against a wall and stuck his tongue down his throat after that close call with the cruise ship back in April.

"Good to know where I rate," Eddie says when Buck tells him this on their phone call the night before he's supposed to come home. He's just come off a twenty-four, so Chris is over at Pepa's and he's back at the loft. The lonely, empty loft.

"I mean it's not just that," Buck protests. "I do actually miss you."

Eddie snorts. "Is that why you bit Ravi's head off earlier today when he was talking about his date staying over?"

"You heard about that, huh?"

"No shit," Eddie says, laughing. "You didn't notice that we work with the biggest gossips on the West Coast?"

"Okay, well, first of all, I apologized for that—"

"Uh huh."

"And also, Hen blows things out of proportion."

"Oh, yeah, that sounds like Hen."

"Okay, fine," Buck admits. "I've been kind of a dick. She threatened to drown me in a washing machine earlier, and honestly, I probably deserved it."

"A washing machine?"

"This guy got stuck—it was a whole thing." He flops back on the bed, staring up at his empty ceiling in his empty loft. "Feels weird being at work without you there."

"I'll be back for our next shift."

"Yeah, I know," Buck sighs. "So, I mean. It's not just sexual frustration, for the record."

"Sure. I just think maybe it's a good thing Chris will be at school so he doesn't have to see you jump me the minute I get back."

"Well, when you put it like that," Buck admits. Eddie laughs, and he adds, "Okay, but you gotta understand, this is like—six months of finally actually getting to put my hands on you, and then I have to go cold turkey for two weeks? It's hard."

"In every sense of the word, I guess," Eddie says, because he's never met a dumb joke he didn't love. Buck groans, laughing.

"You're such an asshole."

"Uh huh. So you're saying you don't want to fuck me into the mattress when I get back?"

"Okay, I didn't say that."

"That's what I thought."

"I do want to, for the record. I've always wanted to. From, like, day one."

Eddie laughs warmly in his ear. "You're so full of it."

"Am not."

"You hated my guts the first day we met."

"Yeah," Buck admits. He yawns, then smears a hand over his mouth. It's late. They should probably both get some sleep. It's just that he really never wants to stop talking to Eddie, especially now that he's two thousand miles away instead of in Buck's bed, where he belongs. "I kinda did. You were infuriatingly perfect."

A snort. "Right."

"Still wanted to fuck you, though."

There's a couple of beats of silence. Then Eddie says, "Yeah?"

-

Continue reading on AO3

#911 #buddie #911 fic #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #my fic

[natelia-aldelliz]

More ghost! Roach - Accidental Necromancer Soap AU : little moments

141 in the middle of a briefing, when suddenly Soap gasps, interrupting Price. Everyone turns to look at him and he looks back like a deer in headlights, apologises with a stammered excuse, something like he saw a spider or something, and the meeting continues with dubious looks.

"You're so bad at that," Roach giggles from where he's floating around above the table. "It wasn't even that big of a news, they were flirting for months! I have way worse, you know one of the Corporals under your command, the redhead one? She's been secretely married for years to the medic lady that stitched you up last week! Stop gaping at me, where's your pokerface oh my god-"

And then Soap uses all that information to win bets against Gaz.

Or also, Roach telling jokes while there's people around Soap. "Don't laugh," he taunts him. "Don't even smile or they'll know you're crazier than they think."

And then he tells the worst joke ever and Soap can't help the snort that escapes him and again, everyone turns to look at him.

"I can't believe you're laughing in a room full of explosives tied to people," Roach gasps, knowing full well that's exactly the result he wanted.

Soap rolls his eyes at him quickly and focuses back on defusing. He'll get him back when they're alone and he doesn't look weird talking to the air.

"He knows you find him hot, he's neither blind nor stupid," Roach says, peeking above Ghost's shoulder. "If you want him to blush you need to call him 'pretty'. Worked every time..."

And he's right. When Soap tells Ghost he's a bonnie lad, explains what it means, it's very obvious how flustered he becomes, and the visible part of the bridge of his nose gets very red.

"Be ready to be grabbed at every opportunity, his love language is physical touch but he'd rather die than admit it."

Roach has a bit of a poltergeist moment when he finds out he can touch things again. Cups go flying into walls, chairs move around, shoes disappear. Roach is very overwhelmed and gets non verbal, which is a bit hard because Soap only knows the basics of BSL and has to ask Ghost to translate by copying live what Roach is saying. (Ghost, who has seen the ghost of his dead lover save his life just a day before objects started flying, recognising in the back of his mind the quirks of Roach's way of signing being reproduced by Soap, but not willing to believe yet)

It lasts a few days and the whole base is convinced they're haunted by a ghost. They're not wrong, Soap wants to say. And not only one, but the others are far more apathetic, barely there.

Then Roach calms down, all at once, when he realises that maybe... maybe he can touch people too. He's very nervous. It's been years since he touched someone, years of his hand going through Ghost's arm as he tried to make him see him. Years of not feeling the warmth of a living being.

That scares him. What if he can touch Soap, but he doesn't feel anything? What if it feels the same as the glasses he's been trying to juggle for days?

So he waits until Soap is asleep and he holds out his finger, slowly, hands trembling, and presses it softly to Soap's forehead. He's... He's warm, he realises with a gasp. He's warm!

Soap wakes up to sobbing and soft fingers on his cheeks and in his hair. He gets reassured very quickly that it's happy sobbing and Roach kisses him.

Ghost, after learning about the ghosts existence, starts having really bad nightmares every night. Has to be reassured that no, he's not actually a ghost. He hasn't actually died in that grave, he's here, he's warm and he's alive and loved.

#cod mw2 #john soap mactavish #gary roach sanderson #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghostroach #soaproach #ghostsoaproach #accidental necromancer soap and ghost roach au #oh imagine soap saying 'excuse me' walking around someone in the corridor and the other people looking at him like ? bc there's no one #because it was just a ghost walking around and he didn't realise #gaz going 'cap i think there's something wrong with soap' 'yeah i know he ate all your cereals...' 'no no something actually wrong as in #horror movie wrong he speaks to people who don't exist' '... and your first thought is horror movie? before ptsd or schizophrenia or smth?' #'yes i know he's... well i'm pretty sure he's fine he's just speaking with ghosts i'm sure of it' #and soap - sweating - being like 'ahah speaking with ghosts? me? ahah ghosts don't even exist what are you talking about ahah?' #and gaz just looking at price like see? see how bad he's lying? and price thinking it's such a bad lie that it's probably a joke

[nunalastor]

Our Boyfriend: Euphoria Addition

Starring Lucifer as Mandy and Michael as Cassie

Michael wakes up at 4:00 am to start his three hour ritual of getting ready to visit the Hazbin Hotel. But for one reason only because he only thought of one thing.

Alastor is walking the opposite direction of the hallway. Michael is smiling shyly at the sinner, but Alastor just passed by him and ignored the archangel’s existence. Michael would continue his ritual, with every scrub, serum, face mask, lotions etc. Everytime he walked through the halls of the hotel it was always the same results, but Michael would just get anxious and excited when he would see the Radio Demon coming his way. And despite Alastor’s lack of attention, it was Michael’s way of telling him that he was his. Then Michael finally decided to cut his hair and wear a similar outfit as his brother. In fact, he looked like a complete replica!

When Alastor passed Michael, he nodded his head and greeted him with a, “Sire”

Michael felt like was going to burst in excitement, until Lucifer spotted him.

Lucifer: Hey Bro!

Michael: Hi…

Lucifer: Wait, why do you look-

Michael: I hear Charlie calling us!

Lucifer Finds Out

Lucifer chases after Michael, who locks himself in his room.

Lucifer: Open the fucking door Michael ! Open the door and tell me it was worth it! You owe me that! (Bangs the door trying to open it) Open the fucking door Michael! What kind of brother are you!? What the fuck!?

Charlie grabs her dad’s shoulder trying to coax him to leave, but Lucifer breaks down crying. His forehead on the door, while Michael is on the other side of that door quiet.

Lucifer: I’m just sick of it! I’m sick of it! He cast me down to hell and now he’s trying to steal my boyfriend! Like what the fuck!? When is going to end?

Lucifer grabs the doorknob to open the door again.

Lucifer: Open the fucking door Michael! Open the fucking door!

Charlie: Dad, he’s not going to open the door. Let’s just go.

Lucifer: You know what Michael, you’re a fucking coward! I would have never done this to you! (More tears run down his face) I would have never done this to you…

Family Dinner in Heaven

All the angels decided to have a dinner in heaven, when the subject of Michael’s betrayal is brought up.

Emily: Wait, Michael tried to steal Lucifer’s boyfriend?

Adam snorts in the background he says, “Karma’s a bitch”

Michael: I don’t know how many times I have to say this, they weren’t fucking official!

Lucifer: Yeah and he tried to fuck him, while pretending to be me!

Emily: Nooo…why?!

Lucifer: Because Michael is a too faced Judas!

Michael: You’re the original Judas!

Lucifer: You’re fucking Judas bitch!

Sera: Language!!!

👀

#hazbin hotel #nunalastor asks #our boyfriend #michael #lucifer

[ronearoundblindly]

Ransom x reader

Enemies to lovers , bot came from wealthy backgrounds as one is a trust fund (ran) then the other has her life getting good with a buissness outside her family . Why are they enemies at first? Shes admired for not relying on her folks too much as a teen and down to earth , enjoys the finer things as she views them as a reward or gift but ransom Demands that shit they also bicker how shes freinds with people bellow her and she sasses him how he always rely on perks thats petty

Warnings: so. much. cursing. It's all from Ransom's point of view, and since he's a disturbing(ly sexy) asshole, that translates to language. Plus smut (protected sex) MINORS DNI. 18+ ONLY. Reader's background/company is ambiguous. Also of note is the 'enemies' portion is quite subtle. WC 4k

The Root of All Ransom, Part One (see series)

There’s new money and then there’s new money.

Ransom loves the smell of new, physical money, and because he spends so much of it, he gets to feel those crisp bills all the time. Sure, his black card gets the same look at a register, but the plastic gets tattered after a while. The metal cards are a nice touch. Hefty. Metal makes a great tapping sound when he’s bored of waiting for a retail worker to do their fucking job and let him leave already. Cash is easiest to toss down and run out. He likes all forms of money. Ransom is diverse that way.

You, however, you are the New Money, the shit that’s a title, the shit that’s been earned, and it reminds him of his mother’s ranting. ‘Self-made’ his ass. Grandpa Harlan never made Linda repay a dime; that’s not a million-dollar loan. That’s good, old-fashioned nepotism. That’s inheritance come early. Old Harlan is Old Money, but New Money You is just as stale.

“She’s a breath of fresh air,” the middle-aged woman beside him coos.

Fucking gross.

Each time Ransom sees you he gets a foul taste in his mouth. His nostrils flare. He can smell the budgeting on you even at a distance. For every one of these events (with swag bags and a charity write-off promise) where you make a speech after receiving an award for whatever—he’s already too bored to listen—Ransom drinks heavily to make it to the end of the night.

He hasn’t given a dime, mind you, but Harlan has, and Linda has. Neither of them ever wants to go hobnob. Linda would but can’t trust Richard at these things, so she sticks to daytime shindigs. Walt is a bumbling, awkward mess, so he can’t represent anything other than why big pharma for every neurosis exists. He’s not welcome. Instead, it falls to nowhere-else-to-be Ransom. 

He thought he’d hate the events as much as the company until he found a thick, silver lining: some starry-eyed wannabe is always seated at an adjacent table. Handsome, young Ransom is guaranteed someone to go home with. Bonus points if they give head during the car ride.

Tonight though, he fucks up.

Ransom Drysdale makes the mistake of chatting up your date: your friend, Mariah, from high school who’s in town for the weekend. She’s doing a remarkable impression of a bimbo socialite, and he’s already wasted most of the meal trying to land an unattainable prize—though not a worthwhile prize, obviously.

It’s not his fault; he was at the bar when you and Mariah arrived, so he had no clue.

He expects you to be defensive once you make your way back to the table after your speech and find your friend with him. Ran is sure his reputation precedes him. He looks great in the photo ops just as he looks for great ass. He thinks your smile seems forced until you get closer. All you do is tell them to enjoy themselves.

Mariah here looks like she’s about to drop to her knees under the table, and you’re gonna let her?

You can’t possibly be stupid enough to trust him, can you?

He snorts out a chuckle, thinking you may know your business but you clearly do not know people. He wants to fuck Mariah. Then he really wants Mariah to tell you about fucking him, ad nauseam, hopefully, multiple times. Then he’s not sure whether he’d prefer you want to fuck him or you be mad about him fucking Mariah. He’ll have to wait and see.

“Isn’t she the best,” Mariah tosses out as flippantly as her hair extensions over her exposed shoulders. “I’m surprised she wanted me to come instead of a real date.”

“Sure,” he swigs his whisky quickly, “but then I wouldn’t get you for the evening, too.”

If he’s not mistaken, Mariah just soaked the pretty little thong he can just see the outline of in her tight dress, so Ran lays on a few more easy moves and thinks it’s a done deal.

Alas, he is wrong, and you and your friend leave together smiling while he races to text a booty call to meet at his place in a half-hour.

It’s all very frustrating, and Ransom hates you that much more.

Ransom has two new coats, a half-dozen new shirts, a three-piece suit, three new pairs of shoes, and he’s looking for the piece de resistance: a scarf (or several).

He loves accessories because he loves to change things up. He gets bored extremely easily, and he feels better when he treats himself.

In Hermès, he eyes a few options. He might even bother to get that one for his mother just because it has a few hideous accent colors he knows she’ll hate. Linda will still smile tightly and fake gratitude; it’s the only type of gratitude she knows. He doesn’t find anything for himself though, so he heads to the counter and recognizes the curves of a woman’s backside…in a dress that he’s seen in multiple candid tabloid shots.

How old is that garment? Jesus. Have some pride, woman.

His bored greeting startles you.

“Mr. Drysdale,” you exclaim, hand over your heart, “good to see you again.”

Is it?

“Right,” he grumbles roughly. “What brings you out of your goodie-two-shoes hole this afternoon?”

You seem excited, but in a different way than he’s ever noticed. At events, you are the picture of humility, full of genuine gratitude (and possibly the only reason he knows what that looks like), but this is something else.

The salesman returns with your order and unboxes a Birkin bag for you to inspect.

Now you’re just plain giddy, overjoyed, and vibrating, and Ransom preens a little to see Ms. High-and-Mighty so lowered as to indulge in retail therapy.

That’s a twenty-five thousand dollar bag you’re holding.

“Nice color,” Ransom chides, but he isn’t rewarded with your deterrence. You simply turn to beam at him.

“My favorite!” Your hands return to sweeping over the beautiful pebbled leather. “I had to wait for years—which is fine—“ you quickly add “—but I promised myself I’d do ten hours a week of volunteer work to earn such an extravagance.”

“Are you going to use it?”

You nod without turning back to him.

“Are you going to enjoy it?”

Another saleswoman motions to help him with the scarf he holds, and Ransom says nothing to her but drops his black card on the counter.

“Very much so,” you say quietly, almost like a confession.

“Then what’s so crazy about that?”

You giggle. You actually giggle. You don’t tell him how wrong he is or judge his spending in any way, which is surprising when that’s all those events he knows you from are for—to get him to spend money their way.

Ransom doesn’t know what compels him to stand there with his small purchase and watch while your bag gets squared away. You don’t choose to wear it out of the store, something he finds patently ridiculous because it’s a fucking Birkin and you’re about to walk out of Hermes with it in a box in another bag.

He pushes off the counter to walk out with you, an idea springing up.

“You’ve met my mother, I believe.”

Your polite smile gives nothing away. “Yes, a few times. Very briefly.”

“Her birthday is next month—” he lets an employee open the door for you both “—her sixtieth, allegedly.”

“Oh, well, tell her happy birthday for me.”

“You could come.”

Your face scrunches but whether from his offer or the bright sun on the street, he doesn’t know. His sunglasses are already on. You rummage around in what looks like a tapestry bag on the bad side of vintage for yours. 

This is why you should have left using the Birkin, and he’s honestly surprised Hermès even served you looking like you do.

Where’s all that new money now, he thinks, because one bag is certainly not all of it.

“Why not? You both own businesses and run in similar circles.”

“Hugh, I don’t think—“

“Ransom,” he corrects with a sneer.

“Well, I just…” You regard him thoroughly for a long moment until a black car pulls up and its driver opens the door for you.

There it is. There’s a bit of pomp. He’s almost proud to see you being served. You’re just like him—or rather his family—in a way; you have help.

“Fine,” you say to Ransom while nodding to your driver, “text me the details, and I’ll see if I’m in town.” Even though your words are dismissive, they sound genuine and kind.

Yuck.

Your driver fishes a card from his breast pocket and curtly adds a ‘sir,’ before shutting you behind tinted windows.

Ok, so it’s not the easiest ‘yes’ he’s ever gotten. It wasn’t a ‘no’ either. Good news is that Ransom is not holding his breath. If it works, it works.

The idea is to flaunt you in front of Linda, not romantically, of course, but as a younger woman, perceived as better, more self-made, more successful, with a Birkin bag in his mother’s actual favorite color, while he gives her a scarf she’ll be revolted by. It’s perfect.

This did not at all go to plan.

Linda is supposed to be pissed. She’s supposed to be appalled and furious and have to hide that from her guests—which is most of the family, catering staff, and Harlan’s house help. She’s supposed to look at Ransom and know that he did this on purpose.

He told you not to bring a present for a reason, but he made damn sure when he picked you up that you were wearing that damn bag.

How the fuck was he supposed to know you’d go and be the dumbest bitch ever?

Linda got through two whole sentences of greeting after obviously clocking the Birkin and then turned it about her. She’s predictable that way, but you are not.

“That’s my favorite color,” she said.

“Mine too,” you said.

You both fucking laughed.

“I’ve always wanted one,” she said.

“You should have one,” you said.

He should have known right then except for on what planet does someone…

Ransom only stepped out for a few minutes to mess with Walt, smoking that sickening cigar. When he comes back in, there on the table right beside Linda is your bag. He looks around, but you aren’t in the living room. Then his mom smiles and pets the Birkin possessively.

“Oh, Ran, that girl is so sweet,” Linda coos.

Richard snorts in astonishment. “She’s really something.”

Ransom cringes at the lustful leer on his father’s face while he stares off toward the library.

What the shit? 

You gave his mother your bag? After one minute of conversation?

God fucking damn it.

He has no words. Ran just purses his lips and stalks off to the other room in search of you. You’re deep in conversation with Harlan, seated across from each other in the bay windows of the library in high-backed upholstered chairs. On the floor beside your foot is a Blood Like Wine tote, partially filled.

“Grandpa,” he interrupts, leaning one arm against your chair with a questioning gaze.

“Ransom, my boy, it’s good to see you.” Before he can get a word in, Harlan waves an arthritis-gnarled hand in your direction. “Have you met my neighbor?”

“Neighbor?”

You shrug with a weak smile. “I purchased the Carlyles’ old property last year but kept my apartment in town.”

He’s thrown off by this news, thinking. “That’s walking distance from here,” Ransom says flatly.

“Yes, it is. That’s why I can find my own way home tonight.”

“Ah,” Harlan taps his nose, “so you two know each other.”

“Your grandson was kind enough to invite me.”

“And you made quite a fucking impression,” Ransom growls while putting a hand on your shoulder.

Harlan flicks Ransom away. “Don’t be creepy, son. Get the lady a drink.”

“Mr. Thrombey, please.” You stand, forcibly pushing his hand off of you. “Ransom’s your family. Why don’t I get you boys something while you catch up?”

“Whiskey, neat, two fingers,” Ransom bitterly spits, shoving the hand in his jean pocket.

Harlan tsks him with a solemn look.

“The same,” his grandfather sighs before returning your smile. “I appreciate it, dear.”

“Anytime.”

Ran fights the urge to kick your tote on the floor.

Harlan simply moves on. “One of my next novels is an intrigue of corruption, involves a non-profit, and Good Miss was enlightening me to a few details of their inner workings.”

“Glad you both can turn it off for five minutes,” Ransom grunts back.

Harlan’s sharp gaze lands on him.

“While I am glad you did not use her and lose her, as they say.”

“God, no,” Ransom groans in revulsion. “She’s here to rub Linda the wrong way…not me.” He tries to bury his self-satisfied smirk in a sweater sleeve held to his mouth.

“Charming.” Harlan means anything but charming as he looks to see you side-tracked again by a chat with Marta. “You’ve done much worse before—“ he turns to the window “—but my guess is she never has.”

Ransom’s jaw twitches. This is why he hates his family, even his favorite among them. No wonder he brought someone exclusively to annoy them, hoping to make them feel small and selfish, but he forgot something important.

They’re all like him. None of them care to be selfless. They don’t want to be charitable. They are fine being perceived that way, if necessary, if it gains them something else they want.

But.

What Harlan says gives him another idea. What if he keeps you around? They are sure to lose their minds. Harlan would be impressed (and proved wrong). Richard will be jealous (although that’s still gross). Linda would be unable to manipulate that situation (though she’ll try).

Plus, Joni will hate you instantly because you’re prettier and don’t need her snake-oil skin shit.

“Harlan,” you offer his grandfather his drink first, then turn to Ran with that irritatingly kind smile. “Hugh.”

He takes the glass and flashes pearly whites.

It’s decided. He just hopes the sex won’t be as boring as he thinks. You’re definitely not a roadhead bitch.

Although based on that damn Birkin, you are stupidly generous, so he hopes that translates to the bed…or wherever he fucks you.

“Sure your shoes can take it?”

As if he can’t walk across the fucking woods…the embers of waning alcohol all push around in his gut on the trek over to the Carlyles’ place. He hasn’t gone over there since maybe freshman year of high school during a long Christmas stay at Thrombey Manor.

He was wrong. Ran’s shoes are not fine, but he has to bury that irritation down deep while entering the warm and inviting mansion filled with your...roommates?

Four other people live in a house that you sometimes stay in: Angela, Diego, Terrell, and Luca.

Ran doesn’t fucking care. This is not some weird orgy he’s planning. He almost walks right back out and floors the Beamer back to civilization.

Mercifully, you have most of the upstairs entirely to yourself, a small suite of a bedroom, office, and bathroom neatly tucked above a quieter part of the house.

He’s surprised that you drop the tote bag and start shedding clothes so quickly.

“Sorry about them. We all went to uni together and this works as a crash-pad for the internationals.”

“No problem,” he sighs, “I know what it’s like.” They’re freeloaders, like my cousin Meg, is what they are, but Ransom keeps that thought to himself.

You offer him another drink, which Ran accepts, watching you like a hawk with sky-blue eyes.

Beneath your dress, you wear a slip, a silky satin thing that actually impresses him. He’s convinced there is thick shapewear beneath it because that just seems like a you thing to do: one sexy move, one boner killer. Instead of showing him though, you spin your finger around in front of him.

“Really,” he quips. He’s already resigned to putting his dick in either way, so he doesn’t really care.

You smile too sweetly for it to read as coy. “Make yourself useful and go to my bag.”

“That’s not a bag,” he scoffs. “Might as well be made of tissue paper.”

He still obediently wanders over to the chair you draped it over and flips back a handle. Excellent. This nearly makes up for the entire party. Ran derives a sickening amount of pleasure from knowing these condoms were stored in the Birkin his mother will now carry around with pride.

He downs the remainder of his drink and whips out a wrapper. He wouldn’t care if you didn’t have any, or didn’t want to use one, or if you made some reference to them but the lights were off and didn’t check. The lights are still on though, and you’ve pointed him right to them. He’ll play ball. He hopes you play with balls, too. He hopes this is fun instead of just mediocre. He prepares himself to be actively bored, however, because that’s the most likely scenario.

It’s his usual MO. Works like a charm. Start out slow and teasing—girls tend to think it’s sensual but he’s being lazy (and they beg soon anyway)—until he can take over in exactly whatever fashion he wants. Except you don’t quite let things unfold that way.

He expects you to want him to kiss you, but you playfully turn away each time he advances. You swat his hands when he tries to touch you, only to grab the hem of his sweater and rip it off him. You don’t wait for him to unbutton his jeans before sliding cool fingers down past the band of his boxers.

Fuck, he does like it when they're forward.

He pops the button, pushes the zipper, and shuffles out of the heavy cotton while you get a good hold of him. Ransom doesn’t care that your hands are soft, just rough enough for friction and nothing more, and he doesn’t really care that your slip is still on because he’s figured something else out.

You’re not wearing underwear. He’s not sure if you were but tossed them aside while he grabbed the condom, or perhaps you’ve been speaking with his family for the better part of two hours with your cunt kissed by the same air they were all breathing, but he’s happy about it.

Ransom leans forward to you again, but instead of letting him kiss you, you look down to spit in your hand and work him harder.

“The sooner you suit up…” you taunt him, glancing at the wrapper still clutched in Ran’s hand, “sooner you get in for the night.”

He’s been with bossy doms before—not his favorite—but this is different. His instinct is that you want a show of it, maybe you want to see him touch himself, maybe you want to see his face as the tight latex is rolled down his throbbing cock, but you hold his gaze while turning your body away from him.

Since he doesn’t have to play up how he looks, Ran focuses on the expanse of skin across your back. There’s so much more than your dress showed, yet not enough, and it’s beautiful. He thinks about the same, smooth skin that must be stretched across your ass and rolls his hips against the fabric while his mouth maps your neck and shoulders.

Not romantically, of course, he’s not trying to make you feel better—you are more than capable of feeling yourself, but Ransom enjoys a little taunting of his own now and then.

His hands move to cup your breasts, and fuck, did you not have a bra on earlier either? This day is full of surprises.

His intense rutting coupled with teasing your taut nipples makes your slip catch between your ass cheeks, and he angles his dick to press through the apex of your thighs, taking the satin with him.

Pretty skin beneath his lips, pretty noises ringing in his ears, Ran pulls away.

The fresh wet spot on your slip sticks to the condom when he looks down at his demanding erection.

You’re ready. He’s ready.

Fuck, Ransom is so ready, and you know it, climbing onto the edge of your bed to get comfortable presented in all your glory, all the lights on, fingers already teasing and working yourself open.

This is already way better than he expected. He doesn’t have to work. He doesn’t have to try. He doesn’t have to fake interest. You handle your clit like the expert you are on yourself, and Ran works himself up, sheathed and thrusting in you like the expert he is on himself. Pleasure for pleasure, and fuck is it pleasurable. 

His fist holds onto the bundled satin across the small of your back, and you make natural escalating noises.

It sounds genuine.

Shit, when was the last time he didn’t get annoyed at some bitch hamming up her moans? Not that it distracted him from coming, no, he could get him whether she was dramatic or an awkward, silent one. Takes more effort when he has to ignore something she’s doing though. 

Then you demand he goes faster, and he’s into it. Then you come with a groan that’ll haunt his hindbrain, and he can feel the massaging grip and release. Then you take his balls in hand, tugging gently, and he fucking loses it.

He feels the hot flood of his cum into the condom as your walls still ripple against him. 

Damn, he doesn’t even care if you made him wrap up. That was fucking satisfying. It wasn’t even complicated, but you came and he came and that’s all he needed.

Ransom hasn’t been at a girl’s place in a while (certainly not without his car ready to get away) because he prefers to kick them out and already be home, but his hookups are usually clinging to the idea of staying the night.

You immediately go to the bathroom, clean up, and—now completely naked—stand at the foot of the bed.

“You good, Hugh? I’m on a call with Beijing in fifteen, so take your time—“ you button up a plain, blue shirt, your nipples showing right through “—or sleep or whatever. I’ll be a bit.”

“Only the help calls me Hugh.” It’s all he can come up with while he stares at your breasts and contemplates why he feels a bit used.

He got off, you’re not clinging to him, and you’ve given him an easy out. If he had to describe his perfect fucking date, this would be it, and his gut twists oddly just thinking about being dismissed.

You don’t miss a beat, heading for the door with only panties and the shirt on. Your ass pops out easily from under the hem.

“Suppose I’ll see you at the Kennedy thing next weekend, huh?”

Ran slaps his hand over his face, remembering there’s another fucking event coming up. “Yeah. Is that the stupid inner-city garden initiative?”

You hum in response, grabbing something else out of your flimsy purse tote. He better not see you carry that fucking thing around in front of actual fucking people. You don’t see him staring at your ass through his fingers before you swivel back around.

“If you need something, text me. Don’t knock.”

He snorts, knowing that he wouldn’t stay if a girl paid him to.

For one shining moment, you turn to beam at him. “Thanks for making it quick,” you chirp with a wink and shut the door behind you.

You goddamn wink at him after chucking him into the quickie category in your own mansion.

What the fuck?

Out of spite, he should just sleep here, he thinks. Let Harlan question why the Beamer is still in the drive. Let Walt stare at the car and know Ransom can get better pussy than that twat has had in a lifetime. Let Linda…

Hell, let Linda do whatever the fuck she wants and let Richard think whatever the fuck he wants.

Ransom takes his own naked walk of glory to the bathroom and does just that—he sleeps in a hookup’s bed all night, completely pleased with himself and his control of the situation.

a/n: Honest to god, this was supposed to be a one-shot. Genuinely, I swear. Now that I've plotted it out though...there was no way. I just personally don't really like more than 5k per Tumblr post. Too easy to lose your place. This way we stick with a three-ish-act structure, too. Squee! Hope you enjoyed this, and please let me know what you think in comments, reblogs, or anon asks!

[Next Part]

[Main Masterlist]

#hugh ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drydale x you #ransom drysdale #ransom x reader #ransom smut #fanfic #fanfiction #knives out fanfiction #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale smut #ro answers

[anonymityisfunwriter]

The Heir and The Spare - Part 1: "Familial and Strangers"

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader Summary: Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Heaviest is the head that was always second best.

The Heir and The Spare Chapter List | Steve Rogers Masterlist

Your nails impatiently thrum against the hard leather of the common room's chairs.

You check your watch again.

23 minutes late. 23 minutes of time and money. 23 minutes he could hold over your head. 23 minutes of power.

Power was all that existed in your relationship with Tony. His constant grabs for power. His need to remind you that you would always be second to him. It was the only language either of you spoke.

Dramatic, but true.

The whole room was so very Tony Stark. Ostentatious. Ultra modern. A nose dive into the future. And not a person in sight. No doubt Tony sent all his precious team mates away. How convenient. Heaven forbid any of them actually meet you.

You have half a mind to leave. You know Tony. This whole waiting game was one big power move to prove that he could summon you and you would appear. You shouldn't have come in the first place.

He didn't have the courtesy to call you, not that you would've answered in the first place. No, he sent Happy to tell you that he needed to speak to you. You weren't invited. You were summoned.

And now, he was making you wait. Just to prove that he could.

You've half convinced yourself to leave when an unfamiliar man stands in the very corner of your peripheral. He meekly waves, clearing his throat, "Um... excuse me, can I help you?"

With a bored, borderline unimpressed look, your eyes flicker up, "No."

He clears his throat again, that polite smile never faltering as he rubs the back of his neck, "Um, well, ma'am, this floor is closed off to the public. We don't allow Stark Industry guests or visitors up here."

You look up at him again with the most polite smile you can muster, "It's fine."

"It's not, ma'am," he insists. "It's a security issue."

You offer another, tighter smile, but patience was never your strong suit. "I'm waiting for Tony. It's fine."

You almost feel bad for your curt tone, it's not this stranger's fault for your terrible mood. It's Tony's.

"Well, the thing is, Tony is well aware of the protocol. It's his building after all."

You snort at the statement. Tony's building. Even if it weren't for the way the building stuck out like a sore thumb on the New York skyline, the Stark name in bright lights, the whole building screams Tony Stark. Stark Tower makes your head hurt as much as Tony Stark himself.

You resent every second you're in the building.

You hate being here as much as Steve Rogers hates you being here.

You tilt your head, quirking an eyebrow at the man, "Do you just take care of imagined security threats or is there something you actually do here?"

Steve quirks an eyebrow back at you, resting his hands on his hips with a bemused smirk, "I never said you were a security threat, a security breach, absolutely."

"And how did you deduce this?"

"A strange, mild mannered yet very attractive woman is sitting in a restricted area of Stark Tower. I, someone who does have authorization approach, and said women tries to distract me -"

"Is it working?"

"What?"

"Am I distracting you? Keeping you from going about your day? What exactly is it about me that you find distracting?"

"Well, you're very - hold on a minute, you just did it again," Steve points out with a wry grin.

"The way I see it, Mr. Rogers-" You stand up out of your chair, heels clicking onto the sleek marble floors of Stark Tower.

"How did you -"

"You have two options." You hold up two fingers, spelling it out for Steve. "You can go and get Tony and let him know that I'm sitting here waiting for him or you can sit here with me until Tony pulls his head out of his ass and waltzes out of his office - just to make sure I'm truly not the security threat you imagine. Your choice."

"Or, third option, I can call security and have you removed," Steve challenges you, a triumphant smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

You return the smirk, resting on the arm of the leather couch. "You can certainly try."

He chortles, "Are you always this stubborn?"

"I prefer insistent. And yes, I am." You plant your hands on either side of you, teasingly shrugging your shoulders. "If I'm bothering you so much, why don't you remove me yourself?"

"I would never put my hands on a woman, and I never said you were bothering me, I only said that you're not allowed to be up here."

"I've given you your options. Take your pick."

The elevator dings before Steve can choose either option. Happy steps out of the elevator, looking like his normal frantic self.

Steve sighs in relief as Happy bustles over in your direction, "Happy, can you let security know that there's an unauthorized person in our residential quarters?"

You look over your shoulder at Happy, "Happy, you can let security know they aren't needed. Mr. Rogers is currently having a senior moment."

"Got it," Happy nods, immediately agreeing with you. "Have you -"

"What?" Steve guffaws, "Happy, don't -"

"You're a lot less charming in person," you blithely observe. "Has anyone told you that?"

"Have you talked to Tony yet?" Happy asks you. "Please, tell me he didn't leave you here waiting this whole time."

"Not yet," you scoff, looking down at your watch. 31 minutes late. "He's been more than content to keep me waiting here with Mr. Rogers as my companion."

"I'm not your -"

"Ah, speak of the devil and he shall come," you mutter, rolling your eyes as Tony strolls through the common room as though he's not over 30 minutes late to your meeting. "Brother."

"Sister," Tony coldly greets you from a distance.

"Sister?" Steve squawks. There is no warmth in the greeting. If Steve didn't know any better, he would say that a frost entered the room when Tony did.

"30 minutes late, Anthony," you chastise. "Maybe I should get you a watch for Christmas."

"Really? I thought you were too busy stealing Christmas from Whoville to celebrate," Tony quips.

You purse your lips at Tony, folding your arms expectantly, "To what do I owe the displeasure, Tony?"

"Maybe I've just missed that sparkling personality of yours," Tony sarcastically retorts.

"Jealous that actually I have one?"

"I'm so confused," Steve whispers, mostly to himself.

"Happy, fill in Capsicle, we have some business to attend to," Tony instructs, wasting no time before turning on his heels and heading to the conference room.

"On it. Do I need to call Pepper to mediate?" Happy calls after you. He shakes his head with a furrowed brow like the answer is obvious. He mutters to himself, "Never mind, I know the answer to that."

"What just happened?"

"You just witnessed the eighth wonder of the world, the warm and loving relationship of the Stark siblings." Happy claps a hand over Steve's shoulder, dialing Pepper's number with the other hand. "Consider yourself lucky to have come out unscathed."

"The Stark siblings? Since when are there two of them?"

"Sometime after you went into the ice but before you came out," Happy sarcastically replies. He shakes his head, taking a moment to fix his suit as he looks at Steve with an apologetic glance, "Sorry, their stress becomes my stress and stress is one of their favorite pass times."

"Uh..." Steve awkwardly lilts.

"Look, they aren't exactly on good terms."

"They're siblings," Steve chortles, dissmively rolling his eyes. "All families fight, Happy."

"There's a reason Tony doesn't talk about her. Just like there's a reason that Miss Stark doesn't come here."

"So they got into a fight, they'll make up eventually."

"They got into a fight two decades ago. I wouldn't hold my breath." Happy turns on his heels, pacing back and forth as he dials Pepper's office. "And I strongly suggest that you don't mention that topic to either of them. It's a bit of a touchy subject."

"I'm still confused."

"Tony Stark," Happy begins, dialing Pepper again. "Oldest child of Howard and Maria Stark. And a whopping 12 years younger is the youngest Stark, the second child and first daughter of Howard and Maria Stark. And I feel like I need to say this again because I don't think it sunk in the first time, this should not be brought up to Miss Stark because this is a very sensitive subject."

"Why?"

"Pepper, please pick up the phone. The last time they were left in a room alone, I was plucking shards of glass and splinters from my suit for a week," Happy rambles into the phone. He drops the phone with an aggressively exasperated groan, "As you can probably tell, they don't exactly have the closest or warmest or not hostile sibling bond."

"I'm still confused on the why?"

"I feel like you're not hearing the very sensitive subject of it all."

Steve apologetically winces, "Sorry."

"Let me offer you some advice, whatever you do, whatever superhero compulsions you may have, don't get involved. Not even a little bit. I promise you, nothing good comes from getting between those two."

"Alright, I'm hearing you," Steve acquiesces, raising his hands in defeat. 

"Are you?" Happy questions. "Because I am strongly considering going to find a football helmet before I walk into that room. Let's not add a super soldier to that mix."

"I'm hearing you."

If only he had actually listened.

Next Chapter AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Steve Rogers Masterlist

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez@ludicbouquetfromearth@matchat3a@famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff@valoraxx@blue786sworld@buckyandgeraltsupremacy@geminigengar@ansaturn@ecolle@lexhalstead3@ybflkmj@mediocre-daydreams@shanye1112@thegirlnextdoorssister@toomanyfanficsbruh@moonlightreader649@breathtaking-cynthia@mirikusashes@beans-and-toast@niyahcoca@katiechikin@elxvrr@antiheroxsblog@infamouslyclumsy@krissydclayton93@buckysbarne@deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic@whitexwolfxx310

#anonymityisfunwriter #anonymityisfun #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #captain america x reader #captain america x female reader #captain america x you #steven grant rogers #steve rogers and reader #steve rogers angst #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers au #steve rogers series #steve rogers masterlist #masterlist #reader insert #marvel #mcu #x reader

[whxre-bxby]

The recoms x reader with competitions sounds hilarious

I can totally imagine them having weird ass competitions Lol

Can't wait for that one

Yeah, this has been in my inbox for ages so glad to finally post it

"Pecking Order"

f. Y/N Recom x Recom Quaritch /Lyle /Prager /Mansk /Brown /Lopez /Ja /Walker /Zdinarsk

Masterlist

Summary: Being a recom soldier is difficult. Especially when dealing with the new instincts and needs the body requires. To keep his team sane, Quaritch comes up with a solution in which Y/N is shared with everyone.

Warnings: indication of smut, little bit of fluff, depressing ending, outrageously minimal wordcount (my apologies)

Word Count: 1590

(I'm sorry about how short this is, but I'm really struggling to write at the moment because I have so much going on)

(Once again I am pretending that Warren and Zhang don’t exist, I am sorry to those who like them but I really don’t.)

Being on Pandora is weird. It’s a whole new planet. But what’s even weirder is being on a foreign planet in a foreign body. Another human’s body wouldn’t have been so bad, but no, you’re blue now. You and your squad along with your Colonel have all permanently become Avatars. It takes a lot of time to get used to the changes. It seems like you discover something new about yourselves every day. Luckily it’s been almost two months since you woke up from criyo. 

It seems as though the foreign environment and new feelings have almost strengthened the connection of the team. You all got along when you had to before but now you feel like they are all close friends to you. 

One evening at dinner, Lyle had brought up how most soldiers used to have fuck-buddies to get through life on Pandora. Most of the team did back then too. Now, it seemed as though no one had even thought about it. You and the others didn’t exactly know how everything worked so the subject was ignored and brushed off. But it was definitely not forgotten.

It had quite literally been years since any one of you had experienced any form of sexual pleasure. That was suppressed in the beginning but the Avatar’s body language was more visible than a human's and it was more difficult to control and suppress emotions. 

At one point in time, all recoms including you were constantly tense and distracted. No one was able to fully focus during training anymore and Quaritch noticed this. He himself had the same problem and he knew he couldn’t send his squad out into the forest like this. You would die on the first day out. The Colonel would rather solve the problem in any way possible than explain what is happening to the General. The recoms are meant to be reliable and professional. What is happening to all of you is getting in the way of both those things. 

The Colonel forced everyone to attend his ‘emergency meeting’ even though you all had the rest of the day off. The atmosphere was thick and you found it hard to breathe even though the room was ventilated. 

Quaritch had made you all sit down to listen to him but your attention was barely on his words. Instead, you were subconsciously studying Mansk. He was calmly fiddling with his fingers but you noticed how strained his arms were and how far back he had his ears pinned. Nobody was relaxed. 

You also realised earlier today that you basically lost control of your tail. It’s just doing its own thing at this point and there is nothing you can do about it. 

The Colonel started explaining his recent observations of our behaviour and you immediately thought you were all being scolded. But you were wrong. 

“The only option I see te’ help us with our probem,” Quaritch says, inhaling deeply as if he were not sure how we would react. “Is to fuck it out.” 

Lyle snorts, thinking his superior is joking but Quaritch is dead serious. 

“Suggest otherwise, Corporal Wainfleet.” The Colonel says, sternly glaring at Lyle. I stare at both of them with wide eyes. No way is he suggesting this. 

There was some kind of argumentative discussion between the two but you have tuned out, blankly staring past Quaritch and at the wall behind him. This room had no windows, so no one could see or come in here because it was a recom only area. 

“Y/N.” Quaritch’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. You glance up at him while Mansk shifts his gaze to you. 

“You’re with me.” he orders, watching your surprised yet innocent face process the information. 

“No fuckin’ way.” Mansk interrupts. You stare at him now, completely surprised by his words. Mansk never objects or argues with people. He’s the best soldier when it comes to following orders. This is out of character for him. 

Quaritch doesn’t seem pleased by his words but once again to your surprise, he doesn’t put Mansk in his place. Since this isn’t a professional environment anymore, it seems as though the ranks between the soldiers don’t play such a big role. 

A few other recoms back Mansk up, not liking that the Colonel wants you to himself which still baffles you. 

But it turns out, they all seemed to have taken a liking to you. Most soldiers were ignorant and self-centred. You weren’t. You seemed almost naturally submissive to the others, especially as an Avatar. Something about you, perhaps your scent of strong pheromones, drew them to you.

So that evening, while you were being eyed hungrily by every single one of your teammates, they made a fair plan. In their free time, they would hold weekly competitions to figure out the order of who gets the most time with you. You were included and nothing was forced on you.

Since life in the RDA was really dull and colourless, these planned activities and competitions amused everyone. 

To keep it fair, it wouldn’t always be the same task to win, it would be changed so that everyone gets a chance. Otherwise, it would always be the same people with you. 

The first and most obvious challenge was a physical strength competition. This one lasted a long time and it went all the way from who could hold themselves in a plank position the longest to wrestling in the gym. In the third week, things took a drastic turn when Lyle decided to time himself to see how fast he could make you cum. Any technique was allowed and on the same day, everyone had their turn which had you not only fucked out but completely dumb and tired for the rest of the day. 

Z-Dog won that one and right behind her was Walker. Lopez was next and all three of them took great pride in it. It seems as though oral sex was the way to go.

Quaritch was always near the top and most often the first on the leaderboard in the physical challenges. Which meant you spent a lot of time in his room, which you honestly didn’t mind. While he was a brutal and cold-hearted man on the outside, he took care of you behind closed doors. Miles picked you up and walked you to his room when it suited the two of you. There, he took his time with you. Nothing was ever rushed because he wanted you to enjoy it as much as he did. 

Let’s just say, you always slept well after having sex with him and he took care of you in his bed, letting you sleep in it. You always left his room feeling satisfied in the morning. Lyle, Mansk and Prager were also usually quite at the top so when you and Quaritch would finish, they would get a day of the week each to spend with you. Sometimes, you had a few of them at once. 

Normally, you would feel bad about yourself for sleeping around so much but they made you feel like you are all that matters to them, so you rarely worried about that. You didn’t feel used, you felt loved. Something you had been deprived of since you left Earth years ago. 

Once everyone had a turn and the feral instincts calmed down, the competitions continued but they became more funny than serious. At this point, you were all just doing it for shits and giggles because there really wasn’t anything else to do. Except for finding Sully but that mission wasn’t ready yet. 

So the subjects of the competitions started to change along with everyone’s behaviour. The lust has been brought under control so you weren’t as tired anymore and only occasionally had sex with the recoms that needed it. 

A cooking competition was held which turned into a completely messy disaster. Mansk won it by far but at what cost? The oven had exploded because Ja refused to take the food out, claiming it wasn’t done yet. Lopez put metal in the microwave which really damaged the machine and you can’t quite remember how it happened but Z-Dog and Walker had accidentally set a curtain on fire. Instead of trying to put out the flames, they got angry because “What’s a fuckin’ curtain doin’ in the kitchen anyway?!”.

Another one was who could breathe oxygen for the longest because we were now adapted to Pandora’s air. Prager won. He said he used to dive regularly back on Earth so he was able to hold his breath for a long time. 

Brown and Walker almost lost consciousness. 

It kept going on and on like this because it was all the fun you had. Even when the mission started, the challenges were who could tame their Ikran the fastest, who could guess the Na’vi words correctly and who could properly land a fall from the Ikran. You started taking part in the competitions just for your own fun. It really had brought everyone together but eventually, all good things must come to an end. 

When you started encountering Sully, you began losing soldiers and once some teammates were gone, no one was feeling good enough to even suggest anything fun. From that point of, you all just wanted to finish your mission and end this.

Enjoy the bunnies instead of the abrupt ending :)

Tag List: @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @jatwow @numarusworld @number1gal @ikranwings

#private mansk #avatar mansk #recom mansk #mansk #mansk x reader #recom squad #avatar recoms #james cameron avatar #avatar movie #avatar the way of water #grillmaster mansk #mansk grillmaster #recom lyle wainfleet #lyle wainfleet #fanfiction #avatar #fluff #smut #avatar imagine #mansk smut #recom smut #recom mansk smut #mansk fluff #atwow #atwow mansk #atwow x reader #avatar 2 #avatar x reader #atwow smut #na'vi mansk

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

🔱 On the Beach Chapter One

On The Beach: Orm has spent the last year staying with you, Arthur’s best friend. Part of his sentence is to learn about surface dweller culture from a surface dweller, and try to understand that not everyone above the waves is bad. With the year up, and Orm comfortable with a lifestyle that consisted of just you and him, how will he feel when his half brother shows up, and jealousy rears its ugly head? To put it simply, not very well.

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Content.

To Note: Orm Marius x NAMED!FEMReader, dividers by @firefly-graphics.

Word Count: ~6.3k

Masterlist | Next

"Are you going to behave tonight or do I need to get out the squirt bottle from storage?" You asked while neatening up the collar of Orm’s button-up. Orm’s blond eyebrow lifted as you finished smoothing out his collar and looked up into his eyes.

"I thought you got rid of that incessant thing months ago?" He questioned you, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Snorting through your nose, you patted your hands against his chest, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles.

"I put it on standby in the event you decided to be naughty." Your answer had him smiling down at you with a gleam in his eyes.

"I do believe I haven’t warranted getting sprayed by your little squirt bottle recently. Why do you feel the need to remind me of its menial existence?"

"Because I like it when we talk about ocean stuff and you aren’t giving me your royal attitude." You responded before poking him in the chest with your pointer fingers. "But seriously, this is for your mother. At least try to be civil with Arthur. You’ve been up here for a year. I’d hate for them to think that you haven’t been trying when I know you have."

Orm had spent the last year staying with you and learning about surface dwellers properly. It was his sentence for trying to start a war with the surface. At first, he was rude, arrogant, and quarrelsome. You didn’t hold conversations; you held arguments. That’s when you had bought a squirt bottle, and reconditioning started.

A few months went by with you spraying him with water every time he was rude, did something you disapproved of, or you were just fed up with him. He caught on fast, but stubbornness had him getting sprayed for several more months until he finally was nicer to you.

Eventually, the squirt bottle went away to storage and the two of you formed an odd friendship… and that’s when you started forming feelings you shouldn’t. But you never said anything. You were content to be a close friend and someone Orm actually trusted to be around.

Trust, that was the most important thing between you at the moment. You trusted him; he trusted you.

So now after the full twelve months had passed, a small gathering was going to be held at your cottage, mostly for Atlanna to hopefully see that her two sons could get along and be in the same room for more than five minutes without trying to kill each other or picking a fight.

Now you were getting ready for the Atlanteans, along with Tom, to show up. You had stuffed Orm into a button-up and shorts, trying to get him to look at least somewhat cleaned up. Well, he looked incredibly handsome in his outfit, and your heart was sighing out in lovelorn.

Orm gently took your hands, gazing down at your face.

“I promise to behave myself, but I cannot speak for my brother.” Rolling your eyes, you curled your fingers around his larger ones and gave him a reassuring smile.

“You leave Arthur to me. He knows not to start anything in my house. I may be tiny, but I know just where to kick him if he misbehaves, and if I have to, I’ll squirt him with my squirt bottle.” That put a smile on Orm’s face. “Can you please go down and make sure I have enough blankets in the closet while I get changed? It’s supposed to get cold again tonight.”

“Only because I favor you,” Orm told you as you slipped your fingers from his and he started heading for the stairs.

“Thank you, you’re my favorite Atlantean!” You called after him as his enormous figure disappeared from view. Humming to yourself, you turned on your heel and headed for your room. You had to get cleaned up yourself. You highly doubted that meeting Atlanna wearing an oversized, stained lounge shirt and comfy shorts would be appropriate. She was a queen, after all.

Changing into nicer clothes, you pulled on white shorts and a green tank top; it was still warm out during the day and you didn’t want to overheat yourself. But just as a precaution, you grabbed one of your big button-ups to wear over your tank top. If you got cold, at least you had something.

Walking for the stairs, you quickly braided your hair back to keep it out of the way, tying it off with a hair band. Just as your bare feet hit the main floor, Orm appeared.

“There is enough in the hall closet,” Orm announced. “And you know us Atlanteans don’t get as cold as you surface dwellers.”

“More for me and Tom then,” you replied as you slipped past him, heading for the back sliding glass door. “And it means I get to snuggle, so that’s a bonus.”

You had actually got Orm to let you snuggle up against his side a few times when you watched movies. He never actually said anything about it or made notion of acknowledgement, but man alive was he a comfortable pillow. Yet another thing you would never, ever, say to Orm’s face, or anyone’s, for that matter.

You just hoped you hadn’t drooled on him when you ultimately fell asleep.

Unlocking the sliding glass doors, your eyes brightened up at seeing several figures rising from the surf and making their way up the path to your cottage.

“They’re here!” You called over your shoulder before opening the door and pulling it aside. Leaving the door open, you darted barefoot down the path and took off running. “ARTY!”

Arthur laughed and opened his arms seconds before you were jumping up and launching yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his body like a koala bear on a tree.

“You know you could have visited!” You scolded Arthur as Mera snickered and Vulko looked on in amusement. “You know, stop by and say hi? It’s not that hard to do, you overgrown sea monkey!”

“Overgrown sea monkey?” Arthur repeated with a small laugh. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously!” You responded before dropping to your feet. “But really, you could have visited.”

“He cause you any trouble?” Arthur asked, his eyebrow raising. You shook your head as you started heading up to the cottage.

“No, I conditioned him.” You announced proudly. Vulko and Mera looked positively confused, and Arthur snorted in laughter.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He asked as you reached the patio. You gave him a sly smile, not planning on revealing anything.

“Oh, you know, he figured out a few things about the surface world,” you replied vaguely, twisting your hands behind your back. “But enough about that. When are Tom and Atlanna coming? I need to know when to order the pizzas…”

Pizza boxes were scattered around the kitchen, the haunting smell of gooey cheese and pepperoni filling your nose, along with the anchovy variation you had discovered Atlanteans loved. Tom and Atlanna had arrived only a few minutes after Arthur, Mera, and Vulko, and after chowing down on pizza, Atlanna was grilling Orm on his year-long stay with you. It thrilled you that he looked like he was enjoying telling his mother about his year with you.

Mera and Vulko had gotten into a debate of feasible pizza toppings, leaving you to goof off with Arthur. You were currently seeing how many coasters you could balance on top of his head before the tower fell. Your current number was 11.

“Would you stop fidgeting,” you huffed at him as you carefully slipped on coaster number twelve. “You’re going to make my work fall.”

“Have you tried staying still for this?” Arthur griped in return. “I have a crick in my neck!”

“Stop being such a baby!” Tom, who had been watching you, let out a snort of laughter and shook his head. Picking up coaster number thirteen, you slowly stacked it, your fingers releasing the cardboard ever so slightly as the tower wobbled slightly.

“What are you doing?” Mera asked, her bright eyes staring at the stack of coasters on Arthur’s head.

“Trying to see how many I can stack before they fall,” you answered with a cheeky grin. Arthur rolled his eyes.

“These two have some crazy stories of what they used to get into,” Tom spoke up as Atlanna scooched over on the bench seat and snuggled up next to him, her eyes sparkling with happiness. “I’ve never seen two people with such a close bond of friendship.”

“Best friends forever, Eve,” Arthur crowed with a big grin, holding up his hand. Not breaking your concentration with coaster number fifteen, you clapped your palm against his with a grin of your own.

“Yes, yes, now stay still, I mean it, I want to break my record,” you commanded as the fifteenth coaster made it onto the tower.

“How long have you two known each other?” Atlanna asked, her head tilting to the side as she smiled.

“Since second grade, he punched my bully in the nose,” you said as Arthur laughed.

“Oh yeah, I did, little brat wouldn’t stop yanking on Eva’s braids, so I took it upon myself to be her knight in shining armor,” he chuckled, as if reliving the thought. “I got suspended for that, but Eva and I have been best friends since then.”

“I’ll say, you two were practically inseparable,” Tom commented, a smile on his own lips. “And it seems you still are from the way Eva gave you that lecture about not visiting.”

“What can I say,” Arthur said while you carefully lowered coaster number sixteen onto the precarious tower. “Eva and I understand each other.”

Rolling your eyes, you were about to place coaster seventeen on the wobbling stack when Orm rose to his feet, his chair scraping on the floor as he did so, and quickly strode from the kitchen. The stack on Arthur’s head fell as Arthur turned his head in the direction Orm had disappeared.

“What’s got his trident in a twist?” Arthur grumbled, preparing to get to his feet. You put your hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

“Let me handle this,” you said quietly, getting to your feet.

“You sure?” Arthur asked, his eyebrow rising once more.

“I’ve spent a year with him, Arthur. I think I know him far better than you at this point,” you told him before stepping around the table and following Orm. Exiting the cottage, you spotted Orm walking down the beach, heading around the curve to the part that was hidden from view. “What is going through your head right now, Orm…”

Jogging to catch up with his long stride, you only made it to him when your cottage had disappeared from view and nothing but beach, rocks, and ocean could be seen.

“Orm!” you called, your feet digging into the sand as you trotted up to him. Orm turned around in surprise, his eyes mirroring his body language.

“What are you doing here?” He asked crisply, his lip curling in distaste. “Shouldn’t you be with Arthur? Your best friend?”

You blinked up at him, surprised at his sudden hostility. You thought you had conditioned all of that out of him… apparently not.

“He might be my best friend, but that doesn’t mean I can’t talk to my other friends, or to you.” You answered evenly. “And as a concerned friend, I want to know what is currently running through your mind.”

“Leave, I have nothing more to say to you.”

Oh, hell no.

“I know you did not just use that tone with me, Orm Marius,” you growled at him, your eyes narrowing. He huffed at you.

“And what if I did?” He shot back sharply, towering over your smaller frame. “What? Are you going to squirt me with that little toy of yours? Go back to Arthur, Eva, he clearly intends to take everything I have, and that includes you.”

His last words were spat out with venom. But you could pick up on the hurt behind those caustic words, and that had your eyes going wide as you froze. He thought Arthur was going to take you away from him? That everything you had struggled to build and then worked towards with him would be reduced to ash in a single moment?

While you were standing frozen on the beach, dumbstruck at the implication of his words, Orm turned back around and started stalking away. Blinking yourself out of your trance, you lurched forwards, your hand shooting out to grab his shirt.

“Orm wait!” You called out only for your foot to catch on a chunk of driftwood you had failed to notice. Letting out a startled shriek as your clumsiness struck again, your fingers released Orm’s shirt while you flailed your arms. You were going down, hard. Orm was whipping around, his arms going around your body to stop your downward movement, but at that point, it was already too late.

Your flailing limbs struck an unprepared Orm, and you both went down. Back hitting rough sand and your legs tangling with Orm’s, you let out a shuddering breath as you realized he had prevented you from face planting. Despite your less than graceful fall, Orm had slipped a hand behind your head to protect it from smacking the sand, and then had used his other arm to prevent himself from completely falling on top of you.

Cheeks flushed from arguing and the embarrassment of wiping out while taking Orm down with you, you stared up at Orm’s face, which no longer held anger but concern. Your heart thundered in your chest from his proximity and from the rush of adrenaline from falling.

When it became apparent that you were unharmed, Orm let out a small breath of relief, but still continued to hover over your body, keeping you pinned to the sand.

“Orm,” you started, his name soft and warm on your lips. What could you say to reassure him that Arthur wouldn’t take you away from him? You had to say something. “Orm, I’m not going anywhere, you still have me.”

Burning intensity and lust filled his dark blue eyes, and in return, a shiver went up your spine from heat and electricity that suddenly ran rampant in your veins. Your words had made an impact, but you weren’t sure how.

Staring up into those eyes you had seen every day for a year, you hadn’t noticed until now just how much Orm hid behind his icy blue irises. You would have kept staring, mesmerized by the color, but Orm clearly had other ideas running through his mind. Moments later, he was pulling your head up and his lips were roughly smashing against yours, possessively moving against your lips with hunger and fervor. You let out a small noise of surprise that was quickly swallowed by his hungry mouth.

Your mind went blank for a few seconds, needing time to catch up to the moment, and when it did, your hands, which had been resting on the sand quickly reached up and sunk into his hair, pulling his mouth infinitely closer to yours. His mouth commanded yours, running across your lips with dominance, nipping and tugging at them until soft moans had your lips parting.

Orm didn’t waste one second. He deepened the kiss, sucking on your bottom lip slightly before thrusting his tongue inwards and tangling with yours. Arching your back and pressing yourself further against his chest, you found yourself on a new high you had never felt before. Threading your fingers further into his hair, you tugged on the strands and hungrily nip back, wanting so much more.

The raging energy between you was like a game of tug of war. Every time you thought you had the upper hand, Orm refused to concede, smothering any ounce of control you tried to enforce. He was insatiable, dominant, and everything you wanted. Nothing like the gentle giant you had been living with for the past year.

Well, you couldn’t exactly label him as a gentle giant. He was probably the deadliest man you knew and could wield a knife in the kitchen better than you could. But that was not the point. Your point was that despite all of his hostility and resistance to surface living, he hadn’t ever threatened you.

Orm continued his onslaught with his mouth. His hand left the back of your head, running down your back until his fingers reached your shorts. Letting out a growl of discontent from the large button-up you were wearing over your tank, Orm fisted the material before yanking it up, jerking your body a little.

Gasping against Orm’s lips as your tank rode up and your lower back hit sand, you couldn’t help but drag your nails down his scalp and neck, the feeling of his large warm hand pressing against your back euphoric. But it did not satisfy Orm to only have your lower back exposed to his hand. Abandoning his hovering position, Orm tore his mouth from yours as he reached for your denim-clad waist.

While his fingers viciously tore at the buttons holding the shorts together, your own fingers slid down his shoulders to his chest and grasped the material of his shirt. Breathing heavily, you wiggled and lifted your hips to make the process of him dragging your shorts and underwear down easier, faster, quicker. You wanted them off now; you needed to feel him against your skin, in your body.

Electric blue eyes bore into yours, nearly glowing in the twilight sunset on the horizon. One more trembling breath and he was moving again.

Orm’s mouth came back down, landing on your bared neck and pressing a trail of open-mouthed kisses that ranged from simple teases to full-on bites. Exhaling a small whine as his mouth skipped the section of your chest that your tank top bunched at, you felt Orm pull your shorts and underwear off your legs, tossing them to the side with little thought.

Now you were getting somewhere.

Expecting Orm to make his way back up to your mouth so you could kiss those incredibly sinful lips once more, your jaw nearly dropped open when his hands latched onto your thighs and he yanked them up. While your calves were awkwardly tossed over strong shoulders, your wide eyes watched in enthrallment while Orm ran his lips along your inner leg, starting at your knee.

Every inch that lips covered was soon tingling and begging for more. Even Orm’s shaved jaw gliding over your skin felt euphoric and twisted your thoughts to one burning word. More.

“Orm, stop torturing me.” Your whimper was met with curved lips and a Cheshire smile.

“You and I have very different ideas on what torture is, Eva,” Orm murmured against your skin before taking a sharp little bite out of your skin. You sucked in a breath from the little bite of teeth. “I am appreciating the beautiful creature before me.”

Your cheeks burned as if you weren’t already bare-ass naked from the waist down beneath him.

“And I am still hungry.” Those words caused your brain to short circuit for a few moments, and that was all the time his mouth needed to reach your pelvis. Your eyes nearly rolled back the moment his tongue lashed a line right up your center to your clit.

Biting down on the cry of pleasure that came crawling up from your throat, your left hand latched onto his blond hair while your right slammed to the coarse sand next to your bodies, your nails sinking into the soft yet grainy material. Within a minute, he had you squirming underneath his bold and possessive lapping. You curled your fingernails into his hair and pushed his head further down.

It was absolute torture for you and Orm seemed to feast like the King he had been, noises of approvals echoing your choked gasps and soft cries. Every lick, kiss, and suck stole the very breath from your lungs and made your back arch off the sand. Your body writhed against his iron hold, torn between wanting relief and wanting more.

You had guiltily imagined this at least a thousand times while lying in bed at night. You wondered what it would be like to be lavished by him, by a king, and nothing quite prepared you for just how intense Orm would be. Sand dug into your back and hands tightened around thighs as your thrashing increased. It was practically carnal the way Orm worked your body to the point of writhing uncontrollably beneath his touch.

Your heels were digging into his back, and your knees were shaking against his shoulders now. A strangled sound then caught in the back of your throat when his tongue delved deeper, your twitching hand half buried in the sand curled, your nails making claws. No other man had brought you to the brink this quickly or this skillfully. It was nearly embarrassing.

“Oh God,” you breathed out, your entire body trembling as the fire in your belly raged uncontrollably. “Jesus Orm, you’re seriously going to make me—“

A particularly well-placed, and timed, flick of his tongue had you cutting your words off and crying out once more. At this rate, this man was going to pull an orgasm out of you like no other had before, but just when you thought he was going to push your body past that point, he pulled back. Legs flopping to the sand like limp noodles, your brain finally caught up.

Your mouth gaped open as you sucked in oxygen, reeling at what just happened while your heart raced. Hand falling from his hair and onto your bare stomach as you panted, the sound of him unbuckling his belt and pulling down his own shorts and underwear hit your ears. You were still staring at the darkened sky, dumbstruck and dazed by the edging he gave you, when one of his arms snaked around your back and pulled your upper body up so you were face to face.

Your face was beyond flushed from pleasure alone, and still trying to catch your breath from his teasing, you stared wide-eyed into his blue stormy eyes, your arms scrambling to latch onto his shoulders, your fingers clutching at his shirt.

“You are mine, Eva, all mine,” He darkly stated, his eyes telling you he meant every word, and in seconds his mouth was back on yours while his hips thrust forward, every inch of his already hardened cock sinking into your ready and waiting body.

Your back arched, and you groaned into his mouth at the feeling, and for a moment all your mind could think about was how full you felt, and how incredibly heavenly and toe-curling Orm made you feel. It was serendipitous. But it didn’t stay that way. The fullness disappeared before reappearing seconds later, Orm’s hips thrusting against yours.

Your hands slipped underneath his arms and clutched at his shoulder blades as his thrusts quickly fell into a rhythm that matched his words. Passionate, possessive, and above all else, ravenous. Not once did he falter, or break from the tongue-tying kiss he had you wrapped up in, and as the fiery burn quickly returned in your body, your nails clawed at his cloth-covered back, desperate to sink into flesh.

Letting out a guttural whine, your head dropped back when Orm pressed more open-mouthed kisses against your jaw and neck, giving every inch of your skin his full attention. With your pelvises crashing together with every powerfully thrust, your heels wrapped around his waist and dug into his ass.

Abandoning his quest to kiss every inch of your exposed skin, Orm’s mouth trailed up to brush against your ear, his teeth grazing against the outer edge.

“Orm,” you panted out, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. Another growl of satisfaction left his lips before he was pressing you back down on the sand. This gave him an all-new angle to thrust into your body, increasing both his pace and the pleasure he created.

Tongue-tied and on cloud nine, you pressed your head back into the sand, many whimpers and moans intermittent with your heavy breathing. Each calculated thrust drove you higher and higher until you couldn’t take it anymore.

Letting out a cry, your body twitched beneath him as you came. Your eyesight blurred and energy crackled in your veins. You slowly came down from your high, Orm cupped the side of your face, his eyes burning into yours.

“Mine,” He growled, full-on possession burning clear as day in his eyes. You couldn’t help but return with the appropriate answer.

“Yours,” you hoarsely panted back as his rough thrusts faltered. “Only… yours,”

That did it. His hips slammed against yours one more time before he groaned out his own pleasure and his own orgasm brought forth a fresh wave of heat that had your body twitching beneath his. Dropping his body to the side so his weight wasn’t completely on you, you turned your head to look at Orm while you both caught your breath.

It had to have been a full minute that went by, him still very much in you, and both of your releases dripping down your inner thighs. Your mind was still locked up in your whirlwind of pleasure. You were having a hard time remembering why you had been arguing in the first place.

“What were we arguing about again?” you questioned in slight confusion, your eyes searching Orm’s blue ones. His lips curved slightly as his fingers brushed against your cheek, gently stroking your skin.

“That doesn’t matter, you’re mine.” Your lips, slightly swollen and stinging from your fevered kissing, curved upwards at the idea.

“This is probably a little late, but I think you fell in love with me a long time ago,” you murmured, briefly closing your eyes and enjoying the way his fingers glided across your cheek. “And I’m pretty sure I’ve been yours for a while now…”

“I could say the same about you, beloved.” Your cheeks flushed a darker pink at his words, and you promptly buried your face in his chest with a wilted moan. You felt Orm’s chuckles as he ran his other hand up and down your back. A minute ticked by with you just lying there, and when you had finally caught your breath, you spoke up again.

“As much as I would like to stay with you here on the beach, the others might come looking for us to make sure we haven’t killed each other yet, or haven’t thrown any punches at least…”

“It would be wise to return. You are for my eyes, and my eyes only.” Orm responded, making another rush of fire flow through your body. Good lord, this man was hot, in an authoritative way… when he wasn’t being a complete ass.

“As you wish, my king,” you whispered lightly. In response, Orm pulled your head in for one last impassioned kiss that once again sent your brain spinning.

With a little help, since your legs were a little shaky from your fast-paced tryst in the sand, Orm helped you get cleaned up in the cold ocean before helping you back into your underwear and shorts. You still had sand everywhere. It certainly clung to the places you were wet, but at least it no longer looked like you had made love right there on the beach.

It was going to take a while for your brain to fully compute that you had done that, if you’ll be honest. Sand isn’t exactly the most comfortable of surfaces.

So, walking back towards your cottage, you stayed close to Orm, wobbling slightly on shaky legs and trying not to continually blush at your previous animalistic actions. Orm, however, still had a streak of possessiveness and kept his hand on your lower back, slipped between your button-up and tank top.

By the time you got to your back patio, you were half hopeful your cheeks were no longer red with embarrassment and arousal. Patting your cheeks with your hands, you shook your head to clear the indecent thoughts and images of Orm from your mind, lest you end up broadcasting what was really running through your mind. A thought crossed your mind.

“Wait, you didn’t leave any marks… did you?” you questioned, panic building in your veins, slapping a hand on your neck as you turned and looked up at him. His eyebrow rose, and he gave you a half-smirk, his eyes burning with lust once more.

“Worried that they’ll see? They should. It will tell them you are mine, Eva.” Your face burned crimson, the exact color you were trying not to show on your cheeks at the moment. You swung your fist up and hit him in the chest.

“They don’t need to see anything!” you squeaked out as he let out a small laugh and reached up to grab the fist you had hit him with. His fingers threaded with yours as he pulled you forwards. You stumbled up against him, your remaining free hand pressing against his chest.

“With reluctance,” Orm drawled out, his eyes sparkling down at you with mirth before he pulled your hand up and pressed his lips against your knuckles. “I’ll admit that you look untouched, save for the fact that you look like you rolled around in the sand.”

“Oh thank God, the last thing I need and want is Arthur’s teasing,” you sighed out relief before Orm’s arm wrapped around your waist tightened.

“But that doesn’t mean next time I will be so gracious to your wishes.” He added, a clear warning for what was to come. King Orm was a possessive Atlantean and liked it when everyone knew exactly who put the marks on your neck. You nodded meekly before looking at the sliding glass doors.

“Really though, we should probably head in, you know, before Arthur gets curious and comes looking?” Orm huffed at you before releasing your hand and body from his hold.

“You are lucky that I respect you and your wishes, Eva, otherwise you wouldn’t get away with talking to me like that.”

“Whatever, your majesty,” you threw back into his face as you turned for the patio door. “Come on.”

Trying to walk as normally as possible, given your sore body, you sauntered over to the doors and pulled one aside, Orm following behind you.

Stepping into your living room, your eyes scanned the room, seeing that everyone was still present but had moved into the living room. Tom and Atlanna were sitting on the loveseat next to your couch while Vulko inspected your bookshelf.

Arthur caught your eye, and his eyebrow rose.

“You two are looking quite sandy,” He commented before getting elbowed in the side by Mera and receiving an equally sharp look.

“I tripped,” you stated as Orm came to a stop next to you, sand covering parts of him too. “And clumsily took Orm down with me as I went, end of story.”

Arthur snorted at you and shook his head, a grin clear on his face.

“You know, I would have thought you’d outgrow your clumsy days, Eva, but I guess not…” Narrowing your eyes at him, you raised your right hand and presented your middle finger to him, making him laugh at you.

“Not everyone gets to be as graceful as an Atlantean, Arthur,” you snapped at him before looking around, your eyes settling on the stacks of DVDs you had left on the coffee table. “Did everyone decide what movie we are going to watch?”

Mera held up a DVD, and squinting at it, you recognized it as Finding Dory. Your eyebrow shot up to your hairline, and you bit down on your lip to stop the giggles that wanted to crawl up your throat and burst from your lips. Oh, this was going to be funny watching with a bunch of Atlanteans. You had already made Orm watch it along with Finding Nemo months ago, and his reaction was hilarious.

You might just spend the entire movie laughing from their facial expressions alone.

“Alright, Arthur, get out the disc, will you? I need to wash my hands and get the popcorn going. I am not going to miss this,” you said as you started heading for your kitchen. “Oh, and will you get the extra blankets down from the closet? I can’t reach that far up…”

Arthur grunted at you before going to do as you asked. Entering your kitchen, you washed your hands free of sand before grabbing your canister of popcorn kernels and the biggest pot you had. You dished out several scoops into the pot and turned the stove on.

While the kernels were heating, you pulled out the popcorn bowl and set it down next to the stove. Knowing Arthur’s voracious appetite and that you had several Atlanteans who had never tried popcorn before, it was better to make more than needed than not have enough.

“You know you cry when you watch these types of movies. Especially this one.” Looking over your shoulder, you saw Orm leaning against the kitchen counter near the fridge. He looked hotter than ever, hair mussed, arms crossed with his muscles on show, and that delicious little smirk you wanted to kiss off his lips.

You shot him a dirty look.

“I do not,” you huffed at him with a scowl. His eyebrow rose at your blatant denial, and pushing away from the counter he had been leaning on, Orm slowly walked up to you, towering over your smaller frame. You shrunk where you stood. “… it was one time, and I was feeling emotional…” you finally admitted, puffing your lip out.

“And yet I feel like it is a common occurrence.” Huffing again, you continued to give him a look, daring him to outright say that you were a crybaby with children’s movies. He was saved by the popcorn rattling in the pot, making you jump in surprise.

Grumbling under your breath, you turned around to check the timer you had set up for the popcorn. Well, by both the time left, and the sounds coming from the pot, it was almost ready.

“Do you mind saving me a seat on my couch?” you asked, keeping your back to him as you tapped your fingers on the lid of the pot. “Arthur likes to hog the couch, and I want to at least have some leg room… you both are freakishly tall.”

For a moment you thought he was going to state that he was a prince, and princes didn’t take orders from commoners, least of all a surface dweller (that’s what had been thrown in your face the first couple of months he stayed with you, he still had a stubborn streak that cropped up sometimes), but he didn’t.

Hands landed on your hips, sliding around to brush the front of your thighs. Orm then pressed his body up against your back, his nose brushing against your neck.

“As my beloved wishes,” Orm purred into your neck, both his lips and his breath tickling your skin. Heat crawled up the back of your neck as the hairs raised. The hot bastard was pressing a kiss to your neck right here in the kitchen! Shivering from his words and touch, your jaw nearly dropped when he expunged himself and walked out of the kitchen.

“Oh, that is so mean,” you whispered to yourself, leaning forwards and banging your fist against your forehead while his incredibly soft chuckle echoed in the kitchen. God, he could be such a smug, hot bastard sometimes. Moaning to yourself for a few more seconds, you finally cleared your head long enough to finish preparing the popcorn and pour it into the serving bowl.

Giant bowl in hand, you headed back into the living room. The menu was on the screen, and the movie was ready to be played. Arthur, luckily, had confined himself to one section of the sofa, with Mera at his side. Trying not to walk oddly in front of the Atlanteans who were none the wiser about what went down after you had run after Orm, you handed the bowl over to Arthur with a command to share before carefully climbing across the longer part of the sofa and settling down next to Orm who held out your favorite blanket.

Taking it, you stretched out your legs next to his, which were noticeably shorter than his. Unfolding the blanket, you covered your legs, making sure that your feet were properly covered before looking at Arthur.

“You got the lights and remote?” you asked. He nodded his chin, holding up the remote before stretching an arm out and flicking the light switch, sending the room into darkness save for the television. Arthur hit play, and the movie started.

With a tired sigh, you rubbed your face. After the little tryst on the beach, you were feeling exhausted and tired, and without a doubt, you might fall asleep before the movie ended, so you might as well get comfortable.

Under the cover of darkness, you twisted onto your side and snuggled up against Orm’s side. He kept his eyes on the television screen, but the corner of his mouth twitched into a partial smile as he slipped his arm around your back and underneath your blanket to rest his hand on your waist.

It had been a long year, a very rough start at the beginning, but slowly you had gotten to see the real Orm, and that’s when you fell. You still had a long way to go with fixing the relationship between Atlanteans and surface dwellers, but if Orm could come to see that not every surface dweller was mean and cruel, others could too.

Date Published: 11/8/20

Last Edit: 4/28/24

Masterlist | Next

#aquaman #orm marius #orm marius x reader

[snelbz]

Better or Worse {8}

Nessian. Angst. Modern au.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

Warnings: language.

Every session with Gwyn is easier.

I’m still tense as hell when we arrive, but as Cassian and I leave our most recent appointment with her, I actually feel like we might actually be getting back on the right track.

His hand is in mine, which has been a much more common occurrence in the past few days than it had in the last year.

Gwyn knows what she’s talking about, that’s for sure. As a relationship therapist, I would really hope she’s good at what she does, but I didn’t realize just how much I missed Cassian’s touch, the feel of his rough hands on my skin.

Nothing past PG has happened, but every time he tucks a loose strand of my hair behind my ear or takes my hand in his, my stomach does a little flip and I feel like a teenager with a crush.

Except this isn’t just a silly crush.

He’s the love of my life. I knew it, even in my darkest hour, even when we rarely spoke, even when it felt like we did not exist within the same space. I have never doubted that Cassian is the one and only man I am meant to be with, which is somehow even more terrifying than having a simple teenage crush. I wasn’t even this scared when we were engaged, when we were about to be married. Then, I felt like I had nothing to lose, there was no question about it, about us. Now, I feel like I have everything to lose. Even though things are getting better, we aren’t back to being us, and even though I feel like we’ll get there, that we’re on the right track, the fact that we’re not still leaves me scared shitless. 

“You’re quiet,” Cassian says, as he pulls us out of the parking lot. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” I say, and it’s an honest response, even though he looks unsure. “Just reflecting.”

He nods, looking both ways before pulling out onto the main street. “I get that.” There’s a beat of silence, then he says, “I think we should go out tonight.”

I look at him, brow raised, instantly thinking about the last time we tried to go out a few weeks ago. “Really?”

He shrugs, fingers dancing on the steering wheel. “Yeah, I’d kind of like to erase the last date we had. Thought we should try again.” Another beat of silence passes. “But, if you’re not ready, that’s fine—”

“I think that sounds nice,” I interrupt, afraid I was giving off the wrong vibes. I’m more surprised that he wanted to try date night again after I messed the last one up so badly, but he gives me a smile that I know is genuine, and slightly full of mischief, which reminds me of the old him, the one that didn’t want to leave me.

I miss him.

And even though I see glimpses of that old Cassian lately, I know he’s still holding back. 

“Good,” he says, and we spend the rest of the way home in a comfortable silence. 

We agreed we’d leave at six-thirty, which allows me two hours to respond to some emails before I have to start getting ready. While I’m in my office, Cassian’s downstairs going over a few new menu items for the restaurant. Half of my inbox is nasty emails from Eris, which tries to dampen my mood but I won’t let it. If I got pissed and upset everytime Eris told me something I don’t want to hear, I’d never feel a single ounce of joy. I send him one email as a response to all, letting him know that everything is on track and I’ll send him an update at the end of the day tomorrow. 

It’s just after five-thirty when a soft knock comes to the office door and Cassian peeks in. He’s shirtless, yet again, and I’m starting to think that he’s coming around shirtless more and more just to watch me ogle, which I do, with no shame. Especially when he’s sweating, looking like he’s just conquered a thousand pushups. “Red or blue?”

I lift a brow. “What?”

He smiles. “Red or blue?”

I snort. “Blue?” 

“Seafood or steak?”

I cock my head to the side. “Is this how you're planning our night? Twenty questions?”

His grin widens. My eyes fall to his chest, his abs, back up to his lips, then his eyes as he asks, “Seafood or steak?”

I think about it for a second. “Steak.” 

“Inside or outside?”

Thinking about the warm, clear day we’ve had, I say, “Outside.”

“I’m getting in the shower.” With a wink, he’s gone.

I decide I should probably start getting ready too and close my laptop, deciding to ignore all work related bullshit for the rest of the night. Tonight is about me and Cassian, and everything else officially doesn’t exist. 

When I enter our bedroom, the bathroom door is cracked and I can see the inside getting steamy from the shower. Gray pants and a navy blue button down are sitting on the bed. 

I’m glad I went with blue.

I grab a brush from my nightstand before sitting at my vanity and setting out what makeup I’m going to use. I need to wash my face first, and glance towards the bathroom door that’s slightly ajar. Surely if he left it open, he doesn’t mind if I go in.

Right?

After debating it for far too long, I walk to the bathroom door and softly knock, nudging it open an inch or two more as I do so.

“Yeah?”

“I need to wash my face,” I say, peeking my head in.

The shower door opens just a bit and out pops his arm, my bottle of face wash in his hand.

I take the bottle, doing my best not to look at the expanse of toned skin and dark ink on display, but failing miserably.

Gods, he’s mouthwatering.

Heading straight for the sink, I turn it on and wet my face. As I squeeze a good amount of the product onto my fingers and form a lather, I clear my throat. “So is our game of twenty questions over or will there be more?”

Cassian chuckles and the sound makes my nipples tighten. A husky laugh shouldn’t undo me so easily, but gods, it’s been so long. “There are a few more,” he says, as I scrub. “But I was going to wait until we were on the way to ask.”

After rinsing my face and drying it off with a hand towel, I turn to lean against the bathroom counter. “And if I have one for you?”

The water shuts off and the bathroom becomes unnervingly quiet for a moment as Cassian towels off. The shower door opens and he’s once again wearing nothing but that towel slung low on his hips. The well defined muscles leading down into the towel may as well be an arrow pointing at his cock because it’s all I can focus on.

“Nesta?”

Right, I said I was going to ask him a question.

Clearing my throat, I ask, “Legs or breasts?”

The only sound is the shower head slowly dripping water onto the tile floor. Cassian blinks, likely making sure he heard me right. “What?”

“Legs or breasts,” I repeat, heading for my closet.

“Are we going to KFC on the way home?” He asks, shaking his head.

I can’t help my own laugh as I look at him. “Just pick one, you ass.”

“Breasts.” His eyes are focused on my face, trying his hardest not to let his gaze dip to the aforementioned part of my body.

“Okay,” I smirk, stepping into my closet.

I can still feel him watching me as I disappear into my chaos of clothing, searching for a dress that shows off my best assets. A few come to mind, but there’s one in particular that I’m hoping to dig out for tonight’s occasion. It takes me a minute to find it, and when I take it out of the closet, my face now clean, Cassian’s still standing there in the bathroom, that fucking towel still barely hiding all that’s beneath. 

I wonder what he would do if I kissed him. Without warning, if I just grabbed his face and kissed him, I wonder how he would react. It’s ridiculous, being nervous to kiss your own husband, but I am. His eyes dart to the dress that’s hanging on the hanger in my hand. His eyes darken. He knows exactly what dress this is. 

“Give me half an hour, and I’ll be ready,” I say, as I go by him, into the bedroom. When I look over my shoulder, his eyes are on my ass.

They snap up to mine and he clears his throat. I try to ignore the fact that I can see something happening beneath that towel of his, even though it causes a longing throughout my body that I haven’t felt in a long, long time. “Sounds good. Yeah, me too.”

I leave him in the bathroom and sit at my vanity, getting to work on my appearance. Cassian’s voice comes from the bathroom. “Twenty questions — clean shave or no?”

I laugh quietly to myself. I like this little game we’re playing. As I dab on my foundation, I say, “Keep the scruff.” 

He comes out a few minutes later, his long, wavy hair brushed and dried and loose above his shoulders. He notices me looking and smiles as he takes his clothes off the bed and goes back to the bathroom. I suddenly realize how much I wanted him to drop that towel, right here, right now.

I focus on my eyeshadow. 

Once I’m done with my makeup, I brush through my hair and add a few more curls since some had fallen loose before spraying it. 

I’m halfway into my dress when the bathroom door opens again, and Cassian is dressed to perfection. He smells phenomenal, like my favorite cologne. When he sees me, he stops.

“Perfect timing,” I say, although I find it hard to find my voice. “Help me zip?”

I turn around and move my hair out of the way. For a moment, he doesn’t come, but then he’s moving toward me, silently. 

He finds the zipper that’s just above my waist, and my breath catches as his fingertips brush the bare skin of my lower back. He takes his time, and every time his fingers make contact with my skin, an ache that’s newly been awakened throbs between my thighs. 

I never thought zipping up my dress would be erotic. I was wrong.

“Ready?” He asks, hands still lingering on my waist.

Ready to throw you down on the bed and say to hell with our date.

I smile at him in the mirror and shake my head. “Almost.”

He steps back, letting me cross the room to my jewelry box. I retrieve a necklace he gave me for our anniversary a few years back. I don’t wear it often, despite loving it, because of the length of the chain. The diamond pendant fell right between breast and as I fluff my hair out around me, I turn and face my husband.

“Now I’m ready,” I say and I don’t know why I sound so breathless.

Okay, I do. If Cassian’s gaze could set something on fire, my dress would be ashes.

Silently, he holds out his hand. I take it, loving the feel of his rough callouses against my skin. I don’t let myself think about how those hands feel on other parts of my body, despite it having been months since I felt them.

Once downstairs, he swipes his keys and wallet, and then we’re headed to the restaurant.

He takes me to one of the best steakhouses in Velaris and we sit on the roof, where string lights and live music surrounds our candlelit table. The conversation is easy, nothing is forced, and it’s like a breath of fresh air.

We talk about our most memorable dates, once Cassian mentioned that one time we skipped a group date because we saw a new taco stand on the way and ate there instead, just the two of us. We sat on the steps of the art museum, dressed in some of our finest, eating a heap of messy tacos. That had been about eight years ago, and I hadn’t realized just how much time has passed between the two of us.

Nearly ten years of marriage.

A decade since we swore our lives to one another.

And I almost let it all go. Looking at my husband across the table, I don’t know how I could have ever been so foolish, so selfish.

He sees me watching him and smiles, setting his fork down, his plate now cleared. I take a sip of my wine. He refills it once it’s almost empty, until the bottle that the waiter left us is almost gone.

After calling for the check, Cassian looks up at me. “Should we head home or walk around for a bit?”

I set down my empty wine glass. “Is this a part of twenty questions?”

He chuckles. “I haven’t exceeded twenty questions yet?”

I shake my head.

“Then yes,” he says, quietly, the toe of his boot nudging the toe of my stiletto. 

“A little walk sounds nice,” I say, afraid that when we get back home we’ll fall back into our polite small talk. Small talk isn’t bad, but this easy conversation we’ve had between us today… I like it.

We walk along the Sidra, the warm, clear day making way for a beautiful night, and I listen as Cassian regales me with tales of a new chef at the restaurant. She’s young and has never had an official kitchen job before, only graduating from culinary school the year before. I glance over at him, with lips pursed. He usually isn’t willing to put his restaurant’s reputation on the line like that. His chefs and sous chefs all have long lists of accomplishments and recognition, upholding the notoriety he’s earned.

We walk on, pausing at an ice cream stand to get to two cones.

“What?”

I look over at him and he’s already watching me as we walk.

I repeat his question. “What?”

He reached out and skims a thumb over my brow. “You’re thinking too hard about something.”

I push him away, rolling my eyes, but he catches my hand and we’re heading back towards the car.

“What’s on your mind, Nes?” He pushes, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the back of my hand.

For a brief second, I consider lying to him. I could tell him it’s nothing, tell him there really isn’t anything on my mind. But we haven’t gone through four weeks of marriage counseling for nothing.

“I just… This new girl, Emerie,” I start, hoping he doesn’t see my question as a sign of jealousy. “What exactly made you bring her on? She’s pretty green, as far as your assistant chefs go.”

I don’t think there’s any nefarious reasoning behind his hiring her. I just don’t understand his sudden change in pace.

He’s quiet a minute, which only makes my nerves ratchet higher. When he finally speaks, his words are low, almost too soft to hear over the sound of the city around us. “She’s from the same small town as I am. Similar upbringing, no dad, single mom that worked way too much.”

My heart fractured a bit inside my chest.

I stop, tugging on his hand to make him stop, too. I look at him. Really look at him. My husband is a damn good man. I’ve always known it, and I know that he’s proud of his past, although a lot of it is tragic. He loved his mother, before she passed, considering she had raised him on her own and fought tooth and nail for everything they had. It would make sense he would be sympathetic for someone of a very similar life. 

When it’s clear I’m not saying anything, because I truly cannot find the words, his brows furrow. Before he can ask me what’s wrong, I lean up on my toes and press my lips to his cheek. He inhales, as if he’s shocked, and I let the kiss linger against his warm, stubbled cheek. Our hands remain clasped together and when I lean back, his eyes are searching mine.

“You’re a good man,” I say, my voice hoarse. “And a good boss.”

He swallows, but he nods as he brushes his thumb over the back of my hand. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. 

I want to yank his mouth down to mine, but this moment is cherished and I don’t want to overstep, don’t want to ruin what we’ve built here. I give him a smile and we resume our walk. 

I make a note to stop by the restaurant this week and meet Emerie as we find our way back to the truck. Cassian helps me inside the cab and his hand lingers on mine, even after I’ve sat, before he closes the door and finds his way behind the wheel. 

We listen to music on the way home and he makes me laugh when he sings along to some nineties R&B song that definitely should’ve been left in the nineties. He catches me watching him on more than one occasion, and his smile softens every time he does. 

When we’ve made it home and witnessed Greg sprawled out next to the fruit bowl on the island, Cassian says, “I had a really good time tonight.”

“Yeah,” I say, setting my clutch on the counter. “It was a good night.”

He nods, and for a moment we just stand in the silence, staring at one another. He’s the one to break it.

“I have to be at the restaurant early tomorrow,” he says, but he’s stepped closer to me. “I should get ready for bed.”

“Right.” I clear my throat, not sure what to say, as I edge around the island, closer to him. “I have to go in early, too.”

Meetings with my manager and the publishing company start tomorrow. I have no idea where the future of my books are with this company, but they have to understand that I can’t keep putting out the same volume of content out. Not if I have any hope of salvaging my marriage.

He sets his keys in the center of the island, which puts him right in front of me. Staring up at him, I watch as his eyes dip down to my lips and his Adam’s apple bobs. “Can I…kiss you?”

I nod, not trusting my voice, holding my breath. He leans in and my eyes fall closed.

After a second, his lips press against mine and I’m lost. It’s been so long since he’s kissed me. I’d forgotten how soft his lips were, how heady his cologne made me feel, the feel of his arm wrapping around my waist and pulling me close.

I melt into him, losing myself in the feel of his kiss, clinging to his shirt with both hands.

It’s over as quickly as it began.

When he pulls back, his hazel eyes are bright and he’s breathing heavily. I want to pull his face back to mine, want to grab him and drag him upstairs with me.

But Gwyn told us to hold off on sex.

Reaching up, I caress his stubbled cheek. “We should get to bed.”

He nods and swallows, not making a move to let me go any more than I’m making a move to let him go. I can tell his self control is on a short leash, just as mine is. So I step back and make my way upstairs.

He’s just behind me.

When we’ve reached our bedroom, Cassian quickly brushes his teeth before getting a pair of sweatpants. I’m watching him on the bed the entire time, suddenly not trusting myself to be too close to him. Before he leaves to go downstairs, he kisses my forehead, quickly. “Night, Nes.”

“Goodnight,” I say, but barely anything is audible as the word leaves my mouth. He leaves, and I feel empty once I’m alone. 

After stripping out of my dress and pulling on an old t-shirt, I wash my face and brush my teeth, and bury myself beneath the blankets of our bed. I miss Cassian sleeping next to me. Tonight, more than ever, the bed feels lonely. 

My heart is racing and I’m not tired in the slightest, despite the fact that I know I need to go to bed. I need to be well rested to deal with Eris’ shit in the morning.

But I can’t stop thinking about my husband, sleeping on the couch downstairs. I wonder if he wants to come up here, wants to climb into bed with me, wants to hold me until the sun comes up tomorrow morning.

I want his body pressed up against me.

I want to feel his skin on mine.

Fuck, the throbbing between my thighs is unbearable. I don’t want to touch myself, I want to run downstairs and have him touch me, taste me, fuck me until I can’t think straight. I’m not thinking straight now, I’m too horny, too needy.

It’s been too damn long.

But Gwyn is right. Nothing should be rushed. We need to wait until we’re good again, until we’re back to being Nesta and Cassian.

That doesn’t mean that he can’t sleep in his own bed, though.

Sex may be off the table, at least for now, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t share the same bed.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed before I can think better of it. The house is quiet as I make my way to the door and push it open. Everything’s dark, and I try to be as quiet as possible as I make my way down the hall. At the top of the stairs, I stop, making out Cassian’s massive figure on the couch. There’s no way he’s comfortable. Half of him is nearly hanging off of it. 

But he’s asleep.

At least, I think he’s asleep. The living room is dark, silent. He’s not moving. I think about walking down the stairs anyway, to brush his hair off his face and ask if he wants to join me, but I can’t seem to convince my feet to move. If he’s already asleep, he’s apparently not having the same internal crisis that I am. 

Silently, I turn around and go back to bed, careful not to make any noise, careful not to wake him. 

When I’m back beneath the blankets, I slip my hand beneath my panties and rub one out until that throbbing ache between my thighs is no more. 

#better or worse #nessian #nessian bow #snelbz x theladyofdeath collab #snacmc collabs #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #sjm fanfic

[bisheepart]

More Incorrect Quotes

Send help

Gregory: Vanessa got me a coat, but it's an extra large.

Cassie: Ah.

Gregory: So the sleeves go down to my knees.

Ellis: I forgot short people existed for a moment and had to think why that was bad.

Tony: *snorts*

--------

Cassie: Dumbest scar stories, go!

Elizabeth: I burned my tongue once drinking tea.

Cassidy: I dropped the hair dryer on my leg once.

Gregory: I have a piece of graphite in my leg for accidentally stabbing myself with a pencil in the first grade.

Tony: I was taking a cup of noodles out of the microwave and spilled it on my hand and I got a really bad burn.

Evan: ... I have emotional scars...

--------

*The 'Not So Alone' Gang hanging out at the Afton House, and in the living room*

Michael, walks in and sees the boys with makeup on:... The fuck are you all doing?

Evan: Lizzie and Cassie wanted to do makeup practice... And Cassidy just likes to cause problems.

Michael: Well, you all look hilariously ridiculous! Oh man, can't wait to tell every-

Gregory: HEY CASSIE, LIZZIE! MICHAEL WANTS TO JOIN IN TOO!

Elizabeth: *gasps* Mikey! Come here I got so many good ideas for you!

Michael: No, no no no! *goes to run off* Stay away from me!

Cassidy: GET HIM!

*the girls chasing after Michael while he yells at them to leave him alone*

Tony: CAN'T MAKE FUN OF US IF YOU'RE ONE OF US!

--------

Gregory; hey, Freddy Fazbear's, if your pizza is $5.99 and I order two of them, where the fuck do you get $36 from?!

Cassie: *wheezes*

--------

Evan: I don't get how you do it.

Cassidy: Do what?

Evan: Make everything sound like a threat. That man looked like he was about to piss himself, and all you did was ask him to step aside so that we could get past. Even when I actively try to sound threatening, no one takes me seriously.

Cassidy: That's because you look and sound like the personification of a warm hug.

--------

Ellis: Who the fuck added me to the fucking group chat?

Charlie: >:O Language!

Tony: Yeah watch your fucking language.

Elizabeth: OKAY WHO TAUGHT TONY THE FUCK WORD?!

Cassidy: 'the fuck word'

Evan: Are you guys stupid? You say the f word all the time.

Gregory: Oh my God, he censored it.

Elizabeth: Say fuck, Evan!

Cassidy: Do it, Evan. Say Fuck

--------

Evan: You guys really put aside everything and came all this way for me? How did you even get here so fast?

Tony: Several traffic violations.

Cassidy: Three counts of resisting arrest.

Ellis: Roughly thirteen cans of energy drinks.

Gregory: Also, that’s not our car.

--------

Elizabeth: I need you to come meet me, and I need you to come alone.

Charlie: And I need you to be less vague and weird.

--------

Elizabeth: We're going to a candy store?!

Evan: What, no! It's night time, candy stores are closed.

Gregory: We're gonna rob a candy store?!

#fnaf #not so alone au #evan afton #michael afton #elizabeth afton #incorrect fnaf quotes #fnaf cassie #fnaf gregory #fnaf cassidy #charlie emily #ellis fnaf #ellis tftp #ellis tales from the pizzaplex #tony becker #tony tales from the pizzaplex #tony becker tales from the pizzaplex #swearing #tw swearing #this wasn't meant to be a not so alone AU one but it just kinda happened.