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sukimii · 1 year

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Clingy

Tags: fuff, slight angst, foul language, touch-starved!Reader

Notes: Before reading any of my fics please read this first, thank you.

"Do you even love me?"

"Yes" your answer is immediate, with no hesitation. Of course, you love him, if you could write it in the sky you would. Yet now, the man you love is angry at you, with a mix of disappointment while you're on the verge of crying.

"Then why the fuck aren't you initiating shit?"

You know you should say something. You know you should open up and explain your behavior, but it's easier said than done. Because in the past, whenever you opened up no one listened. They either pretended not to hear or changed the topic of conversation. So you settled on pretending.

Over the years you became good at faking your moods and smiles. It came naturally for you to plaster a smile on your face and make it believable. You became good at pretending you were fine, when in fact you wanted nothing more than to have someone to listen. But no one ever did. No one cared enough to listen to the end, because as long as it doesn't concern them your insecurities are irrelevant.

"If I don't text you, you don't. If I don't call you, you don't. If I don't kiss you, you don't. Why the fuck are we in a relationship then?" The anger in his voice is deafening. It makes you want to crawl on yourself, wishing to disappear. You can feel his resentment in your bones. You know you should speak up, but your voice seems to be stuck in your throat.

"I didn't call you for three fucking days to see if you would. And guess what? You didn't!" Bakugou's eyes narrow on you, waiting for an answer that he will probably never get. "Why the fuck aren't you speaking?! Do you even give a shit about me? About our relationship?"

"I-I do care"

"Fucking bullshit." He scoffs, one hand dragging along the roots of his hair while the other one curled into a fist. "If you cared you would've reached for me. If you cared you would show it through your actions. If you cared-"

You can't listen to all your flaws.

He's listing the very same things people in your past had complained about. The sad part is that you already know the endgame, which only worsens the angst creeping up your back.

Bakugou is the only person you managed to fall in love with. He's the only one that makes you feel important, the only one that always waits for you. He is the first one that makes your heart beat so loud to the point of tuning out the world. He is the only one that keeps you on your toes. The only one that can awaken emotions buried in the depths of your heart and soul.

But now, having him complain about you was destroying your already fragile heart. All the wounds that you managed to somehow patch over the years are now ripped open again. It hurts. His words are like stabs, and you don't have the strength to listen. Because the man you love isn't willing to wait anymore.

You should've seen this coming. It was bound to happen. But your childish self, that small part of you that believes in hope, thought he was going to be the exception. You feel betrayed, by yourself. And you snap.

"BECAUSE YOU WILL HATE IT!"

Your breathing is heavy and ragged, tears already spilling down your cheeks while Bakugou is stunned to silence, watching you with both his eyebrows raised. Then he frowns.

"Why would I hate it?"

"Because everyone does, sooner or later." You can feel snot threatening to drip down your nose, and you sniff, using the abused napkin in your hand to wipe it. "You say now that you want me to do all those things, but as soon as I do you will get sick of me. So-" you choke back another sob, gathering your phone and bag. "It's best if we break up. Sorry for wasting your time" and with those final words, you get up from the table, intent on leaving his house.

It's always like this.

In every relationship that you had, it always ended up with them complaining about you. Something, at the end of the day, made you unable to satisfy them properly. There's always something wrong with you. You. You're your own reason why no one can ever stand you. Right now, all you want to do is get back to your house and cry out all your frustrations. But before you reach the handle, something tugs your other wrist, spinning you around into a hard chest.

"You're not going away, not when you're opening up. Fucking finally" Bakugou drags you back to the living room, this time on the couch. All your protests fall on deaf ears, even the attempts of pushing him away are an utter failure.

"Sit your ass down and start chirpin'."

To Bakugou it's clear that there is a problem, which might run deeper than he originally expected. So he waits for you to speak up.

Yet again, you seem to lose your voice, uncomfortable under his stare, and you look anywhere but at him.

After several beats of silence - disrupted by your sniffs in a poor attempt to not cry- Bakugou sighs. "If we- if you don't speak up, I don't know how to help you. I already have a feeling of what the problem might be, but I want you to tell me. I want to hear it from you."

You mull a little over his words, weighing down your options. The past experiences with childhood friends, exes, and family members, taught you to never expect anything from anyone. Sometimes people pretend to listen because their goal is to seem nice, but once they realize that the problem is nothing interesting, they drop the subject. And as much as you love Bakugou, you don't believe he'll be any different.

"There's nothing too important. It's exactly what I said it is. You think I don't want to hold your hand? You think I don't want to wrap my whole body on you like a koala all day? I crave physical touch, I crave it so bad, but I can't. I can't" as you keep spilling out your frustrations, your voice grows bitter and resentful. "Because you enjoy it in the beginning, but then you'll get sick of it and call me clingy, just like everyone else did! I know that after, you'll tell me to 'get a life', to 'go bother someone else' and I don't want it to happen again! Because I'll be the one getting heartbroken while you all keep surfing life as if you didn't stump on my stupid, useless feelings! You're no different from the others, once you get what you want then I hold no value in your eyes. Just another bitch to add to the fuck list no-" Bakugou is quick to cover your mouth with his palm, and you finally look at him.

He looks… sad. His eyes are soft, mouth pressed into a thin line as he looks at you with what you could describe as pity. But in reality, you couldn't be any farther from the truth, because Bakugou isn't pitying you. No. He understands you.

"We already fucked, two months ago. And I'm still here, aren't I?" His voice is gentle, probably the softest you've ever heard him. As if trying to soothe a wounded animal. It's endearing.

Blinking the heavy veil of unshed tears away, you give him a couple of nods.

"Do you really think I would do something like that to you? Do you think I would say to anybody that I love them?" his palm slides down your neck until it rests comfortably at the back of your head. With breath stuck in your lungs, you offer him a soft shake of your head, no. You don't think Bakugou is that type, but you never know.

"Do you have any idea of how much I want you to do all those things? Fuck- be a fucking leech for all I care, just-!" His forehead lightly bumps into yours, the tip of the nose rubbing a couple of times against yours. His eyes are transfixed into yours, and you can feel goosebumps raise on your whole body at the intensity of his stare.

"I don't care if I'm in an uncomfortable position. I don't care if you're all sweaty from working out or if I'm barely standing because of a rough day. I want you to do anything you want. You want to spoon me? Do it. You want to hold my hand in public? Do it. You want hugs when I'm busy? Do it. Fuckin' do it. I don't care. Fuck- I could be in the middle of an important call and I still wouldn't refuse your attention!" His head dips into the crook of your shoulder while leaving a trail of kisses down your neck.

"I don't care what shit-stain you dated before me, all I care about is for you to be comfortable with me. Do you understand?" His arms are circling your back, holding you tight, but not enough to cut the breath out of you. You sniff, suppressing another sob that threatens to come out.

"Y-yes"

"Then hug me" He gives you a squeeze, voice barely above a whisper. "Please"

You know that this doesn't count as a potential improvement since, again, Bakugou is the one that initiated the physical contact. But you oblige, wrapping your arms around his neck.

For several minutes, you bask in the silence, enjoying the comfort and warmth. Until Bakugou speaks again, voice partially muffled by your clothes.

"I noticed how different you are with that weir- Hatsume."

"She-" you clear your throat, trying to get rid of the ragged tone "she never pushed me away. Probably the only one that never did." you don't want to relieve the past, but with Bakugou seems right. Up until now, he showed nothing but understanding.

"There were times when I would visit her back when she was in UA. She didn't mind when I would sleep on her while she worked on her babies. One day I remember falling asleep on her back, and she didn't complain. She- she was the only one that never called me a bother."

"You didn't do anything too scared I would…" he trails, lifting a little his head just enough to see your eyes.

"Call me clingy." You finish for him. His arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer.

"Even my parents pushed me away. I used to seek physical attention all the time. If it were possible, I would stay with you like this all day, but I know it's impossible. And I don't want you to think that I-… I don't want to be a burden. An inconvenience. I don't want you to hate me because of that. So I give you space. I let you initiate everything on your own terms because I'm scared of being annoying."

Bakugou listens. He knows that if he speaks you might try to make the conversation take a detour. So he waits for you to continue.

"I used to like sleepovers. I used to beg my parents to let me sleep at a friend's house. But then they told me no because I would be a bother, and that people are too nice to tell me that. Even holding hands was something I enjoyed, until someone slapped my hand away."

That detail doesn't sit right with Bakugou, and whoever slapped your hand was already on his piss-the-fuck-off list.

"Is this why you keep refusing to stay the night?" When you nod, Bakugou feels like the heaviest stone has just been lifted from his chest. When he slept with you for the first time, he asked you to stay over. It was late, and dark outside, and letting you wander the streets where danger lurked wasn't something he was keen on. Plus, it would give him more time to spend with you. But when you got up and dressed, turning down his offer saying that you were busy the next day, he walked you home.

The second time, again, you shut him down. He tried to be understanding. At the time, he couldn't understand why you refused to crash at his place when he did overstay at yours. At first, he thought you didn't like his apartment, or that you didn't feel comfortable enough. So, he bought a couple of plants, hoping that it will ease you, and stuffed his bathroom with products he saw at yours. He made sure to put hairclips and hair ties near the sink, in a pink-stained glass bowl. And different types of pads were stashed in the first drawer, just in case. He also added some décor, similar to your aesthetic, but even that didn't work. Despite your compliments, saying that you loved the changes he made, it still wasn't enough to make you stay.

Another time he tried again was three weeks ago. He tried his hardest to fuck you stupid, he hoped that six hours of constant sex will tire you out enough that you will cave, and finally spend the night at his. He tried different positions that he knew would strain your legs. Positions that will weaken your body, and time for you to recover were minimal. If he was generous, only a minute before he went at it again. Despite all his efforts, you still went home. Bruised, body screaming in pain at the effort, and on the verge of passing out, you asked him to take you home. And Bakugou, at that point, began to think that maybe you didn't love him.

He became self-conscious. Because why else wouldn't you want to spend more time with him? Why would you only have sex and then drop out as soon as you felt like sleeping?

Yet that theory wasn't exactly making sense, because the very next day you asked him to stay over at yours.

But now, Bakugou understands. He now knows what the problem is, and he has to admit that you told him way more than he originally expected. He's glad you did so, it's a step in the right direction, and he believes that improvements will happen soon.

One hand moves on the back of your head, cradling you closer while his lips ghost the skin right below your ear.

"Let's take baby steps" he murmurs, leaving a feathery kiss on the side of your neck. Your arms hook around his shoulders, leaning into him.

"Stay tonight" He feels your body tense up, and before you can utter a word -already knowing what you were going to say, he squeezes you, silently adding the 'please' that was lingering on the tip of his tongue.

When he feels your body relax in his hold, and a soft 'ok' leaves your lips, Bakugou allows himself to smile, happy with the outcome.

#bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou imagine #bnha bakugou #mha katsuki #bnha imagines #bnha bakugō #bakugo x reader

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ecoamerica · 23 days

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leighsartworks216 · 6 months

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No Alarms and No Surprises, Please

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

I had this idea and decided to write it "real quick" (it took like two hours). I meant to do just like a really short thing so I could eat lunch and then get back to work, but then my brain was like no we gotta set up context

Titled after the song "No Surprises" by Radiohead. It doesn't exactly fit, but it felt right in my mind

Warnings: mentions of murder, tense moments, injury, burning flesh, bruises, bones breaking, blood mention, nausea mention, angst, literal hurt/comfort, soft Astarion moments

Word Count: 1,863

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

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You peeked slowly around the corner, holding your breath. Astarion hovered just behind you, almost touching you as you both surveyed your surroundings.

It was a palace, that much you knew. You also knew the guards were exceptionally strong. You already wasted enough healing spells and potions on the two guarding the door - you were just lucky they didn’t call for reinforcements. You also knew there was an artifact deep within the heart of this place that could provide some insight into removing the tadpoles.

“We’ll have to go around,” you breathe out slowly to the spawn. He gives a slight nod. As much as he loved bloodshed, sneak-killing all of them would be too high a risk. You almost came face to face with him when you look over your shoulder. He gives you a knowing smirk as he backs off. You nod down a side-hall. “That way.”

You gesture to Gale and Shadowheart, making sure they knew the plan. They nodded, waiting. You turn back to the patrolling sentinels. Their movements are constant and predictable, each pace following the same amount of steps. They sync, facing away from your destination, and you wave a hand for a companion to go.

Gale, ever the gentleman, lets Shadowheart go first. She hides behind the wall, out of sight. You wait again and gesture for Gale to go. He bites back complaints about his knees that creak under the duress of sneaking. He arrives just as a guard turns. Astarion could hear your heart thumping wildly in your chest; it pounds so loud in your ears you can’t even hear the guards’ footsteps anymore.

He wraps a hand around your waist, carefully pulling you away from the corner. You stare at him, worried he’s noticed something wrong. He nods toward the hall where your companions wait. “You first,” he whispers.

You want to argue - he can see the wheels turning in your head as you frown at him. As the de facto leader, you always worked to ensure everyone else was safe before you. You rested a little easier knowing you’d be the one in harm's way should something go wrong. But Astarion was a rogue, and used to sneaking around to boot. He would be much better at timing his dash to the hall than you could.

After a moment, you nodded. He pushed you back to his prior spot as he takes your place, poking an eye around the corner and studying them. He thought you’d die of a heart attack if this went on any longer. When the guards turn, he taps your waist. You crouch as quickly as you can to Gale and Shadowheart. They greet you with a tense nod.

You wait in silence for Astarion.

He almost spooks you when he comes silently around the corner. But now, further from the immediate threat, you have a chance to breathe.

The hallway stretches on for what seems like forever. Closed doors and open arch-ways line each side, perfectly mirrored. At the end, there’s a very small statue - but you’re sure it’s life size up close. The prospect of a maze with the ever-looming fear of getting caught doesn’t exactly thrill you, nor any of your companions, but nothing can be done for it.

You sigh and lead them onward.

It’s too risky to peek inside the rooms - if there were patrols inside you’d all be jumped and killed within minutes. At each arch, you glance around the corner, down the other equally as endless corridors. It’s oddly quiet. Not a guard in sight, even on grander doors that seem like they should be protected. It leaves you on edge. Waiting for the boot to drop and leave you in mortal peril. At the very least, you feel safe enough to stand up. It saves you from Gale’s grumbling.

You peer around another corridor and try to imagine the layout of the palace. You’d found a map once, but it was too tattered to make anything useful out. The most information you gleaned from it was where the staircases were. If you could find your way to one of those, you’d be able to go down, deeper into the belly of the beast. You believe, if your slipping memory of the map was correct, you could turn down this way and go all the way to the end, and there would be stairwells on either side of the very-tiny-life-sized-statue.

Resolved to your plan, you step through the ornate marble arch. You feel the pain before you register where it’s coming from. You collapse to the floor, cushioned only by a strong arm and solid body. A hand clamps over your mouth, pressing down tight to keep any sound from slipping through.

Oh. That breathless tightness in your chest is not from the pain. It’s you screaming. Trying to, at least. Your eyes dart frantically around as your body writhes against the person holding you. Gale and Shadowheart appear in front of you, kneeling down and working as fast as they can to help.

One of your legs feels weighed down. You stare at the chunk of metal for too long before it finally registers the trap clamping down on your leg. It looks and acts like a bear trap, but it’s been improved to burn red-hot when activated.

Fear grips you like a vice. You become conscious of the fact the teeth of the trap are almost meeting. It’s bitten through your bone. Or nearly through, anyway. You didn’t process it, too busy being victimized by the sadistic mechanics of the device, but Astarion, Shadowheart and Gale all felt nauseous as the crack continues to echo in their mind.

“Shh,” comes a whisper by your ear. You whimper and gasp and struggle, but the arm around your waist only re-wraps around you to pin your arms down. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

Astarion looks away from your injury, peering down the halls. The sound of the bone snapping was loud enough to attract attention, he just didn’t know how much, or when they’d be coming. Not to mention where they’d come from. For all he knew, their luck had run out, and any second a swarm of golden-armored bastards would be charging down the hall they were in.

“We need to get out of the open,” he hissed to the cleric and wizard.

Gale cast an ice spell, focusing all his energy in freezing the hinge of the device. If he could get it cold enough, it would become brittle, and they could dismantle it and pull it from your leg like cracking open an oyster. Shadowheart focused on healing the burns being inflicted to your skin as they were happening. It smelled uncomfortably like meat roast. Your blood vessels were cauterized. Astarion could hardly take solace in the fact when the usually-delicious scent of your ichor was replaced with the smell of cooking flesh.

“We can’t move them yet,” Shadowheart whispered, barely biting back her panic. She couldn’t keep healing you forever.

Gale grunted, brow furrowing further as he willed the ice to freeze faster, freeze colder around the metal.

Astarion felt useless, watching and unable to help. Holding you while you thrashed in agony was all he could do. He hoped to the gods he wouldn’t reveal a bruise over your mouth when this was finished. “I’m here,” he whispered sweetly in your ear. It was all he could think to do. “You need to keep still, love. It’ll be over soon.”

The words didn’t reach. You knew he was speaking when his breath fanned over your ear, but the speech-centers of your brain were thoroughly turned off. As were any of the logic-centers. Anything that could have told you they were helping, to calm down and stop moving, was replaced instead with klaxons and sirens urging you to struggle and fight back against the pain.

Footsteps. Loud and clanging. Getting closer. Astarion cursed. “We have to hide,” he hissed again, panicked.

There was no time to argue. They all seemed to have the same idea as Astarion pushed himself across the floor with his legs, pulling you with him. Shadowheart and Gale stopped casting in favor of moving your legs, as carefully as they could possibly manage. Hot tears slipped over Astarion’s hand as you thrashed violently with the motion. But now, at least, you were tucked into a corner. Hidden behind a pillar that framed the arch of the hallway. Everyone held their breaths. You didn’t catch the memo, but the spell-casters held your legs down so you wouldn’t make as much noise.

The clanging of armor rose in volume until the echoes through the corridors nearly deafened everyone. You momentarily stopped fighting. Though, Astarion couldn’t tell if it was because the sound had reached past your pain, or if your body was giving out under the duress.

The steps - 3 guards, if Astarion had to guess by ear - slowed from a run to pacing the juncture of the halls. They circled around, stopping occasionally. One set of steps stopped mere feet away. If Astarion leaned forward slightly, he could make out the point of a nose. Shadowheart and Gale slowly pressed themselves back into the shadow of the pillar.

Something touching his hand startled him. He had to fight not to physically jump and draw attention. A hand, your hand, rested weakly over his. He let go of your arm and turned his hand to hold yours. He could feel you whimper in his hold, the shake of your breaths as they hit hot against his hand. You were scared. He was, too.

He squeezed your hand and looked back at the pillar. The steps hadn’t moved. The sentry was still there.

Seconds ticked away at a snail’s pace. They all worried for a moment the guards had chosen to stay there and patrol the intersection. Then the sentinel stepped back from the arch. More footsteps followed. A pause. He could only imagine they were silently saying they did not find anything. And then the cacophony of armor drowned out any last doubt as they retreated back down the hall.

They all let out sighs of relief, even Astarion who had no need for air. He turned his focus back down to you. Your eyes were shut, your breaths were evened out. You’d fallen unconscious. It was a small mercy.

“Hurry up so we can get the Hells out of here,” he huffed. Shadowheart and Gale nodded, equally as eager to get back to safety, and returned to work.

Astarion slowly removed his hand from your mouth. Light bruises where his fingertips had been began rising through the surface of your skin. He sighed, upset at the pain he caused even through necessity, and brushed a tender kiss over the darkest of the bunch. He was too overwhelmed with relief to care if the others saw him. “You’ll be alright,” he whispered again, even though they did not reach you. He was reassuring himself more than anything. It would have been pathetic, if he could think about anything other than your wellbeing. “I’m here, darling.”

---

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allbark-no-bite · 4 months

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mr. iceman, sir

icemav (wc: 1.5k)

summary: they called him Iceman for a couple of reasons. Jake is sweating under his stare. a snippet of Jake asking Ice to marry Bradley

warnings: none, mostly just fluff

author’s note: based off of the song ‘Sir’ by Cooper Alan. the first time i heard this song, all i could think of was Jake asking Ice to marry Bradley. thus this was born.

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They called him Iceman for a couple of reasons.

Ice cold.

A lot of it had to do with his eyes. Thomas Kazansky had a stare that could freeze hell over. They were pale blue—unnervingly so—and bone chilling. It was as if their chill could seep right into you, get under your skin, turn your blood cold and make you a bit sick to your stomach before you even knew what was wrong with you. One glance was enough to bring a grown man to his knees.

No mistakes.

He had nerves of steel. Nothing surprised him and not much got past him. He was cool and careful and calculated in all scenarios. He'd come face to face with a MiG and not break a sweat. Swing and he wouldn't flinch. He didn't take risks because he didn't need to. He just knew.

Even as a near retired admiral and many years past the days of when he was a young pilot in his prime, Tom liked to think that he still lived up to the name. Even if that meant making Jake Seresin squirm in his seat a little bit.

The blonde aviator is looking a bit green around the gills if Ice must say so, nervously tugging at the too tight collar of his white polo shirt and glancing over at any and all possible exits of the restaurant when their conversation temporarily dulls down.

If his husband were here, he would have probably placed a gentle hand on Ice's knee and told him to go easy on the kid. But Maverick is not here. It had been Ice that Jake had nervously approached and shakily asked out to dinner, his voice so tight Ice thought it was going to crack. At first Ice had been unsure of why Jake had chosen him over Maverick. Maverick was obviously the easier choice. It wouldn't have taken much to win him over, maybe a case of beer and a bit of groveling, but certainly not a high-end steak house. But the more Ice thought about it, the more he appreciated the effort. Maybe the kid was smarter than Ice gave him credit for.

Now they're sitting across from each other at the restaurant, Ice picking at small pieces of his steak and pretending not to notice the young lieutenant's discomfort. Jake had picked out the place himself, a five star wine and steak house that neither of them had ever been to. Even Ice, who had a penchant for treating his husband to lavish dinners simply because he could, had to admit the place was a bit over the top.

Ice had shot an inquisitive, almost accusatory glance over at Jake when the server offered him an Old Fashioned without any prompting. Playing innocent, the twenty-six year old had simply conjured up a look of pure surprise, as if he hadn't been aware that it was the admiral's drink of choice, and then ordered one himself.

Ice is on to him, but he can't honestly say he's mad about it.

Jake: I Ice: 0

Because he doesn't like being played, Ice orders one of the pricier steaks on the menu. Jake winces a little at the price. Much to Ice's amusement, Jake swallows back a bit of dismay and follows suit, asking for brussel sprouts as side instead of green beans. Jake has never touched a brussel sprout in his life.

Jake: I Ice: I

They make small talk about work, Ice doing more of the talking than Jake. He doesn't mind, more than used to making the best of work meetings that he doesn't want to be apart of. Jake keeps most of their conversation centered around Ice, asking about his job, which Ice is more than happy to talk about. With retirement closing in, he's gotten more questions about buying a vacation home than anything Navy related.

Jake pushes around the brussel sprouts on his plate, at least making an effort to make it seem as though he's eaten anything in the twenty minutes since they've gotten their food.

Finally, Ice watches as Jake seemingly builds up some courage, swallows back what's left of the whiskey cocktail in his glass, and then sets it back down on the table.

"Sir, I'm sure you know why I asked you here."

If Jake was hoping that he would get off easy by vaguely hinting at where he was heading with all of this, Ice would give up the oblivious act that he'd been putting on all evening, he's sorely mistaken. Ice stares at him cooly, raising an unimpressed brow.

If Jake could disintegrate into his seat, he would, but somehow he finds the courage to continue.

"I know that Bradley and I have had our moments. We've fought with each other a hell of a lot, but we've also fought to be together, and I think that says more about how much we love each other than anything," Jake says, sounding determined. Ice doesn't stop him so he continues.

"That year we spent apart after we broke up, that was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life," he admits. "I didn't think I was going to survive it, being apart from him."

Ice knows. He knows because he orchestrated it. The truth is, after the Uranium mission, Bradley screwed up. Ice still isn't quite sure of the details. He doesn't know what or when or who or how or why, but Bradley screwed up and broke things off with Jake a few weeks after the mission. After that, the worst thing for everyone would have been for them to stay stationed in the same place. So Ice sent them both halfway across the country. It killed him to send Bradley away, especially after he and Maverick had only just gotten him back, but it would have looked bad had only Jake been sent away.

"And so I've never been more sure of anything in my life when I say I want to marry him." Jake swallows. "That is, if you'll let me, sir."

Silently, Ice waits a heartbeat. Then another. He stares at Jake, his fixed expression neither surprised nor relieved. He thumbs fondly at the gold ring on his own finger under the table, the one Maverick put there nearly twenty years ago. With his other hand, he supports his chin, index finger tapping periodically against his temple.

"You know," Ice finally begins, removing his hand and sitting up straighter. "That no matter how many laws they repeal, what the government say is legal and what's not, it's still going to be hard. In this line of work, people are going to look at you different. They're going to talk to you and talk about you different. This kind of thing, it could very well change the entire trajectory of your career."

For just a second, Jake's green eyes dart away, suddenly interested in a spot on the wall. Ice watches as his throat works and his jaw clenches, but eventually Jake nods, his green eyes coming back to meet Ice's. "I understand that, sir. I think he's worth it."

"I'm not trying to discourage you son. But I've been in this business along time. So has Captain Mitchell. It's no secret that my husband gave up a lot of things when we went public with our relationship. Of course we were later on in our lives than you are, and so I had the time to establish who I was before we got married. Meanwhile, Maverick was doing god knows what," he adds, trying and failing not to picture the many many reports that came across his desk of all of Maverick's escapades during that time.

That's besides the point at the moment. What he's trying to say is that he wouldn't blame Jake for being a little selfish. Ice knows Bradley. As great of a pilot as he is, that's all he's ever going to be, because he's okay with just being great. He's a lot like Maverick in that way. He'll stop applying for promotions in a few years, spend less and less time in they sky and more with his feet on the ground. He wants to settle down in San Diego sooner than later, raise a family close by to Maverick and Ice.

Ice also knows Jake. Jake, he's a lot like Ice. What's good is not great and great isn't good enough. Jake is ravenous. Ice sees it in the way he flies, the way he acts, the way he talks. If given the choice, he'd never settle. The kid would soar through the ranks if given the opportunity. But also like Ice, he'd give up just about anything for the person that he loves.

Jake has gone quiet from across the table, having gotten the sense of where Ice was heading with this.

Ice clears his throat. "But I'm not going to tell you no, Seresin. Such a thing would be hypocritical of me being that I am a happily married man. That and my husband and I are quite fond of you. We'd be happy to have you in the family."

Even though Jake is trying to conceal his bleary eyes and is making an effort not to smile too hard, his relief is apparent in the way his tense shoulders finally let up. Ice presses his lips together to suppress his own smile.

"I promise I won't let you down, sir."

#top gun maverick #topgun maverick #top gun fic #hangman top gun #jake seresin #jake hangman fic #jake hangman seresin #sereshaw #maverick x iceman #icemav #old man iceman #tom iceman kazansky #top gun iceman #hangster #jake seresin x bradley bradshaw

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mellowwillowy · 8 months

Text

Teasing (Bullying) Yan! Eldritch Horrors/TricksterS' Cock

(*peaces out after making them jealous*)

CW: GN! God Reader (mentioned as male and female), mentioned breeding,Bullied cocks (RIP Erickson), "what happens when you accidentally touch their pee pee" :D ps: don't mind the names.

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- You were only doing what you usually do, your hand inside the bathtub feeling his tentacles until you were actually feeling something else.

- You did not realize it until you finally touched something hairy, there's no way a slimy tentacle has that right?

- Your left hand went to feel another thing in the hope of finding his tentacle. Bam bam, you got his tensed thigh instead. You could have sworn you heard him hissed slightly from the contact.

- "No looking back."

- That was the deal you had with him. You got to relax with him in the tub but you were not allowed to turn back. Why? Because he knew his face would be peppered by kisses non-stop if you were allowed to look at him.

- You decided to act dumb and kept on feeling it, squeezing and tickling it every now and then.

- He didn't voice any of his discontent and only stayed silent while occasionally twitching when you teased one of his veins.

- You wiggled on his lap, teasing his boner with your plump ass while humming to yourself.

- "Your tentacle isn't that large this time hm?"

- You did not even bother to stroke his ego (both literal and), even worse, you start to compare his sizes with his brother's.

- "I never knew he has larger tentacles than yours. Perhaps his tentacle would be waaaay stronger in both squeezing and penetrating?" (Penetrating, what?)

- He stayed silent but you could feel his hands feeling your shoulder blades, peppering your wet neck with kisses before it turned into hickeys and bite marks.

- You squealed a bit at the contact and pain, relishing in the sting of it.

- "Are you competing for the power of your bites with his? I can give you the win if you want~"

- Another splash of oil to the burning fire. He may be silent and demeaning, but angering him will have you faced with something even worse than the worst.

- "Ahh, I remember how one of my devotees used to go crazy and mark me, hard. Here." You pointed to the place where your follower bit, "Mmh, he even drew a lot of blood to the point I thought he was some kind of vampire or he was trying to bring me with him to death."

- Rest assured, that man had long been sent his way driven to madness as the man bit himself to death. His teeth were all shaped into sharp rows of shark's teeth to make him feast himself easier, all done by himself under his influence.

- "I promise you that I'll reserve you the best place in the lake."

- He licked the blood he drew clean, relishing in how tasty it tasted in his tongue.

- "I'd rather not demonstrate just how much it's capable of binding you to me for eternity. Even if this body could not conceive, a miracle is still a miracle, no?" (works both F/M)

- He knew you were acting dumb, but who was he to confront you about stuff that he had known you would never admit about?

- "What can this little thing do to me? Break my bones? Can it even crack me?"

- "Rest assured that it can birth me genuine happiness of seeing my offspring inside you." (Be it a male, female, or intersex, it'll work either way~)

- You wiggled your ass on him again, this time you let go of his cock and feel it with your ass instead, "Then how about you show me just how mighty the King in Yellow is?"

- He was mighty, all evident in the bulge of your stomach filled with dripping cum. You whined when he pushed the leaking cum back into you before lining his cock to your entrance again.

- "Stop acting like a damn innocent virgin when you are nothing but a god that is turned on by my degradations."

- Don't worry, HAITA will be there to pamper you with his never-ending praises of worship.

Hastur (HAITA - ???)

- You were only cuddling with him under the weighted blankets, shutting yourselves away from the cruel cold.

- Your hand was ruffling his fluffy air and then moved to his back, hugging him tightly.

- He responded by pulling you closer to his chest, nose nestling on your head while his leg wrapped around yours.

- You moved your hand to feel his chiseled chest before turning away from him, turning yourself into a small spoon.

- Noel who was oblivious to this whined a bit, his arms wrapped around you tightly.

- You chuckled and moved your hand to bring his leg to wrap it around your leg. Boom. It's his crotch (How? Don't ask me).

- He immediately hissed at the contact, body jolting forward as your hand made contact with his member.

- You were certain you were feeling something you shouldn't have and as though you were trying to confirm it, you felt it by rubbing it up and down, his meat slowly getting harder.

- "Dear... not there..." he whispered into your nape, lip feeling your bare neck while leaving a trail of kisses.

- You knew you should let it to but you were feeling rather 'needy', wanting more of his reactions and whimpers. So what did you do? You let go of your hand and grind your ass around his hardened cock instead.

- "Dear... what are you doing...?"

- "It feels cold if I don't snuggle myself closer to you." And that was a fucking lie.

- Just how convenient was it to have his meat ground by your ass? Was your ass freezing and in need of heating itself with his cock? If so, he wouldn't hesitate to help you.

- His hands put you still in place as he started grinding his member against you, rubbing himself with your ass? Had he lost all his feelings of shame like his brother? (Erickson slander time)

- You relished the way he needily used you, something he doesn't do that often. You could feel his cock growing larger as his breath grew raggier. You could feel him panting into your neck while his grip tightened around your waist.

- You lived for this, to see and feel your adorable lover getting all flustered over the slightest sleight of hand. Just how sensitive was he that a mere touch could turn him this needy?

- "Mmh... faster... wanna feel warmer..."

- He complied and increased his pace, lip bitten to prevent his moans from slipping out. Grunts echoed in your ears as you started rubbing your thighs together.

- "So good hm? Just like someone I remember although... who was it again?" Your mind drifted to find the identity of the person who you said was similar to him, unaware of how his jaw clenched at the mention of someone else. Who was it? Someone he had not personally had their bones crushed into pieces? Perhaps he should start checking his journal again...

- "Ahh... It's that one crazy devotee. Come to think of it, what happened to him?" Your statement did not help him at all and instead made him brim with rage and jealousy. How could someone of a low-life be allowed to grind their disgusting thing onto you?

- Oh no no, he would never be angry with you. He could only be furious with those who deemed themselves worthy of feeling you even just for the slightest. Could you imagine what happened to their fingers and anything that touched you?

- "It seemed like you were out of your mind. Even I myself could hold back so why couldn't you?"

- Unlike his usual calm or flustered facade, his pace increased and it grew rougher. He felt the need to prove himself that he was allowed to do more and better than those dust, of course, still mindful of his power to not accidentally hurt you.

- "This damn pant is in the way..."

- Also him asking you non-stop if you were OK after you two had done the deed... "Are you alright? Did I go too hard? Should I get you an ice pack? Oh no no, of course I should! Please wait!" (King of Aftercare...)

Noel (NUG/???) - Trickster

- You two were twirling around in the middle of the air with cosmic glowing below you, performing your favorite waltz while fooling around with him. The two of you jumped like a rabbit while occasionally wrestling each other like bulls.

- All were fun and joy until you locked him into the wrong position. No, it wasn't wrong, it was inconvenient. The two of you cackled before you tried to pull away from the position, hand on the place you shouldn't be.

- "Oof-" Erickson groaned the moment your palm held onto something soft of him. You paid no mind and held the soft surface even harder, making him double immediately. (RIP baby trapping)

- You immediately let go when he double, examining him closely before you realized it was his cock that you gripped earlier judging by how he was cupping it. You could have sworn you saw his soul leaving his body for a moment.

- "Did that hurt so much?" You patted his back, "Or are you just being a lil wussy?"

- Erickson shot a glare at you with a tear in one of his eyes, "Why don't you have a feel of it? Better yet, who would even enjoy this?"

- You thought to yourself, "There are though. Some of my devotees once offered themselves to be kicked right into their nuts." You were not wrong, but you were talking to the wrong person at the wrong time as well.

- "They said something like they have no use for it since they could never do me anyway." You shrugged your shoulders, grinning stupidly at his face. Your followers cared not about your gender, they only cared about you gracing them with your appearance and smile.

- Erickson gritted his teeth in annoyance, he planned on breaking their legs one by one again this time. (RIP Noel's leg)

- It wasn't like he was oblivious to everything just like how he presented himself to you. Oh no no, he was way more than that. Could you even count how many pitiful souls were sent to the Church for purification? Noel was there dusting them after Ollie wrung them like dirty cloth, squeezing blood out of their body for the Gods to drink later.

- Of course, he and Noel did not even bother to drink it. Such a disgusting thing going inside their throat? They'd rather drink the blood of other beasts.

- He had to make sure he wrung more of them again after this. His priority now was to give you a taste of your own words.

- He caged your body that was sitting despite the two of you were not on any ground. He was smart enough to tie you with his ties first just in case you threw yourself down to run away. Both your wrists were tied into one, his hand holding your wrists while his knee feel your sex.

- "I wonder what your devotees thought of you, whether they saw you as a maiden or a respectful God, they would never know how much of a whore you are." He hissed as his mouth rested on your neck, peppering it with bitemarks, drawing blood only for him to drink.

- You looked down into his crotch, eyeing him in worry.

- "Ya' think that would stop me from railing you? I ain't a wussy, baby. An effeminate would never be that wussy." He pulled you by your ankles, his clothed crotch feeling yours, "My junior is still capable of producing more Juniors after all... but ah, even if your body could not conceive, I'll find a way and fuck this body of yours until a miracle happened." (Both fem and male works...)

- His words burnt, but you knew he had always been the burning one. Always using your weakness against you but who were you to complain?

- "Get ready for lots of icepacks, no, not for me but for you~"

- He might not be able to win against Hastur in the competition of filling you up so much but that doesn't mean he did not fill you to the brim <3

Erickson (YEB/???) - Trickster

ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ:

OC used: ???, Noel, Erickson

Reader:

Fox Reader :Fox reader is a deity that appears as a Man and Woman, mostly as a Man when meeting devotees. Fox Reader's gender is questionable but is depicted as feminine. Nonetheless, their body could never conceive until a miracle happened *it happened* Unlike Cat Reader who is intersex, Fox Reader's body is questionable thoroughly. For Male Readers, I'm aware that Omega? can get pregnant? Sorry, I just really wanna write breeding shits- Pink colored text = +Jealousy

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halibellecter · 1 year

Text

Break Me Open

"You want to spar? You never want to spar. Planning on defecting from us, Legate?"

"I want you to hurt me,"

"...what?"

"I want you to hurt me--" She's still so angry that she's shaking. And the right thing to do would be to spill the whole story to him, the return to the elevator, the digging, the other files-- the codes that now beyond a doubt weren't even their doing-- she nearly killed him and only to find out that her first recon mission had been right: that HE'D been right: there was no second layer, no true story, they did this to her on purpose, but... "And-- I want to hurt you. I can't-- there's so much and I can't--" Can't cry, can't scream, can't anything because Agents are always quiet, they're calm, and--

It's nice to be understood, even if at the moment, the way she knows Hunter understands what she's trying to say is via his left hook. That's a good start.

It's not enough to break her open-- let everything out so it will stop choking her-- but it feels good not to think about anything but the next few moves. Watch. Touch. Block. Dodge. Focus. Neither one of them is wearing any protective gear, belatedly she thinks she should've let him put some on but kicking against bone and tissue hurts, too, more than if he was wrapped up. They've never fought like this before, not before Quesh and not when she could finally hurt him. Not when she nearly killed him-- even then he went down easier, with that shock device. She can feel bruises forming and while they're not aiming for each other's face or head, accidents happen-- she'll have a black eye by tomorrow and her lip is split, nose bleeding, the blood mixing with sweat... striking and breaking apart again and again. It's so high energy that a stitch aches in her side as if she'd been running. No good, still no good. A few seconds where her eyes mist up or her voice jumps to a little louder than usual, but still...

Finally, both panting and bleeding-- when did she do that to his eye? ouch-- Legate curls in around her side, trying to guard the painful muscle spasm that keeps going every time she moves, and leaves her other side open. He lunges, and they both go down onto the mat, hard, rolling over and over. It's hard to fill her lungs up while being slammed down on her back and twisting around him to gain the upper hand. She didn't prefer either of them to win, not really; as long as they beat the osik out of each other that was fine with her--

But there is a winner, she realizes as his face looms over hers, as his hands clench around her shoulders, pinning her to the mat, locked in place. With some difficulty he frees a hand, shifts his weight,

"Wh-what--"

"Shut up," He moves around her carefully, as if she's the enemy-- isn't she?-- aware that she's still trying to get out of his grip, and suddenly manages to get the right angle to scrub the sharp points of his knuckles against her sternum.

Pain. Pain, and an overwhelming amount of it. She gasps in a breath.

"Hunter--!"

"You wanted me to hurt you." He digs the points deeper, and something breaks-- fortunately, only on the inside of her mind. Of course it's okay for her eyes to water a little. They don't use this trick in interrogations for nothing. Her next gasp comes out broken, a catch and then a rough sob. Her eyes finally brim over and tears spill down onto the mat.

"There you go. Keep going."

She assumes he'll draw back, give her some space, he hates this kind of mushy feelings crap, but he doesn't even move his hand away. He doesn't move it at all, in fact, except to gently rock his knuckles back and forth, watching her face and occasionally telling her she's doing good. He keeps varying where the points are exactly, but holds steady pressure that gives her constant pain-- and a constant reason to be sobbing as he pins her down. It's so bad, rough and dull and like an ache that's on fire, but that means it's a good excuse-- one that doesn't stop until she seems to have run out of tears, exhausted and only feeling half real. He pulls his hand back.

"Better?"

"Y-y-y---" she finally just nods, swallowing hard. He untangles them, stands up. Doesn't offer a hand.

"You good?"

More nodding.

"You're welcome. And Legate?"

She tilts her head at him, still not quite trusting herself to speak.

"Next time it's my turn."

He only waits for one nod before slipping out of the room, leaving her alone-- still sniffling-- in the middle of the mat.

I guess it takes one to know one.

#swtor #imperial agent #freaking ren #imperial agent x hunter #SIGH #swtor hunter #can't believe this tag is on my blog now #disgraceful #whump

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anika-ann · 7 months

Text

Paperweight (S.R.)

Type: one-shot, prequel, canon-ish (see A/N)

Pairining: (pre) Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 4000

Summary: Falling in love with Steve Rogers is easy. Hiding it while your friendship blooms is considerably harder. Especially when he’s being absurdly loveable and perfectly hot during a training.

In which you stay behind after a work-out, bear witness to a training session led by Steve and are asked for assistance. How could you say no to the man?

Warnings: FLUFF, mentions of canon-typical violence, language? Hopeless idiots in love.

A/N: a slice-of-life standalone or a one-shot set about half a year before Love on the Brain series; reader is called “Agent Jones”; divider by firefly-graphics 😍

If there was one thing you had known long before you joined the Avengers Initiative, it was that falling for a friend tended to be a complicated thing. It was even more complicated if one was worried it might not work out – which was practically always. The growing affection and attraction were not easy to hide, especially from perceptive people. People like Black Widow. Or worse, Steve Rogers himself.

The one thing making it easier was that everyone and their (grand)mother – in this case, the saying was way more accurate than in all other cases you were aware of – had a crush on Steve Rogers too. That meant that if someone caught you staring, lingering, or even gushing (usually meaning defending) Steve, it was hardly something unique to you. No one would think twice about it. Even as his friend, you were a person with well-working eyes and blood pumping your veins and it was indeed very hard to miss that Steve’s body was literally boosted to perfection to become the peak of man. That was fine.

However, the one thing making it insanely difficult was Steve. His irritating goodness of heart that was actually way more attractive that all typical bad boys from the movies made it seem. When he added the mischievous side to his persona, his wit, his warmth, both physical and in demeanour… and the numerous numerous occasions where he could show off not all his character qualities, but also his strength, it was impossible to stay within the lines of a simple crush.

Growing affection and attraction were never easy to hide, but god damn, in the case of Steven Grant Rogers, it was task fit for titans. And you were just a walking mass of bones, flesh, blood and hormones with a brain that might be rather well-developed, but could still short-circuit when Steve showed off the biceps that could probably bench press you without breaking a sweat – or flashed you an easy smile with the sweetest edge or a spark of being up to no good.

Now, it was given that Steve was a fan of mixed groups in training. Newbies with old dogs who needed to accept they needed to learn new tricks, men with women, different departments and teams mingling together and sharing tips. But Steve, for most part, was also a very reasonable man. He did see that there were advantages to training in groups divided according to sex as well. As someone who had spent the bigger part of his fully conscious life in a body more similar to those of women, he was aware that women needed to learn how to use their agility and how to turn the weight and strength advantage of their opponents against them for instance; men, on the other hand, needed times where they would not haveto hold back completely during training in fear of making the match unequal.

Apparently, Steve also believed that men needed to build their strength in a drool-worthy way.

You had lingered after the training session you had with your female colleagues led by the infamous Natasha Romanoff – or Nat, for you – feeling the need for extra stretches. Nat said it was fine and there was an area in the largest gym designated for stretching even as the main area could already be occupied by someone else. The someone else were men, led by Steve and Jack Rollins; you expected no issues.

You did not expect the training session to turn into a drool-fest so fast. But maybe you should have.

The architectonic genius designing the gym must have indeed been a genius, because even as the group of agents and recruits would have been out of your earshot due to the distance, you could hear Steve’s voice clear as day. You refused to believe it was because you were tuned to his gentle and yet commanding timbre he used whenever he switched to the role of a teacher, the role of the Captain.

You listened. You simply couldn’t help it: not only because it was Steve, but because of what he was saying was, in fact, intriguing.

Squats with weights, front lever. One thick iron pole, three people. As he described it, you admittedly couldn’t imagine how that would work.

And then he asked Rollins to help him demonstrate, picking an agent whose name you couldn’t recall to help by performing the front lever, which alone was a feat because of the strong core muscles and arms it required, along with incredible bodily awareness and coordination. At first, you were grateful Steve wasn’t the one showing that, because seeing him control his body so perfectly as he held onto the pole to basically levitate above the ground would send your mind to the gutter real fast.

Your mind ended up in the gutter anyway. Because the two remaining men – Steve and Rollins – were holding the pole on their shoulders while Agent Whatshisname performed his task. Steve already had to be slightly crouched because he was a good foot taller than Rollins, so it was truly difficult for you not to stare. But then… then they made a squat. Using the agent as a damn weight.

The pole rested on Steve’s wide shoulders with ease as it was nothing but a paperweight, the expanse of his back muscles dancing under his white tee. His sweats hugged his defined ass the way your hands itched to. Your stretches were forgotten.

It was just a brief moment, even if generous enough, and then he and Rollins rose to their (almost) full height. And then they repeated the motion just to show off and to test you. You were just a breathing walking mass of bones, flesh, blood and hormones indeed; you felt physically unable to avert your gaze. As for your brain, well. It circled straight to the thought of being stretched in a whole different way.

Being Steve's friend and only think about him as such was truly an impossible task.

“Easy for you, you could probably lift him on your own!” a voice called out from the crowd, clearly referring to Steve and you internally cursed and used all your willpower to snap your gaze away at last, hearing Steve’s chuckle and the murmur of agreement.

Gee, Mr. Mouthy, thanks for that mental image.

“True. But that is not the point,” Steve explained, thanking the agent for assistance in their demonstration. “This is not all about strength. If you're thinking why bother with this when you could simply lift weights...”

More murmurs of agreement followed and you asked yourself the same, for you could have lived without another image added to the collection haunting the better of your sleepless nights.

“This is not an exercise to build strength, not primarily. It's a group exercise. It’s about cooperation. It took us a hot minute too before we could show you. Come here, Agent Stalinski, please. If you didn’t mind, you’d help us demonstrate why.”

Once again, you did not find it in yourself to resist watching them; this time from genuine curiosity. At least this time, you made a point of laying your chest on your knees and only peeking at them for a few seconds, as Agent Stalinski, who seemed to regret his decision to speak up already, obediently walked to the pole. He could have refused, but he clearly didn’t want to look like a chicken – and didn’t want to disrespect Steve. It was never easy to decide and disrespect a kind man without looking like an idiot and feeling that part too. Giving a choice and respecting it was part of Steve’s charm and strength as a leader.

Without another word, Agent Stalinski performed the front lever as Rollins and Steve held the pole.

“If I use all my strength to show off, we'll fail... ready?” Steve said, waiting for Rollins to nod before they squatted.

And then Steve held back his bodily superiority considerably less than before and stood up with vigour.

It was an exhilarating sight; not only because poor Rollins nearly toppled over and even importantly, because Stalinski saved himself half a second before falling on his ass hard, but obviously also because Steve showing off his skills was a treat to watch. More so when he was proving a point; that was always fun.

And your heart could melt when Steve offered Agent Stalinski a hand to help him up, effectively shutting up the cackles that sounded among the other agents with one single glare; because humiliate the agent for mouthing off was not the point.

Goddamn Steve’s golden heart. He truly wasn’t making things any easier for you – and probably half the agency who was in love with him too.

You could hear a smile in his voice when he spoke up again, almost as if he knew.But you, in return, knew he was simply satisfied with proving his point and the agents understanding the task and the goal of the exercise. Understanding that bodily strength wasn’t everything and they needed to believe both in themselves and in each other; like Peggy Carter or Dr.Erskine once believed in him even if others didn’t.

“Like I said. It's about cooperation. One weak link – weak in working with others, not necessarily in bodily strength – and this isn’t going to work. So… let's group up and try."

As the group of agents begun to move around, you returned your full attention to your stretches, breathing in deeply, slowly releasing the air as you felt your muscles cry in both strain and relief. Remaining in position, you closed your eyes, breathing through the slight pull of pain further. You would sleep like a baby tonight; Natasha did not hold back on you, but that was part of the thrill. She pushed you all, but with enough kindness to make it worth it and a lot of more satisfaction when you could see and feel your progress.

You heard the steps as soon as you felt the floor vibrate under you, and your heart involuntarily fluttered. You should truly not be able to recognize Steve’s jog, because that bordered on creepy and obsessive, but you did go running with him quite often so you could blame it on that. At least that was how you reasoned with yourself. It had nothing to do with the fact that your mind tended to gravitate towards him too often, feel his presence, because it felt like first warm sunrays of the approaching summer.

Easing your position, you looked up as he approached you with a slightly bashful smile, a brief sparkle of mischief in his eye.

Before he could even open his mouth, you glanced behind him, noticing the issue and already guessing why he was here with you instead of the trainees.

One agent stayed alone. That meant that either both Steve and Rollins would be in a group with him, leaving the others without proper supervision and assistance or the one agent would be left out. Or you could join them for a bit. The choice of letting Steve use you – for the exercise, as a faceless agent only to even the numbers in an exercise – was a real no-brainer.

Once again, you reasoned that leaving the poor loner without a chance to train would leave you feeling evil when it was no problem for you to help; and it really would, if you were being honest with yourself. If you got to see Steve up close, either working out or directing other agents with his leadership skills, as a bonus, that was simply a nice coincidence, wasn’t it?

Raising your hand with a tired smile and gesturing for him to help you up, his grin widened, pulling you up without a second thought.

“Hey Sparkles,” he hummed gently, squeezing your hand before releasing you. “Could-“

“Sure, GG,” you interrupted him, rolling your shoulders and pretending your heart didn’t skip a beat when his eyebrows rose, one corner of his lips quirking.

“Well, now I’m tempted to ask anything.”

You gulped. It was nothing but a friendly teasing, you knew. But damn if it didn’t make your stomach somersault a bit, if you didn’t think you saw something flash in his eyes.

The thing was, he could ask you anything. And your little foolish heart would probably command you to do it. Especially when he smiled like that as he towered over you, eyes roaming over you with slight concern in his expression.

“Thank you. You don't even have to do the horizontal workout-“ he noted, a genuine worry in his voice as if he didn’t just said the words horizontal workout in a completely different context than you would like him to. He had to know about how you felt about him and was doing this on purpose, wasn’t he? “Just...”

“Be your paperweight?” you suggested cheekily, hopefully masking how the probably unintended innuendo made your face hot.

“I mean-“ You raised eyebrows when he looked as if he was about to deny it. Really? “Well, yes, basically. It’s an important role either way. And I know you could do it, but you already have one session behind you and you were already almost done with your stretches. I understand if you don’t want to undo all of that. So really, any way you’re willing to assist us, we’ll be grateful.”

It truly would have been easier if Steve was only attractive; or only kind, considerate or passionate. But the fact he was all of it was a deadly cocktail you had got addicted rather fast. He was like a magnet, calling out for every part of you and pulling you into his orbit with ease and inevitability. How could you say no to him?

“Sure, whatever. We'll see. But if I’m joining you, I might as well go for the full experience, right?”

Steve smiled at you, a proud edge to the soft curl of his lips, as he beckoned to the agents. The warmth spreading through your body was already well-worth the hard work you had ahead of you.

“Right. Let’s go.”

People who even suspected that they were in love should be stripped of their lawful right to make decisions and be declared temporary insane for the time being. Or maybe that just applied to people in Steve Rogers’ vicinity. That was what you thought of as you wiped the sweat off, feeling your hands trembling minutely with exhaustion.

Of course you had gone for it. You went for the work-out with all you had and maybe even what you didn’t have, but how could you relent for even a second when you had Steve’s proud grin directed straight at you whenever you tried another rep and succeeded at least partially? Your abdomen muscles burned, but when something flashed in his eye, admiration and something you couldn’t quite decipher beyond the emotion being a good one, the pleasant warmth in your belly simply took over and you gritted your teeth once more.

Your body was utterly ruined, all thanks to Steve; and it might not be in all ways you sometimes dreamed about, but the satisfaction it brought you was still well worth it.

The shaking not so much.

The other agents went to run a few laps under Rollins’ command as Steve followed you back to the stretching area, smile all soft and playful even if a little concerned since you walked with a slight wobble. Your core muscles were so overworked that it even affected your ability to walk.

You’d be sore tomorrow; very sore. If there was a chance to prevent at least part of the pain awaiting you in the morning, it was only natural you would take it, right?

That was how you reasoned with yourself. That was how you justified that when Steve’s gentle giant hands carefully took yours with an unspoken question, thumbs pressing into your right forearm just right, you let out the words ‘yes please’ with as little moany quality in your voice as possible.

You must have succeeded, because Steve didn’t seem to notice. If he did, he was polite enough not to mention it. Needless to say that you were grateful you could blame the flush in your face on your previous work-out.

Working his way up your arm in a perfectly collected manner, Steve pressed against the tendons and muscles with precision and well-calculated amount of strength; he wasn’t rough at all, yet he made sure you felt it.

You would bet there were a lot of things which he could make you feel it, but you tried to steer your mind away from the gutter as much as possible. Once again, you blamed your momentary inability to do that more than usual on exhaustion, the lovely visuals you had been offered, and Steve’s more than pleasant touch.

“Thank you, Sparkles. You did amazing,” Steve spoke simply but sincerely, an easy smile on his lips as if his thumbs weren’t kneading the exact spot you needed, flooding your body with the relief you craved; your muscles. Your muscles craved.

Focus.

The gush of wind created by the running agents helped you ground yourself in reality.

You weren’t alone. There was a purpose – a very platonic purpose – to what Steve was doing. He was thanking you for being a good colleague and teammate and it was time again for your brain to switch into that mode. Because there was no romantic mode in your relationship with Steve. There were two people needed for that and if all Steve was offering was his absolutely exquisite friendship, the best-friendship as it seemed to bloom lately, you’d grab it and never let go. Not for anything.

And you’d take a quick massage to your exhausted muscles too.

To sweeten the deal, it felt really good to be praised by Captain America himself. You would be lying if compliments from the Steve Rogers, the ultimate good man, were the only ones that mattered to you; the side to Steve which carried the mantle of the Captain and appreciated you wasn’t exactly something to sneer at, quite on the contrary.

“I didn't want him to feel out if I could help,” you shrugged, earning a slightly scolding look as you moved your shoulders, the arm under Steve’s touch tensing when it was supposed to be relaxed. You grinned apologetically. “And you know you're a good motivator- I mean--- motivational speaker... whatever.”

The gentle rumble of Steve’s chuckle was nothing short of warm even as his grin gained a teasing note.

“Why thank you. I'll consider a career change to a motivational speaker indeed.”

You chuckled too – and instantly regretted it as your belly spasmed minutely, trembling due to the way you overdid the work-out. Steve’s fingers ceased their movements, simply gripping your arm in support. Glancing up, you found his brows furrowed in worry.

Bless the sweet man. But if he was so concerned about your abdomen muscles, maybe he could massage them too- stop.

“Yeah, okay, maybe I pushed myself a bit too much,” you admitted with another chuckle, gritting your teeth to stop the hiss threatening to escape your lips. “Glad I could help. But you mister, are forbidden from making me laugh for the next 48 hours.”

He glanced at the finger you pointed at him with slight offence.

“But I like making you laugh?”

You glanced up on instinct. There was the faintest pout to his lips as your eyes met his and you found yourself on the receiving end of the warmest gaze. His hands were cradling your elbow now – giant and gentle still, thumb brushing over your bicep.

Yes. It was a true shame that Steve’s feelings towards you were merely platonic. Because at this moment, the blue pools of his irises seemed so inviting you’d follow him anywhere, to hell and back; and you knew he’d keep you safe, held your elbow tenderly but firmly when the need would arise and he’d protect your heart too, because Steve Rogers was as much of a fighter as a protector. You already knew as much. You wanted to know even more.

You wanted more. Selfishly and wistfully, you wanted more, especially in moments like this, moments that felt as easy as breathing with him even when your chest felt so full that breathing in seemed difficult – useless. Had he leaned forward, had he taken your lips, you wouldn’t care for oxygen, you’d- stop.

You had to stop and take a cold shower in the evening.

“GG-“

“Cap? What’s next?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Rollins’ howl reached your ears.

Whatever you were about to say died in your throat, whatever your hazed brain planned. You had to admit it was rather satisfactory to see Steve jump a little too, his hands practically dropping your arm and realizing last minute you had obediently left it completely limp and it might hurt. So he gingerly pressed into your bicep two more times, slowly manoeuvring your arm back down, wary of any rapid movements.

“Be right with you!” Steve called back, turning to you with another smile. You probably only imagined the hint of regret and yet; it was a nice feeling to see you’d be missed.

“Well, the crowds call your name, Mr. Motivational Speaker. Thanks for the quick massage, GG.”

“Thank you. Now go get some rest.”

“Yes, sir.”

You cackled at his unamused face when you addressed him as such, quickly replaced by a brief smirk at how you instantly regretted your actions, your belly protesting again. Serves you right, that smirk said, but quickly blended into the signature worried frown.

“Rest, Agent Jones,” he bit back good-naturedly, shooting you one last glance before he jogged back to other agents under his wing.

You watched him retreat, allowing yourself one last indulgence in the form of the glorious view of his back and ass, before you sighed and turned to walk away, the wobble in your step still present. You hoped a hot shower would ease the tension in your abdomen; however, you did not forget about the need for a cold shower either.

You supposed such was the price for being friends with Steven Grant Rogers.

You didn’t mind paying it, more so when you were gaining too.

It shouldn’t have surprised you, but it did: the evening found you with a knock on your door from your sweet neighbour and a sweet aroma of sugar, cinnamon and apples. Steve stood in your doorway with a slightly bashful but brilliant grin, holding a plate with at least a third of a freshly baked pie that might as well have been prepared by Martha Stewart herself, but was baked by her biggest competition in the baking department.

“Is this allowed or does it fall under don't make me laugh category?” Steve questioned innocently and this time, you remembered to lay your arm over your belly when you laughed a bit, smiling wide, something so painfully soft, gentle and just a little heavy humming in your chest.

“Well, I think this falls into making me smile category, so I'll allow it,” you said, not even pretending you needed to think too hard.

“Good. I like making you smile too.”

The acute feeling in your chest grew – warm, tender and bright – an echo of outrage in your ribcage that Steve could say the words so easily as if they couldn’t be a declaration of love as well as friendship.

“Yeah. I like it too. And same,” you hummed, stepping back to let him in. “Come in, neighbour.”

As you invited him into your apartment, you knew that you were – all over again – inviting him into your heart too.

Maybe that was a dangerous thing to do; but in your line of work, a little danger was an occupational hazard. Of all the risks you could take upon, carrying love for Steve Rogers was one you’d take upon gladly. You’d happily taken the burden; because the weight you’d carry couldn’t be heavier than a paperweight. And even if it was, if that was a weight you were allowed to carry, at least platonically, you’d do so with pride – and with your whole heart.

Because Steve Rogers deserved nothing less.

Steve Rogers masterlist // Love on The Brain masterlist

Saw a video of this specific work out and my mind couldn’t let go of it… and it’s no longer available, sorry 🤐

Re-reading this, I am genuinely shocked they lasted so long and that it took the Love on the Brain case to break them… well, put them together, whatever :)

I hope you enjoyed this little floofy blurb and that autumn is being kind to you 💕

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x you #captain america imagine #captain america x reader #love on the brain vibes #love on the brain #paperweight #anika ann

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seeyoulbleed · 8 months

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An Ocean Between Me and You

Pairing: Okkotsu Yuta x You (gender neutral reader)

You love him. You love him dearly. You just never thought he'd love you too, not the way you wanted. Scared to mess it up, you confess one night when you think he's asleep.

He isn't.

warnings: slight Yandere!Yuta at the end. But can be read otherwise.

🦇🩸First fic on here! People seemed interested in my napping with Yuta post so I decided to take a crack at it. Lowkey self-ship coded.🩸🦇

Life with your best friend is easy most days.

Yuta has an energy to him that calms your racing thoughts, his presence pulling you back down to earth and grounding you when all you want to do is fly high. He's a steadying hand in a life of uncertainty, always there, always ready for whatever comes at you next.

"We'll take it on together," Yuta would say, his smile tired but sincere. "Me and you."

It was no wonder you fell in love with him. It was all too easy, honestly. He's an easy person to love. Sometimes it was even easier than breathing.

The rain outside carries on, a storm brewing on the horizon and crawling across the earth in a slow drag. You've been restless all day, the gloom a nice break from the searing sun of Japan, but you want to do something other than watch a movie. So when it's finally bearing down on your apartment, you give your roommate an impish grin.

"Yuta."

"Hmm?" He asks from the other side of the couch, his hand resting on your ankle. His thumb brushes the delicate bone there through your obnoxiously colored socks.

You roll off the couch with a grunt and spring to your feet, ignoring the rushing of blood that makes you momentarily dizzy, too busy grinning and running to the door like a child. You forgo your shoes and a jacket, ripping open the front door and running through it with a cackle. It's imperative to get to your destination before he catches you. His mother-hen tendencies will ruin your fun if he does.

"Hey! What are you doing, you're going to get sick!"

You don't answer, running down the apartment stairs. The rain has made the steps slick and you nearly slip and brain yourself against the rails. It only spurns you on, your giggles wild. A glance behind you shows Yuta on your heels, his shoes only half on.

"Come on! Let's play in the rain!"

"It's too cold, let's go back inside!"

"If you really didn't want to, you would have caught me already." You take the stairs two at a time now, delighting in the exasperated huff you feel across the back of your neck.

He's so close. Damn him and his stamina. But you are flooded with the sudden need to be in the rain. If it's to wash away your restlessness or if it's an excuse to regain his attention, you don't think you want to know. Not now, when he's so close behind you. You reach the bottom of the stairs and spin out in the middle of the grass.

You're both growing up so fast. Already adults and forced to make your way out in the big wide world, beaten down daily by its trials and tribulations. Truly, what is the harm in indulging in childish happiness when you can?

He catches you around your middle mid-spin. You squeal before leaning back into his chest, the noise tapering off to delighted laughter. You always get him to play your games in some way. Moments like this, where he turns you around in his grip, his smile heartbreakingly soft and so, so fond...you think he could love you too.

Yuta looks at you like you're the center of his world. It's a heady feeling, tangible like an embrace. You start to hum a long-forgotten melody, swinging the both of you back and forth in a mockery of a dance. Yuta laughs gently, giving in.

"Okay, okay. Not for too long or you really will get sick."

"What, don't want to take care of me?" You bat your lashes and feel rewarded when he smiles.

"I already do that, don't I?"

"Oh, whatever." You twirl him and watch as his hair plasters across his rain-slicked skin. Your fingers twitch with the need to push it out of his face but you hold steady, focusing on a song only you can hear.

It's too easy to love him, you think, especially when he's like this. He's beautiful.

Your chest aches.

Eventually, you have to go back inside. The rain has soaked you both down to the bone and shivers begin to wrack your body. Yuta takes note of your sheepish smile and lets out an amused huff of air before gesturing for you to get on his back.

He's warm through the wet fabric of your clothes, goosebumps erupting across your skin. You sink into the warmth, pressing your nose into his hair, an animal seeking heat. The ride back up to your apartment is slower than his usual pace, his hands firm on your thighs as he carries you up.

"You're ridiculous, you know that?"

"And yet you're stuck with me."

"And you're stuck with me." You both laugh.

Despite how much you wish the ride up could last, nothing good ever does for long. You both reach your door all too soon and you slide off his back, your body still pressed against his for the briefest of moments in a moment of weakness. Yuta shudders and you pull away with a flush.

"Thanks," You mumble, patting his shoulder as you walk past him into your home.

Yuta kicks his shoes off and disappears for a moment, returning with two towels. "Let's get you dried off."

Your breathing and the sound of water dripping onto the floor are the only noises in the quiet home. It makes sense for you both to have moved in together. You did almost everything together, so why not just live with your best friend while you're at it? It'd save you both the trip. Plus, it allows you quiet moments like this, the both of you damp from rain but content all the same.

It's so easy to pretend in these little snippets of time that he's all yours. That the room you'll shuffle back to is one you share and that you won't have to crawl out of in the morning before he wakes up. A lump forms in your throat as you break away from each other to head to separate rooms to change.

The best you can do is take what he gives you. Sometimes you get to flop into his bed for a nap- if he takes pity on you that is. He's always been cagey about sharing his bed in a way you don't quite understand. On the couch, he's never far from you. But maybe the bed is too much, too far past the boundary of friendship for him to be comfortable with. Though there are rare exceptions where he drops the invisible line and lets you snuggle into his sheets that smell so strongly of him.

Like today. You bite back a smile as you poke your head into his room, now in dry clothes. Yuta sits on the edge of his bed, looking at his hands with an unreadable expression. It's enough to pull the smile off your face.

"You alright?"

Yuta jerks up and gives you a shaky smile. "Yeah. Just tired. Want a nap?"

"I was hoping you'd ask. I think I might fall asleep standing if I don't lay down soon."

"Can't have that, can we?" He asks softly, laying out on his bed and patting the space next to him. It's the same place you lay each time, to the right of him next to the wall.

You slip into the room and crawl across the bed, grinning at him. Heavy-lidded eyes track your movements, the whisper of his clothing rustling against the blankets beckoning you closer as he makes room. Your heart is hungry and you take the invitation readily, pulling the blankets over your body the second you lay down. The gap between you both is humbling. It's ocean-wide despite how he's not even an arm's length away.

It's still too far and yet all too close. This close-up, you wonder if he could read you. Can see your feelings for him and how strongly even something as lying next to him affects you. You grip the sheets tighter to keep from gripping him. Yuta flicks the lamp off and rolls onto his side, his back facing you.

For the next twenty minutes, you're convinced this is agony. So close and yet so far- the irony is not lost on you. He's the refreshing drink just out of reach in the middle of the desert. When you think the coast is clear, you inch your way forward with closed eyes to press your forehead between his shoulder blades. You rest it there, muscles uncoiling as you breathe him in.

"You know, I wish you loved me like I love you. I'm sorry for it.' You whisper, burrowing further into the line of his spine. "I really am."

It's not quite a kiss you press to his back but more of a touching of lips. It's brief. It's chaster than the searing hunger in your chest desires. But you eventually force yourself to roll onto your other side and succumb to sleep, broadening the gap between you both once more.

You wished he loved you. That he saw you the way you see him. He's the light on the porch when you're coming home, the hand at your back when you ride the train together, steady and comforting and safe. He's the rush in your veins and the craving that makes your teeth ache for a bite of him.

Yuta is everything to you and loving him hurts in the most beautiful way. But at least you have this.

It is enough.

No it's not, your heart weeps. It'll never be enough.

You're fast asleep and you don't notice the way the bed dips beneath your still body. Yuta's stare is heavy on the wall before he cranes his head down to look at your sleeping form, his denim-blue eyes wide.

You love him?

Him?

His hand shakes as it rests on the back of your head, his fingers trembling. Your hair is still damp from the rain but he doesn't care, he runs his hand over it all the same with a reverence that would shake your bones. Warmth blooms in his chest and Yuta smiles.

"You love me," Yuta breathes. "You love me."

His grip tightens on your head. The corners of his smile twist a touch too wide. Your words echo in his head over and over again, a song that will play on repeat for the rest of your lives. You love him, and he loves you. It's all he could have dreamed of. It's all he's ever wanted.

Yuta knows then that he could never possibly let you go. The hunger in his heart outmatches yours easily, a hurricane to your summer storm. Even now, with his hand on your head, it howls for more.

"Sweetheart," He whispers back, his hand trailing from your head down your side. "I'm going to make you the happiest person alive. You can count on that."

#red writes #yuta x reader #okkotsu yuta #yuta okkotsu x reader #yuta x you #yuta okkotsu x you #jjk imagines #jjk x reader

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writeforfandoms · 7 months

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Warrior Song 13

Find the series masterlist

Okay guys, we're approaching the end! I think we've got two chapters left in this story. And remember, if you kill me, I can't finish the story.

Medic learns more about Atriox's plan, and has a difficult decision to make.

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical plots against humanity, nobody likes humanity I guess, playing fast and loose with canon, canon is my sandbox. Mention of injuries.

Word count: 2k

Master chief/John-117 x f!reader

“Humanity has been more opposition than I first imagined,” Atriox growled. He’d left you on the ground, for which you were grateful. It was easier to hide the shaking when you were already seated. “But you will not be for much longer.”

You couldn’t see exactly what he was doing. You were a medic, not an engineer. But you knew it was bad.

You wished you did know what he was doing, so you could find some way to stop him.

Not that you really thought you could. You were, after all, the third most harmless person on this ring.

“Why did you not break when you lost your Master Chief?”

It took you a solid two seconds to realize that Atriox was not speaking to you, but speaking of humanity in general. You swallowed hard.

“Well, he died before, so.” You almost immediately winced at yourself. Oh yeah, great plan, snark at the maniac with the weapons and hands as big as your head. Good job.

Atriox huffed. “Then I will see to his death permanently this time,” he growled. “He will be the first, but not the last.” He looked down at you over his shoulder, the blue lighting only making him more intimidating, somehow.

You swallowed hard. That was very much a threat. One he apparently intended to see through.

This was so bad.

Two of the Endless floated nearer to him, and Atriox once again elected to ignore you, back to you. You took the chance to look around, carefully. You were far from alone, after all.

There were weapons and supplies stacked neatly. More than you were comfortable seeing.

It looked like war preparations.

Which was terrifying, of course, but also rather useless here. Sure, Atriox could lead the Endless and whatever of his forces remained against the humans here on the Halo, but that was far from all of humanity.

Fernando had told you the Halo was non-operational, John had dismantled whatever it was that made it a weapon.

So what was Atriox’s plan?

Not that it really mattered, so long as someone thwarted his plan. You doubted you could do much, but you could try.

Very carefully, you scooted back away from the control panel and Atriox. Nobody even looked at you, clearly deeming you harmless.

Maybe you could use that to your advantage? Somehow?

You could feel the Halo humming under you, gentle vibrations that would have been soothing if you weren’t absolutely terrified. Nobody else seemed to pay it any attention, but you leaned into it a bit.

Look, you could really use anything to help you calm down a bit just about now.

Okay, so you couldn’t tell what they were planning, and they were currently ignoring you, correctly deciding that you were not someone they needed to worry about. Okay. What else could you do?

There were tons of weapons, of course. Most of which you didn’t know how to use. And which you had no chance of doing any real damage with. Okay, yeah, not your best idea. Moving on.

The Endless seemed to be doing their own thing - only a few were around Atriox. You didn’t know where the rest had gone, because when Chief had been chasing them there had been many, many more. Possibly they were around the rest of the Halo? But for what purpose?

Maybe they knew how to repair it.

The thought stirred dread in your chest, cold seeping into your bones and your mind. That… was horrifying. And terrible. That would end so poorly.

But you had to consider it.

From what you remembered, the Endless had been around with the Forerunners, so there was a possibility they knew how to work this tech.

Which was honestly pretty terrifying. But this whole situation was pretty terrifying, so you weren’t sure how to qualify the actual level of terrifying anymore.

Okay. So. Atriox and the Endless were definitely up to something. You couldn’t do a lot from here. But you could watch, observe, try to piece together their plan.

And that’s exactly what you did. You sat there, thigh aching, gaze fixed on Atriox and the Endless around him. Maybe if you watched you’d get some hint, some clue as to their plan. Maybe.

It was the least you could do, anyway.

For the large part, they all ignored you. Atriox, the Endless, the Sangheili. All of them. You were beneath their focus, not worthy of watching more than to make sure you didn’t grab a weapon and start shooting.

Not that you were offended by this. They were pretty much right about that.

You had no idea how long you sat there. Time was meaningless and impossible to track. You just stayed exactly where you were, watching everything.

So when the Sangheili approached you again, you flinched. But he just sneered down at you and hauled you to your feet, grip uncaringly tight around your upper arm. You winced but kept quiet.

You were moved through a doorway, though your thigh ached and threatened to give out from under you. A walkway went around the circular room, with a single walkway stretching out over nothingness to a central point.

“Move,” Atriox growled from to the side of you. You chanced a quick look, but he was just watching you. So you stepped forward carefully, slowly.

“What am I doing?” You kept your voice low - it felt wrong to speak at full volume here.

“Ensuring my victory.” Atriox stepped up behind you, too close, looming over you. Then again, being on the same damn Halo as him was too close. Two of the Endless floated near you, watching with open curiosity.

So. They needed you to do something. Some way to interact with the Halo, or activate it, or something. But they needed you to do it. Or else why bother grabbing a human at all? Why bother keeping you alive?

Too many questions, not enough answers, and no way to get them. You blew out a slow breath, looking down at the interface in front of you. You could probably throw yourself off the walkway, which would at least slow down his plans. Give Blue Team a chance to catch up and stop him.

But you didn’t want to. You really didn’t want to.

Apparently tired of waiting for you, Atriox grabbed your arm, pulling your hand forward to slap against the interface. It lit up vibrant blue, sending chills down your spine.

“The Forerunners thought they were being so clever,” he growled, watching various statuses show up, flicking through them. “Leaving their technology to humans.”

The two Endless moved closer, and you stepped away. Carefully. Slowly. Your arm ached and throbbed where you’d been grabbed twice now, but nobody stopped you. They were focused on the displays.

Okay. Maybe you could back up, grab a weapon, and… do something.

You didn’t have a chance to plan more than that, though, as the sound of gunfire echoed down into the open room. Atriox started barking orders, his remaining soldiers gearing up quickly.

You used the distraction to scuttle away as fast as you could, trying to remain out of the way. Partially because you didn’t want to get shot, and partially because you didn’t want to get grabbed as a shield. It was easy for you to hide in the growing chaos, looking around almost desperately for some way to defend yourself.

The sounds of fighting grew louder, the shots getting closer. You had just turned to look back at the weapons stash, so you had a perfect view of Blue Team advancing into the room. Your breath stuttered out of you. They were okay. They were all okay.

“Master Chief,” Atriox rumbled, taking one step forward. “We meet again.”

Chief didn’t respond, just shifting his grip on his gun, helmet fixed on Atriox.

“You will not be so lucky again.” Atriox started forward, the floor shaking under his steps as he ran towards Chief.

You didn’t watch. You couldn’t watch. Two of the Endless were still working at the terminal, completely avoiding the fighting. Whatever they were working on was bad, clearly. They were trying to get it done.

You’d just have to disrupt their work.

A shotgun slid towards you, bumping into your shoe. You picked it up quickly and then looked at Blue Team. Fred nodded to you once before he threw a whole Unggoy into the pit, the high-pitched squeals fading quickly.

You didn’t hear it hit the bottom.

You knew the basics of gun safety, at least, so you were able to point and shoot. Which you did. Your first shot was a little wide, but the second hit both Endless. One of them turned on you with a furious sound while the other continued working.

Well. Damn.

You pressed your back into the wall, eyes wide. That had not gone according to plan!

But the Endless didn’t have a chance to attack. Two more shots hit it in the back, and it turned and… teleported? It did something and moved away from you.

Giving you a chance to focus on the remaining one. You needed to stop it. Somehow. You had no ammo, no convenient ally to help.

So you did what you could. You threw the entire shotgun at the Endless.

The Endless turned, energy crackling at its fingertips. Oh shit. It floated towards you slowly, seemingly just to enjoy the panic on your face as you scrambled backwards, away from it.

Kelly dropped down out of seemingly nowhere, pinning the Endless beneath her and shooting it in the face three times. “Stop taunting them,” she scolded you, sparing you one look before she leapt off to deal with something else.

You breathed out slowly, shakily. Yeah. Right. Good idea. You’d accomplished your goal, anyway.

Back still pressed against the wall, you hunkered down a little, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. The fight around you was loud and far too close, but there was nowhere else to go.

You had the perfect vantage point to see Atriox look back at the control panel. You saw two Sangheili descend on Chief to distract him. You saw Atriox leap back to the control panel.

You looked down when you felt something bump into your shoe. Another weapon. But this time it was a grenade. You had no idea what kind it was, or what it did, but you recognized the shape.

You picked up the grenade. Blue Team was scattered across the room, dealing with the veritable flood of Endless.

Could you make that throw? Maybe.

A sharp clang jerked your head to the side as Fred hit the wall across from you, getting back to his feet quickly, in time to block a shot from an Unggoy.

Your Spartans were doing well, but they hadn’t known the extent of what they faced. They didn’t know Atriox’s full plan.

Neither did you, of course, but you knew more than they did. You knew that he couldn’t succeed.

You knew what you had to do.

It took all your courage to take that first step forward. Then another. You moved slowly, softly. You didn’t even register to the combatants - the Endless were focused on Blue Team, and Blue Team was focused on eliminating the actual threats with extreme prejudice.

You nearly wobbled the last step you dared, your instincts screaming at you to run away from Atriox. But you didn’t. You held your ground, facing his back, shaking. You pulled the pin on the grenade, crouching a little. Okay. You could do this.

You rolled the grenade right between Atriox’s feet until it hit the bottom of the control panel and stopped.

Your gaze met John’s across the room, his visor impenetrable as ever, but still comforting. He shouted, and it took you a moment to realize he’d called your name.

Atriox made a triumphant noise.

John lunged.

The grenade went off.

#warrior song #john-117 x reader #master chief x reader #f!reader

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bimbodoggie · 1 year

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cybersex • (simon “ghost” riley x camgirl!reader)

contents/warnings: fem reader, consensual filming, toys, mean!dom simon, impregnating mention, face sitting, yourself on the shelf position, reader is plus sized, size kink, hair pulling, also simon is an asshole, oh also simon has a jacob’s ladder teehee :3

a/n: i started school and this semester has been beating my ass, MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI!, all art is by @ave661

your job was way easier than simon’s, you’d play dress up and take pretty pictures and videos for thousands of people on the internet….but simon he didn’t mind it because he knew that you were untouchable.

sometimes it did bother him tho, the fact others got to see what was his on the daily, but you could quit anytime you wanted, but this particular day it was different. the way simon was acting was kind of….strange, but then again he’s a 6’2 1/2 man who parades in a skull eggshell mask and the occasional balaclava with gunpowder or charcoal to match

all day your mind was filled by your thoughts of how he’s probably on the verge of breaking up with you right now, but then again this is the same man who spent his free time on base using your photos and videos as jerk bait….the front door creaked open and the sound of his boots and duffle bag hit the floor, its like this man had no trace of sound because next thing you know you two were eye to eye staring at each other.

it was embarrassing to say the least because well, you were naked and vulnerable…the only noise that came from his mouth was a satisfied grunt followed by a quick kiss on the mouth, you decided breaking the silence first was the best thing to do considering…

“are you leaving me?” was the question of the day, he froze, like a deer in headlights…if only you knew that was the complete opposite of what needed to be said from his mouth…once again silence filled the room as he walked over and shut off your camera which made you wonder even more about what his next move was

“you know, i’ve been thinking…that maybe instead of being being the director i get my role of the old pervert, something we can both remember yeah?”

what the fuck…is this the big secret he was storing away in his file cabinet? a fantasy, your mouth opened and closed, simon’s reaction was pretty expected, a hearty laugh a booming one at that…

“cmon use your words i know somewhere in that empty brain of yours you can conjure up a couple words yeah?”

instead of a verbal response which he wanted you just shook your head and ignored him which you would have to pay the price later but who cares at least him leaving you isn’t in the equation.

without warning simon picked you up and put you on the bed, looking you in your eyes to indicate that you either was going to break or he was going to break you.

he lifted his mask and started kissing from your neck all the way down to your malleolus bone, this man knew your body like the back of his hand, all the sensitive spots, where to lick, bite and touch he knew it all. he paused to turn on the camera.

“the first thing you’re gonna do is get on your knees and tell the audience what you’re doing today, then depending on how good you are i’ll let you be in charge for a little how does that sound lovey”

your brain circuited and was now functioning off of the commands from simon you scrambled from the bed to the floor…your big eyes met his lifeless ones.

“hi- hi everyone today i will be letting my boyfriend ghost be in my- my vids”

this was humiliating but you enjoyed every single moment, your mouth met his tip which was glistening with pre and begging to be touched, his cock was decorated with piercing jewelry which was a stimulant for your cunt, with his free hand he grabbed a fistful of hair and guided you to what he wanted to do, after that nothing but grunts and degrading phrases bounced around the walls

before he was remotely close to finishing he then picked you up and fucked into you, it was too much to bare, thousands of people watching you and how your boyfriend abuses your cunt on the daily basis, simon’s hand came into contact with your ass groping it, and leaving marks which will show in the morning

there was a heart shaped, light pink butt plug jewel which sparkled in the reflection of the light, the sounds of skin filled the room as you cried out for him to be gentle, he ignored your plea but instead moved a little closer to the camera putting your holes on display for thousands to see

user239329849: he’s such a lucky man

anon3453905: i would do anything to get my hands on her

simon laughed at the desperation comments that entailed of men and their sick fantasies, but simon was the only one who could act on them…he then put you down and signaled you to sit on his face, as much as you wanted to tell him your cunt was saying too much, you wanted him and needed him…the way his warm tongue consoled your weeping cunt had you in tears, the whining and crying for him to slow down was non existent to him.

he then positioned you to where your face was in the camera while he spread open the globes of your brown ass, “gonna give you a baby, i always know when you’re ovulating, i always track it on my calendar in my phone to make sure i get you pregnant” he rasped as he increased his pace….so much was going on which made you wonder if you could take him or not

he wanted a view of how your skin turned red at the sight of him battering your insides like it was some sick recipe…. “si baby, please im just please” your replied to him as he looked you in the eyes, a light slap from his hand was to question if you were still there or if you was just brainless, you started babbling incoherent sentences which was an indication to simon you were close, he took his hand pressed it again your lower abdomen…you tried you really did but he knew your body like a map

“you really are braindead, just a hole f’me and nothin else yea?”

that sent you overboard, it was enough with the jewelry that decorated his cock, you felt the band in your stomach pop making you to make a mess, it felt as if he planned this, he was sick but you liked it….he then turn your ass and cunt to the camera to show the cum leaking out of your throbbing hole….a sloppy kiss from simon was all you needed, you felt like he was breaking you

“touch her and i will find you personally and kill you”

he then ended the live stream to give you aftercare but deep down you knew he was serious

#cod mw2 smut #simon ghost riley smut #callofdutysmut #simon riley x black!reader #call of duty smut #codsmut #simon riley smut #dom!simonriley #simon riley plus sized!reader

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littlejuicebox · 3 months

Text

Midnight Chimes 3 / Luck

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader Warlock.

Word Count: 1,910

Summary/Setting: You and Astarion have met before, though you think it meant more to you than it did to him. You are an apothecary shop owner that has recently gained some mysterious Warlock powers; Astarion is, in your eyes, a rake that you wouldn’t trust as far as you can throw him. You two run into one another again after the nautiloid crash.

Preview:

The vampire couldn’t remember anything about you, at first. It was as if the parasite had unlocked the recollection, delving into some subconscious vault of memories Astarion could not access himself. He hadn’t remembered you, prior to the parasite’s assistance, but had held onto pieces of information he'd learned from the conversation. The prickled texture of the grass underneath his palm distracts Astarion as he vaguely listens to his two human traveling companions discuss healing potions – you needed to find a cauldron and distillery set to start concocting things for the journey ahead. As his two campmates chat, Astarion has more flashes from the conversation he'd had with you in the Drunken Dragon. Everything about that night returns to him in a hazy film, almost like recalling bits of a dream.

Warnings: eventual smut and gore 18+ / in game spoilers / angst, trauma, fluff / GUYS THIS CHAPTER HAS GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF ABUSE AND S-CIDE IDEATION DO NOT READ IF IT'S TRIGGERING TO YOU OR YOU ARE NOT IN THE RIGHT HEADSPACE

Notes: This chapter was hard for me to write; I teared up and had to take a break for a few days because I am quite sensitive. If you are sensitive like me, please proceed with caution.

“You are late, Astarion.”

“Master, I’m sorry, I—“

“I do not have time, nor patience for your excuses, boy!” Cazador hisses, snatching the younger vampire up by his flounced collar.

Astarion hears the fabric of his shirt tear as his master shakes him repeatedly. Cazador is shouting; from this proximity, Astarion can smell the rotten blood on his breath. The Vampire Lord is berating him ferociously, causing sprays of putrid spittle to hit the spawn’s face with every word.

But Astarion isn’t there anymore. He’s retreated into the confines of his own mind. He’s replaying the conversation he’d had with you, before the bell tower chimed midnight and he’d fled from the Drunken Dragon.

“DO YOU HEAR ME, BOY?!” Cazador is roaring now, lifting Astarion up to the tips of his toes with unhinged fury. The gap in the spawn’s shirt rips open further.

He’s a ragdoll in his master’s grip, flopping about almost lifelessly with deadened eyes and a blank visage. The pale elf learned long ago that expending his energy fighting, begging, or crying always lead to the same result. It was useless.

So why bother with it at all? It was easier to retreat within himself, hide, and hope he wouldn’t remember most of his encounters with Cazador, in the end.

The lack of response from Astarion enrages Cazador further, and in one swift motion he hurls the silver-haired elf onto the floor. The younger vampire lands with a resounding crack of bone – something inside the elf, apart from his spirit, has broken. Astarion would wince or cry, if he’d noticed it at all.

The vial and business card combination from earlier this evening tumbled out of the pale elf’s pocket during the commotion. Cazador snatches the small token up immediately; nothing that came home with the spawn had ever been allowed to stay with them.

Everything they found while outside of the palace became his; Cazador claimed this was his right as their master. The spawn did not even have rights to the clothes on their back. Astarion’s shirt had been torn by his master, restitched by his own hands, and then torn yet again more times than he could be bothered to count.

The Vampire Lord doesn’t bother to read the card; he simply crushes the vial in his hand and throws the resulting shards of glass at Astarion. The card is thrown into the flames of the fireplace without a thought.

Cazador is bellowing insults again, but the silver-haired elf barely acknowledges the venom spewing from the Vampire Lord’s mouth. He’s focusing on the perfumed residue that’s been scattered across his face along with tiny shards of glass, which have now embedded themselves in his cheeks and forehead.

The fragrance is positively ambrosial, and Astarion just now realizes that you had been wearing this very scent in the tavern. It was what had caught his attention in the first place. The smell proved to be an almost irresistible combination; he’d never smelt anything else quite like it.

The spawn thinks his face is bleeding, and glass might have gotten in his eye. Every time he blinks, there is a sharp, grating feeling, and so eventually he stops blinking altogether. He doesn’t need to, anyway. Instead, his visage turns into a thousand-yard stare.

Bergamot, rosemary… and what else? Astarion can’t place it.

Bergamot. Rosemary. Bergamot. Rosemary.

Cut. Slice. Stab. Whip. Blood. Bile. Scream.

Bergamot. Rosemary. Bergamot. Rosemary.

Cut. Slice. Stab. Whip. Blood. Bile. Scream.

Bergamot. Rosemary. Bergamot. Rosemary.

Astarion jerks awake, shocked by the sharp, resounding clang of metal upon metal. He’s shirtless, it’s freezing. The pale elf soon realizes he’s in the kennels, lying on the cold, damp cobblestone. The rough, slimy rock is poking into his torn back at all angles. Rats chitter about in the walls, causing his skin to crawl in revulsion.

He hates those disgusting vermin.

It was always cold and wet down here in the kennels. The stone would often sweat from humidity. As it did, it released the rotten scent caused by hundreds of years of torture performed on all Cazador’s spawn.

Piss, shit, bile, and blood.

A disgusting bouquet of misery.

The kennels always reeked of vile filth, but the silver-haired elf swore he’d caught a whiff of something simultaneously citrusy and earthy, accompanied by the tinkling sound of a woman’s laughter just before he woke.

Bergamot and rosemary?

But there’s no one else here. Just Astarion and the skeletal form of Godey, currently preoccupied with clanking metal and grumbling to himself.

By the time the vampire spawn fully returns his consciousness to his mind and body, he’s too late to avoid the rough metal chain swinging to smack his head. Astarion grunts at the impact and instinctively clutches his face with his now-freed hand. So that was the metal clanging… Godey was releasing him from his chains today.

His throat is absolutely raw. His mouth is dry. Every swallow sends sharp, stabbing pains through his nerves.

Had he been screaming?

He can tell he is starving, but that isn’t exactly new… that particular ache was always present.

Had it been hours? Days? Weeks? Astarion couldn’t be sure. There are hundreds of slashes of varying sizes and depths across his body; he reeks of blood, bile, and dried sweat. What he can see of his arms, in the parts not entirely caked in grime and congealed blood, looks to be a strange blend of purple and green.

“Are you dumb and deaf, spawn?! Out with you, boy!” Godey shrieks, ripping open the cell door and flailing the chain threateningly, “Lord Cazador says you are to get ready for the Greengrass Gala! All spawn are to attend!”

Greengrass? Hadn’t it been a few weeks past Midwinter when he was thrown down here?

He’d been left there and sliced to ribbons by Godey for months.

Why had he been locked in the kennels in the first place? He couldn’t remember. All he could remember was the smell of bergamot and rosemary and blurred bits of conversation in a tavern. He could almost recall that scent combination now.

Had he been trancing or sleeping? Was that a memory or a dream?

Godey is shouting, rushing Astarion out of the kennel with another haphazardly placed whip of metal, singeing the spawn’s already shredded back. He’s sent to see Dalyria for mending; she begs him to just behave himself next time.

But what had he done, besides nothing at all?

Astarion enters the dormitory to prepare for the Gala. By the looks of his forearms, Dalyria has already done all the hard work. His bruises and cuts are almost gone, and he is certain the rest will disappear prior to the party.

He thinks it’s strange how he can be torn to shreds and restored a thousand times over; an unwilling phoenix risen from the ashes. How much easier it would be to simply crumble and fall with one step into the sun or one vial of positoxin.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

If only he could be that lucky.

But luck hadn’t been in his favor for over two hundred years, and he was certain it would never be on his side again. He’d prayed to Tymora, the goddess of luck, and every other god and goddess he could remember while locked in that tomb all those years ago. He’d promised to pledge his undead life to their service, if only one of the beings would answer him. Tymora had ignored him then, like all the others.

They were surely ignoring him now.

Astarion doesn’t know why, but he bathes himself in a combination of bergamot and rosemary oils while he prepares for the Greengrass Gala. He doesn’t know why, but something about the smell tricks him into feeling comfort… if only for a moment.

-----

After 200 years of misery, the tides of luck may have finally turned for the vampire.

Astarion is basking in the warmth of a campfire, out in the wilds, breathing in the freshness of the countryside.

It’s the first night in camp. Every sensation out here is new. The breeze dances across his skin, causing the curls around his ears to tickle the sensitive flesh around his pinna. He shudders at the sensation and shifts closer to the fire. Warmth is almost entirely foreign to him; all he truly knows is cold kennels and the iciness of his own skin.

He doesn’t remember if he’s been outside of Baldur’s Gate before; he can’t recall a single moment prior to Cazador. Astarion's undead existence had been filled with the scents of decay and despair, found all over the city and especially inside the palace.

Until now.

The prickled texture of the grass underneath his palm distracts Astarion as he vaguely listens to his two human traveling companions discuss healing potions. You needed to find a cauldron and distillery set to start concocting things for the journey ahead. The wizard was wondering where something like that would be found out here in the wilds.

As his two campmates chat, Astarion sees more flashes from the conversation he'd had with you in the Drunken Dragon. Everything about that night returns to him in a hazy film, almost like recalling bits of a dream.

Until today, the pale elf believed the concept of positoxins was something he'd always known somehow. In the same way he knew his own name or understood Elvish. But he'd learned that from you. You were an apothecary. You'd given him a business card. You'd asked him to write, and the business card had a vial attached to it, which contained a sample of…

Shit.

Bergamot and rosemary.

Astarion stiffens, and his head jerks to take in your profile. Inky black hair falling just past narrow shoulders in soft waves; warm, olive skin, and purple irises. He crinkles his brow, thinking the eye color is a bit unusual for a human and trying to recall what you looked like in his memory.

Surely, he would have remembered an attractive human woman with purple eyes, wouldn't he? Had you changed, somehow? Is that why he didn't remember you at all?

Though, he did see a lot of faces. And intentionally chose to forget almost all of them. He didn't want to remember the faces of his victims, didn’t want to know their names, didn’t want to remember the way they screamed in agony after he lured them to their deaths.

You don't notice him staring; in truth, you had practically been ignoring him all this time and only focusing your attention on Gale.

The fragrance you'd given him had wormed its way so deeply into his subconscious that he’d been borderline obsessed with it. He’d tried his best to recreate the scent with what was offered at the palace, but of course it paled in comparison to the one held within his mind.

You had somehow escaped being his victim. Luck may never have been on his side, but it apparently had been on yours.

Why, then, had he forgotten everything else about that interaction? Forgotten you?

The pale elf doesn’t understand that his own mind had chosen to hide the memory of that night in the tavern. It was a protective measure, constructed by his own shattered psyche. The memory had to be concealed because it held the subtle sensation of hope. Hope was a dangerous thing for him to have. Misery was familiar.

Hope would convince him to take risks that he couldn’t afford.

#astarion x tav #baulders gate astarion #astarion fanfic #baulders gate 3 #astarion fic #bg3 fanfiction #baulders gate tav #bg3 fanfic idea #astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion x oc #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #astarion x female oc #astarion x female tav #astarion x female reader #astarion fluff #astarion angst #astarion fanfiction

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aaizawashouta · 9 months

Text

Take It Off

pairing: kankuro x fem!reader

word count: 4.3k

summary: it's been six months since you've last seen each other. you can't help but wonder if he's still yours like you are his. (modern!au)

warnings: smut (18+, minors dni) oral (female receiving), fingering, p in v, cream pie

a/n: this is my first fic ever for this show. I am on my second re-watch of Naruto, so lord, be gracious if anything is out of character.

It’s humid outside, the air clinging to your skin much like the dress you have on. Your heels click against the pavement as they carry you two blocks over. You aren’t close enough to hear the music, but gods, could you feel the bass. It’s the first party to kick off the summer. The sand siblings held a party every year and this one was no different. Well, maybe a little different. The weight of the necklace around your neck is a reminder of just how different everything really was.

The crowd is thick, the air intoxicating. Hungry eyes devour your being as you walk into the familiar home. The sound of your name catches your attention. A sly smile making its way on your face. All your favorite people are here. Your chest tightens a little. Sakura and Ino wrap you in a hug, compliments on your appearance pouring out of them. A bone crushing hug comes from behind you, venom on your tongue ready to bite when you turn to see Naruto. It dies, and all you can do is accept the affection he’s so graciously giving you.

Voices talk over each other, some getting lost in the music. But you know what’s being said. Talks of adventures, and completed missions. The relief of finally being home. The smile never leaves you as you partake in the conversation, you’ve been tucked up into Kiba’s side, his arm thrown lazily over your shoulder. Your best friend since damn near birth, it comes to no surprise that he’s missed you. Sighing, you turn your head, there is no ignoring the knowing gaze of Gaara. He’s been watching you since you got here, Temari too, just a lot more discreet.

“You’re going to leave a scar from your stare burning into my face.”

“You need a drink.”

The both of you stare at each other for a moment. The bass of the music vibrates through you.

“Naruto,” you call, breaking Gaara’s gaze. The blonde perks up at your attention. “Come.”

Normally Kiba would be at your side when it comes to this kind of thing, but that’d be a little too obvious this time. You hear Kiba laugh as Naruto makes his way to your side. If sunshine could be bottled into a person, he’d be it. He’s literally buzzing with energy. Eyes bright and slightly glassy, his signature grin taking up his face.

“Let’s get a drink,” you say, grabbing his hand and pulling him closer to you.

He nods, leading the way. His giant body parts the crowd a lot easier than you would’ve. His mouth is moving, but you can’t make out the words he says. His free hand flies as he talks, his whole body animated, eager to get his words out. It makes your lips quirk as you watch him. He really is a nice guy, a little clueless and impulsive, but nice nonetheless. If your heart wasn’t already taken by someone else, you could see yourself being completely owned by someone like him.

It’s in the kitchen when he lets go of your hand, lips brushing against your ear to ask what you’d like to drink. You barely hear him over your raging heartbeat. He’s here. Kankuro. He’s right there leaning against the counter, bottle in hand, looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It isn’t him that’s getting you worked up though. No, it's the girl that’s hanging on him, doing her best to appear meek whilst shoving her tits in his face. Your nails dig crescent shapes into your palms, teeth biting into your cheek. Huh, maybe things are different now. Naruto, your saving grace, calls your name. You're thankful you were able to look away before you got caught staring. As if you aren’t embarrassed enough.

“What do you want to drink?”

“Whatever is sweet and in a capped bottle, Naru.”

Your smile is sugary sweet when he winks at you. You fiddle with the chain around your neck, almost tempted to take it off. It went from being your hail mary to something that’s condemning you right back to hell. Maybe you made yourself a little too much of a target tonight. Your mind is attacking you and nothing has even happened. You pull slightly at the hem of your dress. It’s tight and it’s not moving—you knew what you were doing.

A snicker has you looking up. Instead of looking at the girl whose nose is the air with the audacity to judge you, your eyes meet his. A gasp gets lodged in your throat, making you choke on your breath. Fingers clinging onto the heavy metal that rests against your chest.

“Don’t think he’ll find what you’re wanting.” Her nasally voice mocks. “It’s rough or nothing around here.”

Your lips push in thought. This girl has no idea who you are. You aren’t here by word of mouth like most people. She has no idea a key to this house sits next to your own on the keychain in your purse. This castle welcomes you in, no matter what.

“Here, sweetheart.” Naruto says as he saunters up to you. “Easy to find when there’s four cases with your name written on it. Gaara really went all out for you tonight.”

Gaara. You need a drink. That’s why he’s in charge around here, you suppose. The guy just always knows. A light laugh escapes you. Naruto smiles at you quizzically, not completely understanding, but happy to see you happy. He really is contagious. Kankuro stiffens, you’re not sure if it’s from your laughter or the fact that Naruto is pressed tightly against you. Either way, you can see how he straightens, shaking the girl off him, his stare never leaving your face.

Ignoring him the best you can, you push on your tiptoes and lightly place a kiss upon Naruto’s cheek. You grin when heat blossoms instantly across his cheeks. “Thank you. Now come on, before Kiba hunts me down for a game of beer pong.”

One of the reasons you hate when Kiba hunts you down for beer pong is the fact that you guys never fucking lose. You’re a dynamic duo, carrying each other like a proper team should. Lee and Naruto are on the side of the table, frustration pouring out of both of them. Sweat beads along your hairline. Your hairdo long since forgotten due to the humidity; it’s now pulled up held loosely in a clip at the back of your head. There’s three cups left on the table, two for you and one for Lee and Naruto. It’s your turn to get the winning shot. You step into position, flicking the access water off the ball when you feel it. The heat of his stare. It’s taking in every inch of you never pausing for more than a moment. There’s nothing you can do other than freeze under such scrutiny.

Kiba calls your name, but you can barely hear him. Your gaze locks onto Kankuro’s. His eyes are blazing. Emotions swirling like a typhoon, desperate to drown you. He’s moving through the sea of bodies, shoulders knocking into others without even a backwards glance. He’s heading towards you and there isn’t much you can do.

Tearing your gaze from his, you squeeze your eyes shut. One, two, three. One, two, three. You can do this. Taking a deep breath, your eyes open, almost stumbling back because Kiba’s right in your face staring at you with a deadpan look.

“What?” You snap.

“What do you mean, ‘what?’ Throw the goddamn ball and win the game. You can fuck him later.”

Your lips part as your eyes narrow. “Listen here, mutt—”

“Don’t act like you guys weren’t just eye fucking each other.” Kiba rolls his eyes. “Plus, if you don’t, I’ll lose fifty bucks to Shikamaru. So help me out, huh?”

You don’t even know what to say. What can you say? He not only called you out on your bullshit, but Kankuro’s too. Kiba smirks, patting the top of your head before moving out of your way. All water, no cup. Lee and Naruto moan at their loss, again, as they down their drinks. Kiba howls, kissing your cheek causing you to squirm away from him. He knows you’re annoyed with him and is trying to be cute.

“I need some air.”

“Two more games,”

“Kiba! Shika is right there, use him. I need to breathe.”

You don’t miss his knowing smirk as you turn and head for the backyard. It’s drastically more quiet and you welcome it. There’s a few people out here, most taking a smoke. Your hand twitches, you should have snagged one from Shikamaru when you were inside. You walk around the yard, pulled deeper into the backyard where the edge of the yard meets the sparse trees. A light laugh escapes you when the sight of an old, roughly put together fort comes into view. Instantly you know it was Gaara’s, a place he could hide when he was younger.

A shriek comes from behind you, a hand flies to your chest as you jump. Gods, you’re wound so tight, the fresh air you were so desperate to get isn’t helping you now. If anything, you’re desperate to go home and wash the night off of you. The more you linger, the more you feel like it’s been a mistake. Even if Gaara and Temari think otherwise. You finger your necklace, the thought of taking it off and leaving it behind dances in your mind once again.

How mad would he be? Would he honestly be surprised? Does it fucking matter? Yes. It does. Because you love him. You’re a goddamn idiot in love with a bigger idiot.

Groaning, your head falls back, clip loosening, hair falling to frame your face. Yeah, it’s time to go home. Four cases of your favorite drink and you only made it through one. You’re only a little bitter about it. Tonight was supposed to be fun. He’s standing behind you when you finally make yourself turn to head inside. His presence makes you pause, eyes widening as your stare meets his. It’s quiet as you both watch each other, neither of you sure of the next move to make. It breaks your heart a little.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you reply, voice light.

“Had a feeling I’d find you out here.”

He leans forward, handing you a bottle. Your lips twitch. You know it in your heart of hearts that it wasn’t fucking Gaara who made sure that your favorite drink was on hand. Rough or nothing around here. You snort, not when it comes to you.

“You been busy?” you ask, taking a pull as a distraction. Whatever will keep you busy. He’s got you on edge, you don’t need to show him just how exposed your nerves are. There’s double meaning to your words, let’s see if he answers honestly.

“Seemed that way, huh?” He laughs as he shakes his head. “No. Gaara’s been keeping us all busy.” You believe him. Kankuro has no reason to lie, especially about that. “So, you and Naruto, huh?”

He takes a step closer, eyes watching you closely. He’s close enough now that you can feel his body heat. His right hand brushes yours, pinky linking with yours before letting go. Your disappointment only lasts a second, soon his fingers are wrapping around your wrist, feeling how your heart beats for him.

“So, still falling for the bait, huh?” You laugh.

His eyebrow quirks at your grin. “Normally it’s Kiba.”

“I got smart.”

Kankuro nods, a small smirk tugging on his lips. It’s turning into a game, making you go from anxious to excited. You step into him this time, your chest brushing against his. It still amazes you just how much bigger he is than you.

“Always such a tease, puppet.” You gulp down a mixture of fear and desire as he applies more pressure to your wrist, your pulse racing madly in between his fingers.

He looks down at you, eyes dancing with mirth before they trail down the rest of you. It’s only a second or two when he pulls you in closer as his hand raises to your chest. You can’t help the strangled gasp that leaves you in a rush when his fingers pull at the necklace around your neck. Lightly, they trace over your skin, making you breakout in goosebumps despite the heat.

“That’s my name.”

“It is.”

“Around your fucking neck.”

“Yes.”

He looks so baffled. It’s almost cute. “Kuro, I haven’t ever belonged to anyone else.”

The door shuts behind you, your back slams into the knob causing you to hiss. You feel Kankuro huff against your neck as he holds back a laugh. Sliding a hand up his neck, your fingers tangle in his hair. There’s no hiding your smile when he groans.

“Baby,” the word is muffled against your skin. “You’re killin’ me.”

“Can always make it worse,”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Your mouth at his neck before placing your lips at his ear. “I’m not wearing anything underneath all this.”

“What the fuck,”

You lean backwards, resting your head on the door. “You know what else?”

“Hmm?”

“I wore this dress just so you could take it off.”

“It’ll end up on the floor, baby. Might just rip the fucking thing off.”

In a smooth, quick movement, Kankuro goes to the floor. heat licks up your spine.You see his small smirk, large hands trailing up and down your bare thighs. You’d done a lot of things before, but never this.

“I haven’t even touched you yet, baby.”

He runs his nose over your center, taking in a deep breath. His hands tighten on your thighs, as if he’s stopping himself from diving right in. You shudder, squeezing your thighs together only for him to pry them apart.

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, breathing shallow, watching him as his hand lifts one of your legs to rest on his shoulder. You can’t stop the moan when he kisses your ankle. You can’t help but wonder if he knew he could mold you into anything he wanted. You’ve been his since for as long as you've known him. He could straight out ruin you and you’d thank him.

His hand trails up your leg, rough calluses catching on your skin. There is no buildup, his finger running through your folds, a hum as he collects it before sticking the digit in his mouth.

“You're fucking soaked, babe. Fuck, bet you taste real sweet, huh?”

“Sweet as honey.” It comes out in a sigh.

“That’s fucking right.”

You clench around nothing. Kankuro’s voice was raw, deeper than you’d ever heard it. He gave nothing else before diving in. You moan, your head falling back against the door again. Only to lift it when he smacks your thigh.

“Baby,”

You huff, but nod, biting back your whimper. His tongue is flat as it makes its way through your folds. It’s like he’s done this before. Or at least thought about it. That thought does something to you. Thinking about Kankuro having thoughts about devouring you whole. You have to tell him, god, you have to tell him.

“Kuro,” you murmur, hips lifting to roll against his face.

“Baby.” He says voice thick with arousal. You squirm at the feel of his breath against you. His thumb rolls your clit in circles as his tongue parts your folds. He slips a digit in before replacing it with his tongue.

You grind yourself on his face, barely catching the feel of his teeth and it is exquisite. You whisper his name again, wanting him to look at you, to see you. Want him to know that you’ve only been a mess like this because of him. He holds you open and licks up the seam of your sex, your hips buck, rubbing yourself across his lips and chin.

“Hey, I got you.”

He strokes and teases your pussy. Switching off between his thick fingers and his tongue. He has you quivering. The sounds of you clenching around his fingers, his tongue are obscene and he fucking loves it.

You feel like you’re drowning. Every crashing wave grows higher and higher building a tsunami that can’t be stopped. You move with every flick of his tongue. Heel digging into his shoulder when he sucks your clit into his warm mouth. It almost sends you over.

“You taste so good, baby. So fucking perfect for me.”

You can’t help but laugh. “That’s because I’m made for you.”

Kankuro groans at your words. Fingers digging into your exposed thigh. You’re right on the edge. Just a little bit more. A simple push and—you cry out when his thumb brushes against your clit in a perfect circle. The perfect pressure and you're flying.

“Oh my god,”

He groans against you, feeling your release. You clench tightly on his tongue as he fucks it into you, taking everything you’ve got to give. He keeps up his pace, helping you ride it out. As your hips slow down he replaces his tongue with his fingers, his mouth going back to your sensitive nub.

“Kuro—Kankuro, no. Please.”

“Come on, be a good girl. Be a nice puppet for me, please. One more, just one more.”

It shoots straight to your core. You’re desperate, small whimpers falling from your lips. Good girl. Of course you’d be his good girl. Whatever kept him here with you is what you’d be.

You're dripping down your thighs. You know it’s all over his face, dripping down his chin. He catches your eye when he pulls away, a grin tilting his lips. He’s shining with your release. Leaning forward he catches you by surprise and kisses you. You hum into it, opening up to let him explore your mouth. Licking into him, you taste yourself. Odd, different, but not unpleasant. You're distracted when his fingers pump into you, curling into that spongy part of you that you can’t even reach. It hits fast and hard.

Kankuro’s chuckling to himself when he stands to his feet.

Your eyes narrow as your breath evens out. “Got something to say, Kuro?”

He grabs your hand and presses it against his groin. Even through the fabric of his jeans you can tell that he’s hard as steel and burning hot. “I think I’ve done enough with my mouth, hmm?”

“You going take me to bed, or fuck me against the door?”

His eyes darken at your words. “Baby I don’t know if I want to fuck you so hard the neighbors know my name, or fuck you to where you’re stupid for my cock and my cock only.”

You don’t say much as you get dragged over to his bed. Clothes are tossed on the floor. Kankuro curses under his breath when you pull your top off, his hands pulling you to him so he can suck a nipple into his mouth. You sigh with the building pleasure, hands combing through his dark locks.

“This won’t be gentle, I don’t know if I can be easy with you right now.”

“Are you warning me?”

Kankuro levels you with a look. “It’s been a while, babe.”

You trail your gaze over him from his head to his toes, lingering where his hand was working his length. “I think I’ll be okay. I know how to handle you. Always have.”

You run a thumb over the tip, smearing the precum. Your nails nip at his sensitive skin and he shivers. You fall back against the bed watching as he climbs over you. His dick nudges the soaked folds of your cunt.

“Come on Kuro,” you say softly, arching your back to lift your hips. “Ruin me, I want it.”

And you know he wants to.

“You’re too good to me,” his voice is thick with want.

Slowly he sinks into you. He’s too big. Fuck, he’s so big. The head of his cock snags at your entrance, causing him to start over. You breathe in nice and slow, relaxing yourself with every slow thrust he makes until he’s at the hilt.

“Holy fuck,” You hiss as he sits snug. You need a moment.

With a deep breath you nod, giving him permission and he’s taking it, demanding more–needing more the second he feels the tight velvet of your sex.

“Kankuro,” you moan, nails digging into his shoulders.

He nods. He knows you need this as much as he does. You're clinging to him, hands tugging at his hair, cunt clenching around him like he’d slip free at any moment. His thrusts are deep, building a slow burn inside of you. Your toes curl because it’s just the beginning. You arch your back, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts. You hit a good rhythm, letting yourself breathe, relax, and suck him in deeper. You’re almost where he wants you. Kankuro looks at you and your heart flips in your chest. It’s like he’s truly looking at you for the first time. He’s looking at you like he’s in love. You clench around him and he groans. He thrusts a little harder than before, causing your head to fall back.

“Eyes on me,” You whimper and open your eyes. “Eyes on me, baby.”

You watch each other, a breath apart as you circle your hips. You’re waiting for him to break. Any second now. He muffles out curses, a hand trailing up and wrapping around your neck. The action has your eyes rolling back before you snap them open. Your walls flutter around him, and his grip tightens. A knowing looking glinting in his eye. You flex your cunt, lower muscles bearing down as you grip him. He groans, the sound erupting in the silent room.

There’s pleasure coiling behind your pussy. “Kankuro, fuck,”

“What is it?”

“Fuck me,” You whine, pulling on his hair. “Please, baby, please. I need it.”

His gaze drops from your face to where he’s burying himself in your tight cunt. He nods before lifting his eyes. “Alright, alright.”

You flash him a grin and he jolts, his cock twitching deep. You cling to him, desperate and a little dizzy. You can’t remember the last time it was ever like this. Swallowing, you know that’s a lie. It’s always been him. He’s so big and you’re so fucking full. He fills you to the brim, cock dragging against your walls.

He's finally picked up his rhythm. Hammering into you, each deep stroke better than the last. Your orgasm takes you by surprise. You lurch against him when you moan. You melt, boneless, like jelly. You’re loose and wet and fucking perfect. His nose presses into your cheek as he grinds into you.

“Fuck, puppet. Missed the feeling of you on my cock.”

You snort, pulling yourself closer to him. Guttural grunts and low growls meet your ear. Heavy breaths that bounce around the empty room. It’s a brutal taking, and you are not wet enough. Tears pool in your eyes, threatening to fall with every harsh thrust. You take what you're given, no complaints. Kankuro readjusts, moving you to where you are firmly planted on his thighs, giving him a better angle. You’re bouncing with each thrust from his cock now. He’s deep, so deep you can see the bulge of him in your tummy. You pull his hair, grinning when he hisses.

“You got one more for me?”

He knows you can’t talk. He knows you’re fucked out, gone stupid on his cock. Just like he said he would. He loves when you get like this. He loves it even more because you asked for it. You move, opening up your legs a little wider. He groans feeling himself sink deeper into you. You’re puffy and raw and you’re living for it. Nodding, his name falls from your lips.

It builds and builds and builds until it has nowhere to go. It roars forward, jolting you, a scream ripped from your throat and your nails digging into him so hard you can feel when he starts to bleed. Kankuro is there. He holds you into place, lips grazing your cheek. He fucks you through it all, jamming himself into your searing overstimulated sex, he meets his end. His grip tightens, a low gravel filled groan comes from deep in his chest, filling you up. You feel the drag of his necklace when he lifts his head to trail kisses across your sweaty skin.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, breaking the silence.

You pull him on top of you, hugging him tightly to you. You bask in the feel of him. You hadn’t realized how much you’d been missing him until you were drunk off of him. You’re aching and sore but you refuse to move away from him. His eyes are still dark and heavy-lidded as he regards you.

“Keep me in there,” he tells you and you just smile.

“Always.” You hum, scratching his head with your nails. “Missed you.”

“I missed you, baby. Always miss you.”

You swallow suddenly feeling shy. Kankuro pulls himself up, pushing loose strands of hair out of your face. He looks at you, really looks at you. Eyes roaming all over your face. He doesn’t miss a thing, never has. He knows you like the back of his hand.

“What is it?”

“Six months, Kuro. Six months of nothing from you. Then I come home to a leech on your arm.”

Even after he’s fucked you silly your feelings are hurt. Almost like a bratty little kid that didn’t get what you wanted. It didn’t matter that you had a point. He had all the time in the world to tell you he missed you, but he waited until you were right on the verge of giving up. He may be a master of puppets, but you don’t like being played with.

“You’re right. I should’ve made you a priority. I’m sorry.”

It’s not what you want, but for now, it’ll be good enough.

#kankuro x reader #kankuro x you #kankuro one shot #kankuro smut #kankuro fanfic #kankuro fanfiction #naruto fanfiction

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criminalskies · 9 months

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Safety Net (repost from old account)

Author's note: this was my first fic ever and my absolute baby. I still remember everyone being so kind to me when I first posted it and feeling so so welcomed by everybody here. Thank you all for your ongoing support, it really means the world to me.

Word Count: 3k.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gender neutral reader.

Summary: You spend the night reflecting on a beautiful love you shared with Aaron Hotchner, more accurately, you spend the night reflecting on the last two months of heartache without him. It will take one unexpected visitor to bring the two of you to face the reality you’ve found yourselves in.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

You always hated driving, especially short distances that could easily be traversed on your own two legs. Or, you used to. You used to love all the sensations of walking home from work, especially on a nice spring night like this. When you could see fireflies making their way out of the trees, and feel the gentle breeze almost swaddling you on your way home.

But that was a long time ago, the last time you really enjoyed this time of your day which you now wish would just be over already. The last time you cherished your walks home, there was a much smaller hand nestled in your own. But even once you make it home, it doesn’t feel deserving of that title anymore. There are no toys scattered across your living room floor. No captain america or batman figurines lodged in the soil of your beloved pot plants. There are no big strong arms snaking around your waist, enveloping you in warmth as you put all the love you can into a beautiful home-cooked dinner for three. This is just your apartment now, a place to put your things and to rest your weary bones.

You hardly realise time has passed as you reminisce on the times you so dearly miss. You zone back into your tandoori chicken frozen dinner sadly oscillating itself in the microwave. You haven’t been able to bring yourself to really cook for one in a while. The insurmountable pile of leftovers that remain spend too much time attempting to haunt you from the cold confines of the fridge. The pictures hung on the exterior looking back at you, smiles plastered on three adoring faces. It’s torture. You opt to beeline to the freezer each time instead.

It’s been two months. Just two months since you last shared ‘I love you’s and morning kisses between coffee like they were habits you’d never need to break. It’s going to get easier. You are going to remember all of the things that used to bring you joy before your favourite boys walked out of your life. At least, that’s what you have to believe. People don’t wallow in one breakup forever… do they?

You can’t help but think that most people never experienced the type of glorious, all-consuming, once in a lifetime, fire-fueled love that you had with Aaron, but you push that thought down. You really don’t have time to weigh the merits of falling hopelessly and monumentally in love with that of a lifetime spent longing for what could have been, for what once was.

You try to distract yourself watching TV, only to discover that every TV character you can stand seems to be either falling hopelessly & monumentally in love, or grieving a lost love. You really can’t bear witness to either story right now, so you settle on going to bed early. You’ve been doing that a lot lately, since bed is the one place you were ever able to be without Aaron. With his job having him in and out of town on the flip of a dime and his never-ending pile of paperwork keeping him locked away in the study for hours on end, you were used to him not being there when you went to sleep. More often than not, he’d be there when you woke up, having carefully slid himself around you without disturbing your sleep, you’d have a few minutes to just admire him in the mornings. His normally furrowed brow all lax, his eyes peacefully drifting behind his eyelids and his even breaths fanning out over your chest.

This was the part you had the most trouble with now, was that no matter how early you’d go to bed, you’d never wake up to Aaron’s serene face sleeping next to you. But still, each night, you’re able to lure yourself into bed with the thought of it. Which is exactly what you’re doing now, turning off the water in the shower, and slipping into the pyjamas he used to love seeing you in.

You’re trudging through the kitchen to have one last glass of water and turn out the lights when you hear a little sound, on the other side of the door. You wait, to see if you hear it again for a minute; hearing nothing you turn to go to bed. You hear it more clearly this time, a tiny knock on your door. Maybe it’s him. No, no, it’s probably just your neighbour who’s locked herself out again.

Opening the door, you look out and don’t see anybody? Can that be right?

“Down here.” you hear a very familiar little voice, only it sounds much brighter in your memories.

“Jack!” You’re quick to crouch down to the boy’s height, pulling him into a tight hug, you smell his beautiful hair, he still smells just like strawberry tear-free kids shampoo, and you can feel tears welling up in your eyes just holding him.

Pulling back to look at him before you get lost in his tiny hug forever, “what’s wrong, buddy?”

“I miss you. Daddy says you had to go away but I knew he was lying, you’re right here!” Jack says, looking like the spitting image of his father as anger bleeds into his words, drawing his brows down and his jaw setting fiercely tight.

“Oh, I miss you too sweetheart, so so much. Like you wouldn’t believe.” You pull him into another hug. “Your daddy wasn’t trying to lie to you, I’m sure he just wanted to protect you, honey.”

“But that’s selfish!” Jack yells, impressing you with the volume he can generate from such a small body. You finally find the sense to pick him up and bring the poor sweet boy into your apartment before he has an imminent meltdown and wakes up half of floor six.

“Daddy can’t see you, but I can, right?! I didn’t do anything wrong!” You see the tears in his eyes threatening to spill over and your heart actually aches. How could you have left Jack in the dark like this to think he could have been to blame for your absence in his life.

“Honey, look at me.” You cup his little face between your hands, careful to make sure he can see your earnest face when you tell him

“You did nothing wrong. You were perfect, buddy. The best friend a person could hope for. Your dad and I just had to take some time apart. I’m so sorry that I had to leave you as well as him.”

You notice then that Jack has his sleepover bag with him, Woody from Toy Story staring up at you from over the boy’s back. “Wait a minute, does your dad know you’re here?” Jack shakes his head no. Great, your absence has made the boy a fugitive. That’s just perfect. You pull out your phone to text Aaron to stop the search party he’s inevitably sent out when Jack bursts into tears, wrapping his arms around your neck once more, your phone clattering to the floor in your surprise.

“I had to see you. Daddy’s never home now and his friend is mean and doesn’t know me! At all! She doesn’t know Bear in the Big Blue House, she doesn’t walk me home from school, so we can never stop for ice cream! She doesn’t like to play hopscotch, or like stopping to smell the flowers along the way. She can’t get my oatmeal to taste like love at all! She isn’t you. She’s not my mommy and she’s definitely not my friend!” Jack’s voice breaks under the weight of his pent up feelings and you realise the normally very patient little boy has finally been pushed and pushed far enough for his very long tether to break. He’s drawing his line in the sand, coming to you. He’s making certain that somebody hears his distress. You’re going to make damn sure Aaron understands the depth of Jack’s hurt surrounding the entire situation.

“Honey, I’m sorry daddy’s friend isn’t listening to you. I can see you’re frustrated, can you breathe with me? Milkshake breaths.” You and Jack take some big inhales through your nose and slowly blow out of your mouths, you found this technique was always really helpful for his big feelings. He calms down enough to stop his chin wobbling and his words from getting jumbled.

“I just have to let your dad know you’re safe before he calls a swat team to find you sweetheart.” You quickly send off a text to aaron:

Y/N L/N: Jack is with me. He showed up at my place very upset about something. Poor Bug.

“Jack, that really sucks that your dad’s friend won’t try out your interests with you, have you tried talking to them about it?” You’re sure he has, he’s a great communicator for his age but it’s worth checking.

“Yes. But she doesn’t listen to me. She always tells me what I want doesn’t matter because it’s kid stuff and she’s doing adult stuff, like I don’t know anything! I hate her.” You’ve only heard Jack use the H word three times before, Aaron tries really teaching him about the power of his words, and so do you.

Your phone dings before you can ask him if he really hates his dad’s new friend or if maybe dislike is a better term.

AARON: Thank God. I don’t know how he slipped out of the house. I’m coming over right now, hold tight.

“Jack, come sit on the couch with me. Here, take your bag off.” You slip his arms out and feel that he must have packed three days worth of clothes, toys and his bedtime story books to come here. How the hell did his tiny frame carry all this to your place? Yes, you’ve walked the path from his house to yours a hundred times with him hand in hand, but can a five year old really navigate the fifteen minute walk in the suburbs at night with nothing but his spiderman torch to guide him? He is such a smart kid. You feel your own anger bubbling over on his behalf for an adult dismissing his genuine feelings and concerns just because he’s young. Even when he is such a clear communicator, just like his dad. God, you wonder if Aaron has any idea his son has been this upset in the new arrangement.

“I can see why you’d hate that buddy, but did you try to talk to your dad about it before running away?”

“Yes.”

“and?”

“And he told me he was busy. He’s always busy now. He’s working more than he used to. I feel like he doesn’t want to be home with me.” Jack’s pout has always been able to tug at your heartstrings, but this one stings ten times as badly, knowing you’re equally at fault for putting it there.

You pull him onto your lap, into your arms. It feels completely fucking awful to know your breakup with Aaron is all falling onto the shoulders of this little boy. You never meant for him to have to miss you in his life, let alone for him to see his dad pulling away from him. You know Aaron and so you know he’s probably only retreating because he feels guilty. Guilty for bringing another loving parental figure into Jack’s life and taking them away from him. Aaron is the most self-aware man you’ve ever known, and yet he can’t see that removing himself further from his son is the thing that will single handedly hurt him the most. More than losing you.

“That’s not true at all, bug. You’re definitely still your daddy’s favourite person. He just feels bad when you have to see him be sad. He thinks you deserve to only see him at his best.” You wonder if you should try enquiring who the offending friend of Aaron’s is. You have enough connections at Quantico to dig up every scrap of dirt in their lives and make them regret ever underestimating Jack Hotchner.

Your question is abated when there’s a strong rapping at your front door. Jack jumps at the sound so you pick him up, holding him close to you as you answer the door. A very disheveled Aaron visibly relaxes at the sight of you clutching his son, both of you still in one piece. You see his eyes flash with something resembling guilt when he sees the tears in all four eyes looking back at him. He’s still in his suit, presumably having fanged it home at the news his boy was missing.

“Y/N, thank you so much for texting me. Jack, you really had me scared buddy I thought somebody had taken you away from me.” Aaron says as he crosses the threshold to try to pry Jack from your arms, probably needing to feel that he’s really here and really okay. You didn’t expect Jack to quickly recoil from Aaron’s touch, burying his head in your neck

“Daddy I don’t want to leave Y/N! I want them to stay with us again! I want our family back, Daddy.” You can feel tears streaming down your neck, saturating the opening of your shirt.

“Jack. What makes you think I don’t want the same? That I don’t want our family back?” Aaron asks. You feel your jaw fall slack at his admission but you put it back where it belongs.

“Your new friend is trying to replace Y/N, Dad! That’s why. You tried replacing Y/N before you even tried getting them back.” Aaron closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. You know that look, that’s his ‘this kid is too smart for my own good’ look.

“Buddy, I wasn’t trying to replace Y/N for me. I was trying to fill their shoes for you, I never want you to not have somebody looking out for you. I’m sorry that I pulled away from you, but it’s because I couldn’t watch somebody try to stand in Y/N’s place without feeling sad that I lost them. I didn’t think it through that this would only make you miss us both.”

“Hon” You say to Jack, rubbing at the apple of his tear-stained cheek for him to look up at you. “Go with your dad. I’ll still be here, sweet boy. I’ll always be here if you want me but you have to ask your Dad first, okay. No running away.” The boy lets out a sigh at your offer, relieved to hear that he’s still welcome to see you.

“No.” You whip your head at the sound of Aaron’s voice, that tone of his that says he’s a force to be reckoned with. You try to use every shred of profiling knowledge Aaron and his team ever taught you. He has a wild look in his eyes, one you can’t read.

“You’re both coming home with me, Y/N. To our home. The one the three of us built because it doesn’t work without you. I know it once did, but that feels like a lifetime ago. A beautiful lifetime ago, one spent decorating cookies for bake sales, spent camping in the backyard on the weekends, seeing the stars go by and not feeling for once like time was passing me by. Like I was just watching Jack’s youth slip right through my fingers. Y/N I need you to come home with us, because it isn’t home without you. I will give you all of my good days, and I will carry you on your worst ones. I will never, ever let my work pull me away from you two again. I will answer every call, I will remember every birthday, anniversary and holiday, because that’s what you deserve. I’m sorry I didn’t see how selfish and thoughtless I was being with my time. I will spend every. day. loving you, Y/N. Whether you come with us tonight or not. You have me, I’m yours. I will never be the man you once met, nor will I be the man who let you go. He was an idiot and he-

You crash your lips into Aaron’s, letting Jack climb to the floor, freeing your arms to throw one around his waist and pull him close, and another to card your fingers through his hair. This was always the one thing you knew that could get him out of his head. The one way to effectively shut him up. You feel your warm tears marry with his cold ones against your cheeks. You pull away to wipe under his eyes with your thumbs, both sniffling and breathless. You look him in the eyes, seeing every modicum of sorrow and anguish you’d felt pooling behind your own eyes these last two months, clearing like dark clouds on a sunny day. Your freefall is over, here, in Aaron’s arms you feel the way you always felt in his embrace, like he is your safety net. Steady and waiting to catch you at a moment’s notice.

“I think we should thank Jack for his efforts” You breathe out, past your tears and stuffy nose. Aaron bursts into laughter, so overcome with joy that you’ve taken him back. The two of you join hands, walking inside to find your little boy practically snoring on your couch, clearly exhausted from carrying the burden of both of your stubbornness. You opt to let the poor boy sleep, tucking your throw blanket over his small frame. You lead Aaron to your bedroom, suddenly happy you never had the heart to throw away all his spare clothes, you take time changing him out of his suit, tossing it onto the floor, feeling almost euphoric, literally and physically shedding his old ‘skin’, symbolizing the end of two months of metamorphosis, and the birth of something new between the two of you. A new chapter.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner x gn!reader #aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch x y/n

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whumpsday · 9 months

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Kane & Jim #53: Healing Right

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: recovery, (past) vampire whumper, broken bones, past loss of bodily autonomy, offscreen surgery, emotional whump

Whumpmas in July Day 18: Ache

back to this guy :)

Jim rubbed at the bump on his arm where the bone didn't heal quite right, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. The bone on his forearm went at an angle, up and up, before suddenly dropping off where it met misaligned with the rest of it going to his elbow. Bones, they'd told him there were two, but it was easier to just think of it as one.

It hurt, but it wasn't a bad hurt. Jim knew bad hurt. It was a dull ache he'd gotten used to over the past two years. It didn't hurt like the snap when Kane cracked Jim's arm open with his bare hands anymore, and he had pain meds now anyway. He'd tried to get on some stronger ones, but Liz had told him it wasn't a good idea, that he'd get hooked. Jim wasn't very good at disagreeing with people anymore, so he just took her word for it.

But he'd get some now for sure. Even Liz said it was okay this time. Because he had to get his arm re-broken.

Every day as the operation got closer, the dread grew more and more. He knew it wouldn't be like the first time. He'd be conked out, and he'd be allowed pain meds, real pain meds. It wasn't a punishment, and if all went well, his arm would be fixed. No reminder of Kane every time he looked at it. Probably no dull ache. It was even his own choice.

They couldn't fix the scar on his neck, neither the mark or the pain, so this was the best he could do to scrub off any lasting reminders Kane had left on his body. Liz's friend Laken had suggested a tattoo to cover it, but the idea of a needle going into his neck was so horrifying that the thought made him want to throw up.

But he could do this, at least. Even if breaking his arm again would be scary, he needed to claw his body back for himself. He needed to know it was his again, not Kane's. No matter how much it would hurt.

“I don’t belong to anyone. My body is mine. I’m out," Jim whispered to his reflection. Afraid to say it any louder, like Kane would be able to hear and swiftly correct him.

He got dressed, hiding his neck and arm under a turtleneck. He'd started dressing in them every day, though he knew he would need to take it off for the surgery. One more thing to dread about it, but he told himself it was worth it.

"You ready?" Liz asked as he came downstairs.

Jim shrugged. "As I'll ever be, I guess."

The operation was a success. If there was anything at all to thank Kane for, it would be that he'd made a relatively clean break.

Jim's arm hurt like hell when he woke, but he knew it wasn't as bad as it would be without the meds. He had a cast this time, and a real sling, not one he had to make himself. His friends kept wanting to sign the cast, but something about it made him wildly uncomfortable in a way he couldn't explain.

He knew the old him would have jumped at the chance to have all his friends sign it. Probably would have given out points for who could draw the best doodle. He was practically a social butterfly when he was nineteen, before Kane got to him, but now it just seemed like he kept finding more and more disconnects with his old friends. They had jobs and babies and memories of the past five years together, and all he had were Kane and panic attacks.

Even though his friends kept reaching out and inviting him to stuff, he was too neurotic to act like his old self. It felt like putting on an act, it felt wrong. And being his real self was even worse: he didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want them to know.

His cast remained unmarked.

He woke with a scream a week after his surgery, his arm exploding with pain, far worse than it'd been during his recovery.

Jim looked around wildly, but couldn't see the source of the pain in the dark of his room. He sobbed, clutching his arm protectively to his chest. He'd been so badly-behaved lately that he couldn't even pinpoint what it was he was being punished for.

He flinched back into the headboard with a whimper as the door flew open. "Please don't," he begged, trembling.

"It's okay, it's just me," Liz soothed. She sat down next to him. "Nightmare again?"

"No, I don't- I don't think so?" Jim struggled to catch himself back up to reality, but with the haze of sleep leaving his mind and Liz's presence grounding him, he came to the conclusion it wasn't a punishment at all. "I hit my arm in my sleep," he realized. "Sorry for waking you. Didn't mean to."

"You're all good," Liz assured him. "I wasn't even asleep. Getting myself back on schedule for when I go back to work."

Jim's stomach turned at the thought, even though it was no surprise. "What if something happens to you?"

"Someone's gotta protect people from 'em. Plus, I know we live in the cheapest place in the country, but I've gotta get back to work," she pointed out.

"There's other jobs. I'll get one again too, once I'm better. You could just... not go back." As much as Jim hated living by the border, the fact that it was so cheap to live here at least gave them some leeway. At least they didn't have to worry about rent, even though selling the house was nearly impossible if they ever wanted to move.

Liz patted him on the back. "Not for me, there isn't. It'll be okay. I won't be alone, and I've been doing this for years with no issues."

"What about that?" Jim pointed to the scars on her face, faded claw-marks running dangerously close to her throat.

"That barely even counts. You should've seen the other guy. Dead, for what it's worth. Most vampires won't even fight us, they just decide it's not worth the trouble and run back home. It's gonna be fine." She gave him a quick hug. "You gonna be okay to go back to bed?"

"Yeah. Just... be safe. I can't lose you again," Jim said quietly.

Liz gave him a sad smile. "I know how you feel. I'll be as safe as I can. Just go back to sleep."

True to his disobedient streak, Jim couldn't manage to fall back asleep, mind racing with fear. Liz getting taken by vampires, subjected to the same hell as him, or having her mind stolen from her entirely. Kane showing back up to steal him away in the night while Liz is off fighting other vampires, arriving home too late to help. Jim reached a shaking hand under his pillow and took his stake- a real one this time- and held it close as he sobbed, trying to be quiet and not disturb Liz again.

He could only hope his arm would heal better than he was.

i'll be putting out two one-shots next! one about a fairy whumpee on friday, and one about an alien whumpee on monday. after that, more Jim in Distress!

event: @whumpmasinjuly

taglist in reblog!

#kane and jim #whump #vampire whumper #my writing #whumpmasinjuly2023 #wij23day18 #recovery whump #broken bones #emotional whump #whump writing

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kabie-whump · 8 days

Text

CYOA Whump Part 17

First | Previous

You chose: Nothing. I'll try to form a stronger bond with him before I ask for help.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

You and Onthyes sit together below deck as the sounds of fighting dwindle down. You're dizzy and cold from blood loss, but he seems confident that you're going to survive.

Sunlight blinds you as the door opens and John beckons the two of you outside. His nose is bleeding, but he looks fine otherwise.

"Hildris?" Onthyes asks as he helps you to your feet.

"She's a tough one, laddie," John says, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder. "A wee stab wound is nothin she can't handle."

"Thank the gods. I wanted to help but..."

"Your charge here is more important, accordin to the captain. Shame that Rye's gonna beat your kill record now. It'll go right to the bastard's head."

Onthyes winces. "I don't mind. It suits him better than me."

Nearby, Hildris is sitting atop a crate while a young elven woman presses her hands to the wound in her side, chanting a soft melody. Her hands glow gold, and Hildres lets out a contented sigh.

"Who is that?" you whisper.

"Tiria," Onthyes replies, leading you over to her. "She's a healer. We picked her up a few months ago. Found her stranded on an island."

You stop short, glaring at him as you pull on the chain, forcing him to stop and look at you.

"What?"

"There has been a healer on board this whole time and I have never met her? What about when I got the shit beat out of me? My ribs have been killing me and they could have just been magically healed?"

A breeze swirls around you, making Onthyes's clothes flap around where he'd torn them to make a bandage for your arm.

"She doesn't want us asking her for healing unless it's an emergency. She doesn't like to tire herself on scrapes and bruises when someone could break a bone or be impaled any second."

"Are my broken ribs not an emergency?"

Onthyes sighs. "They're probably only bruised, Ventis. Rye wasn't even wearing his kicking boots."

You glance over at where Rye is showing off his newest trophy - a severed finger. On his feet, his blood-soaked boots are capped with thick metal spikes.

"I see."

You allow Onthyes to lead you to Tiria. She eyes you with a bored expression as she cleans blood off her hands. "Let's see it."

Onthyes unwraps the makeshift bandages from your upper arm. "He got hit with an arrow," he explains. "Barbed head. I cut it out as soon as we were safe."

You do your best to sit still as Tiria examines the wound. She pokes it with her long fingers and it takes all of your self control to not flinch away from the pain.

"Not bad, Onthyes," she remarks. "Clean cuts. You'd make a good surgeon."

"Um... thanks."

Her fingers dig a little deeper into the wound and you see a look of morbid fascination cross her face. "Your blood is... bubbly," she murmurs. "Interesting."

"Air genasi thing. Can you just heal me?" you grind out through your teeth.

"Hmph. Alright."

She starts singing and the pain fades away, replaced with a tingling warmth that spreads through your whole body. You sigh, your muscles relaxing for the first time in forever.

As she works, you watch the rest of the crew bring in the spoils. Crates and crates of supplies and merchandise. The civilians and remaining guards that weren't killed in the fight are left tied up on their own ship. You can feel the excitement of the pirates around you; can hear the whispers about how this is by far the best haul they've ever had.

And it's all thanks to you.

They're never letting you go now.

The next few weeks go similarly. A few days of downtime followed by Erxik calling you in for a task that requires you to use your magic. The crew of the Fortune enjoy a new era of wealth and power thanks to their use of your abilities.

You stay chained to Onthyes, but it gets easier to manage and it turns out that the two of you coexist pretty well considering how different you are. It helps that he's extremely comfortable to sleep next to. You warm up to his friends as well, and the next time Rye tries to fuck with you he only gets a few punches in before Golkulildyth the Mighty glares at him as she stands to her full eight feet of height and he backs down.

So things are going well, all things considered.

One night, you and Onthyes are preparing to go down for bed when you hear Rye's voice. His voice is low like he's trying to whisper, but the wind just so happens to carry it right to your ear.

You pause, pulling on the chain to halt Onthyes and signaling for him to be quiet.

"Captain's got all this wealth now thanks to the little freak," he says. "But the rest of us ain't seen none of it."

"I hear ya." This one's a woman's voice, deep and raspy. Tinny. "But ya can't go pressin him about it, alright? Captain ain't keen on sharin. You know that."

"Something's gonna change, Tin. If he don't start feeling generous soon we're gonna have to take matters into our own hands."

"Yer not talkin mutiny. I won't hear that."

"Ya didn't. I never said the word. I never said nothin."

You hear footsteps, and you and Onthyes hurry below deck.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

CYOA whump taglist: (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-gaysimpstuff @morning-star-whump @rainydaywhump @whumperofworlds @hauntedroseart @3-2-whump @fleur-a-whump @whumpsday @whumpisfun @whumper-whimsy @ghost-whump @fabled-whump @violets-whumperflies @whumped-by-glitter @thewhumpening-thesequel @lumpofsand @whumpycries @unicornbeck @gala1981 @a-formless-entity @ryahisbored @mentallyunwellautism @idontreallyexistyet @aethernorwood

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