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blue-slxt · 10 months

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New Kink

*Request: this might be a miss ngl...but neteyam and lactating reader. that's all I'm gonna say. I just know that man has a breeding kink so why not this as well*

Okay, so this request really struck a chord with me because I used to have a boyfriend that had a lactation kink. I’ve never lactated before so that never went anywhere between us, but this was such a fun idea for me. I hope you like how it turned out!🤗 All characters are aged up.

🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞

Smut under the cut.

You carefully hand your sleeping baby over to Kiri. She had offered to watch her for the day so that you could finally get a break. Jake and Neytiri were more than happy to spend some quality time with their first grandchild. You were more than grateful for all their support.

“I just fed her so she should sleep for the first little while”, you tell her while you caress your baby’s precious sleeping face.

“Alright. You try to get some food and rest too.” Kiri says to you with a smile.

“Thank you. We’ll be by later to pick her up.” “No rush” she turns and walks back home with your baby.

You breathe a big sigh of relief when you plop yourself back on your sleeping mat. Even though your baby was still only 8 weeks old, your home felt so empty without her small coos and laughter. As grateful as you were for the break, you couldn’t help but miss her already.

You rest your head back against the wall and let your body relax.

Footsteps approach your home and you look to see Neteyam entering your home. “Welcome home. You just missed Kiri.” “I see. How are you feeling, tíyawn?” he says joining you on your mat and holding your face. You lean your cheek into his hand and smile softly.

“I am fine. I have missed you Ma’Teyam.”

“I have missed you too” he wraps his arms around your waist and rests his head on your chest. You stroke the top of his head gently enjoying these small moments of easy silence that the two of you rarely got to share any more.

Neteyam lets his eyes flutter shut while he breathes in your scent. He always loved the way you smelled and it had only intensified since having your baby. Suddenly, he felt a drip on his forearm. He opens his eyes to look and sees a single milky white droplet on his arm. And then another joins it. His eyes travel up the way it came and his eyes focus in on your breasts. They had become more full and your nipples dripped with milk.

The smell of your hormones was so strong here. He felt drunk as he stared at you. One of his hands trails up your body to cup your breast and grope it gently. You let out a deep sigh feeling his touch. The pressure he applies makes more of your milk spill over and run down his hand. “Shit…” he says lowly feeling his eyelids grow heavy and his loincloth feels tighter.

You finally look down at his hand and see the mess he’s making with your body. “Ah, ‘Teyam wait. I need to clean—” but he doesn’t let you finish your thought before he lets his impulse drive him to latch his mouth onto your nipple.

You jump at the contact with your sensitive bud. Neteyam groans against your skin tasting your sweet milk free flowing into his mouth. Every drop on his tongue pushes him more out of his mind. His hands roam about your body until one finally finds refuge between your legs.

“Neteyam, you s-shouldn’t…” you try to protest, but you can’t help how your body still submits to his touch and your back bows to press your chest more towards him.

He temporarily detaches from your nipple, “But why not?” Another suck. “You taste so good.” Another one. “So sweet all over for me.” His kisses trail down your body until his head is resting between your thighs. You open them just a little wider for him and he slides your loincloth to the side so he can bury his face in your wet cunt. A low moan escapes your lips feeling his tongue swipe back and forth across your clit. You make quick work of untying your top and letting it fall off. Neteyam busies his hands with feeling and squeezing your breasts loving how full they feel in his hands. He watches as more white dribbles out of your mounds and trail down your body. It triggers this deep-rooted need inside of him. He pulls off of you and pushes you down on the mat while he hovers over you. He attacks your neck and chest with kisses and licks and nips. “Yawne, let’s have another one.”

Your eyes go wide hearing his words. “’Teyam, we just had one” you remind him.

“I know, but I want to give you another. I want to see you carry more of my babies” he pauses to lap at your nipple again.

His tip is already prodding at your entrance. You didn’t even notice when he pulled it out. Your back arches when he finally slides in. There was the slightest twinge of pain feeling him stretch you out like this, but pleasure quickly overtakes you when he starts thrusting into you. “Oh ‘Teyam!” you call out while your fingers tangle in his braids.

His strokes are deep, but gentle. He doesn’t want to hurt you since you just had your baby even though every fiber of his being is screaming at him to mercilessly take you right now.

Low moans and groans leave his mouth feeling how wet you are around him. His mind races with flashes of your swollen belly and the fullness of your hips, thighs, and breasts. It drives his primal urge to breed you more.

He speeds up his pace and your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders. “Fuck, I wanna get you pregnant again.” Your mind is too far gone to even argue with him anymore.

“Do it Ma’Teyam. I want it.”

Your words push Neteyam’s mind over the edge. All the restraint he was holding on to goes straight out the window and he starts to rut wildly into your core. Wet squelching and moans mix in the air of your home.

The knot in your core starts to tighten when he starts slamming into your cervix. “Ah! Ah…Haah…’Teyam…Ah! Neteyam!” He’s all your mind can think of in this moment. Nothing else exists in this moment, but Neteyam and the feeling of your inevitable unraveling.

Hearing his name on your lips pushes Neteyam over the edge. “Oh, fuck I’m gonna cum. Gonna make sure you have more of my babies. Shit!” His lips latch onto your chest sucking down as much of your milk as he can while his hips stutter as he pumps you full of his thick, burning hot seed. The heat and full feeling throws you into your own orgasm. Your body stiffens before your legs start to tremble around his waist. Your nails drag down his back and you’re both almost positive that it was deep enough to draw blood.

Neteyam holds himself inside of you for a minute trying to keep as much of his cum inside of you as he can. His body falls limp on top of you and you hold his head against your still heaving chest.

“You realize that our little one has only just been born and now we may have another one joining her soon?” you laugh a little rubbing his head.

“That is fine. You make such a pretty mama. I could do this forever.” He says blissfully nuzzling his face into your skin.

“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves. You are not the one that has to birth them.”

#avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar fic #neteyam #awow #neteyam sully #avatar smut #neteyam x reader #neteyam smut #neteyam x na'vi!reader #awow smut

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undercoverpena · 6 months

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vi. hate my car

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter six of i like the way you

best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. flirting. idiots who are so in love it’s stupid. feelings. smut. praise kink. car sex. p in v. jealous!frankie, moody!frankie for a small part.

word count: 4.6k

an: thank you, as always, to @thetriumphantpanda for always reading my work even when she has a headache because she loves me.

Even though you had given him a key to your place, Frankie never used it.

He preferred knocking. Liked waiting to be invited in. Never wanting to be an inconvenience—as if he ever could be.

It’s for this exact reason why it takes you by surprise when you step out of your bedroom, finding him coming in through your front door.

No explanation, no reason.

Your thoughts stolen, ripped from your throat when his eyes land on you, taking you in. You’ve noticed he does that more and more recently—take your breath away, leave you thoughtless.

He does it again when he shuts your door without looking, doing the littlest of head shakes before he closes the gap between you in several strides.

No warning, nothing vocalised.

The jacket in your hand falls to the floor, hands busying themselves with pulling him by his jacket as his mouth slants itself over yours. He tastes of mint and happiness, the latter something he always seems to leave lingering in your mouth when he’s gone.

But it’s his hands. His fingers which purposefully find themselves on your waist before even a hello could be muttered. Keeping you close to him, thieving any question you may have had about what the fuck brought this one.

But you know. Deep down, you know.

It’s for the same reason why you let I’ve missed you, escape in a whisper. It gets stifled between kisses, as your hands hurry to remove his jacket, it dropping with a thud before you’re pulled flush, little to nothing between the two of you.

“I’m driving your car,” he rasps, walking you to your sofa.

Like the spark from a scorched match, it all unravels. Your earlier work of being ready—on time—quickly vanishes, it all coming undone.

Fingers are all dexterous and moving like they have a mission, all aiming to pop open and free you from your jeans. Temporarily, you lose his mouth from yours as he rips your trousers down your thighs before palms glide under your top and remove that over your head—all discarded, forgotten.

And, you don’t care. Not even a little bit.

“You are?”

Nodding, he kisses you—all open-mouth, breath dancing over your lip. “Because when we’re done, I can take my time taking you apart. Not rushing—like we’ll have to right now.”

Swallowing, your fingers slide up his jaw—feeling his cheeks rise, the pulse in his neck throbbing against your wrist.

“We could wait—“

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head—one hand rising to cup your jaw and chin. “No. You deserve this,” he adds, sliding his other hand into your underwear, “You do, so enjoy it, querida. This is about you”

It’s easier to moan against him, to vibrate your want against his lips, than begin to puzzle together what he could mean.

Which is precisely why you rock up to the bar late.

For as fucked out as you feel, he assures you that you don’t look it. Although, his hand is on the small of your back, guiding, propping, as he passes you your keys before opening the door for you.

Ever the gentleman—if he hadn’t been already for what he’d done to you at yours.

A part of you, a part that doubles, and triples, in size between the milliseconds, wants to face him, take his cheeks in your hands and ask him to take you back home. That you’ll make it worth his while, get on your knees for him; that you’ll make an excuse—

Even if there isn’t one.

There’s only truth. And that truth is that you want him to take you home because you had missed him. Both the friend and the other parts.

Swallowing, you offer a smile. Not asking him. Feeling disappointment slide down inside of you like mud, adding to the swirling concoction of complexities you don’t have the processing power to unravel.

You both spot the others, offering a wave, and pointing to the bar as you head to get drinks. A slither of you grateful for the moment to catch your breath.

“You want a drink qu…” his voice trails off, your name falling quickly, replacing it, attempting to cover the near slip-up.

And it makes your throat tighten, something growing there—large, pulsing and thick.

Your feelings rise, fighting their way out of the box you keep stuffing them in—all hands, fingers and toes, scratching and pulling, desperately wanting to claw their way out of your throat and embed themselves in his ear.

But you’ll lose him. Lose this if you do.

Steadying your forearms into the bar counter, you press down—hoping it’ll ground you, almost hurt.

Because if it hurts, you’ll stop thinking; you’ll find a second to take a breath that will calm you.

It doesn’t. It never does.

Curling your lips into a smile, you stare at him. “You should be careful, Morales.”

And he snorts. “So I’ve been told.” It’s your turn to snort, shaking your head until you feel him lean closer. “But, I think you liked me slipping up. Bet it made you—”

You’re just grateful the bartender interrupted his sentence.

For the last hour, Frankie has had his arm resting behind your head. The scent of him washing over you in waves you hope embed themselves in your soul.

But it’s his fingers occasionally squeezing your shoulder when he laughs, that you hope leave a mark. Each time you make him laugh, he wheezes ever so lightly.

It’s normal. A thing you do a lot—make him laugh. It’s not special. Yet, somehow, it is.

Your thigh pressed against his, curling into him as the table erupts, Benny sinking into the leather of the seat as his lips curl up.

And then, a drink gets placed down—taking the good time with it.

The bartender, a new guy (one you’re not used to) politely interrupting to offer it to you. It’s colourful, a fruit slice slotted into the rim—more ice than you know what to do with—and then the words that kill the last semblance of the night, “It’s from the man over there.

You feel Frankie still before your heart sinks. It further shatters when you feel his arm slide out from behind you—leaving you cool, cold. A chill brushes across the table, the other two not reacting either. Each pair of eyes staring at it.

But, you suspect the others aren’t struggling to swallow. They don’t feel like the happiness that had ballooned in their chest, had exploded.

“Go over there,” Benny says, poking your arm.

Narrowing your eyes, you swat at his finger as he goes for another poke. “I’m not interested.”

Glancing from the corner of your eye, you take note of the way Frankie is focused on the label of his drink. Not looking up—Will looking from you to the others all in turn.

“C’mon, when’s the last time you even got laid.”

Biting your tongue, you twist your head to meet Benny’s stare. “Last week, actually. How’s your dry spell, Ben?” Benny’s face drops and you smirk. “I don’t need drinks being bought for me, I have money.”

“It’s only a drink,” Will says, shrugging.

“It’s fine—can you move?” you huff.

Hands pushing at Benny, finding him unwilling to move quickly enough. Your body trying to clamber, to put enough distance between you and the person unwilling to meet your eye. Your thigh cooling to a freezing temperature too, the burning fading from being against his—leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

Sliding from the booth, you grab the drink—not making eye contact with anyone—walking up to the bar to find the man straightening up in his seat.

Hating that he of course has to be handsome. That he has nice eyes and a fucking charming smile.

“Thank you, it’s very kind of you. But I’m not—I don’t need a drink buying for me.”

“Just being a gentleman.”

Smiling, you place it down, sliding it across to him. “Well, I’m being pleasant, and saying it’s okay.”

The man eyes you, narrowing them, placing his elbow onto the bar top as he wipes his mouth, brushing over the hair above the top of his lip.

“I will say,” you continue. “It is bold to buy someone a drink when they’re surrounded by other men.”

Tilting his head, he smirks. “So, which one is it?”

“What?”

“The reason you won’t accept my drink—is it the conventionally pretty one who’s been eyeing up women? No, can’t be him. You’ve not reacted.”

Gritting your jaw, you narrow your eyes.

“So, it has to be the one glaring.”

Steadying your voice, you soften your smile. “Which one?”

“Blond.”

Your heart sinks, but you try to hide it. Stuff it down. Smother it—

“Which means, it’s the one I didn’t mention—who is staring, by the way.”

Your face burns, eyes dropping to the bar—trying to not show that your heart is racing. Trying not to focus on the fact you can feel Frankie staring. Them piercing, digging in, practically clawing.

It shouldn’t feel good. It shouldn’t feel like anything.

But it does. It does. It does.

“You should laugh.”

Snorting, you shake your head, digging your forearms into the bar. “I don’t do that on command.”

“Guess I’ll have to be funny then.”

Smirking, you tilt your head—because in another time, you’d be into this. Him. The quick-witted nature and charming personality. Another time, you’d find it more than appealing.

“You’re annoying.”

He takes a sip from his drink. “And, you’re very pretty. Hey, if you laugh, the guy who won’t stop staring might shatter his bottle.”

Rolling your eyes, you tap your phone against the machine. “Goodbye…?”

“Javi.”

“Enjoy your evening, Javi.”

“And you.”

He shouldn’t be jealous.

Shouldn’t be clutching his bottle with more firmness than he used to do a rifle.

There shouldn’t be things circling—doubts, and thoughts all pulverising him.

But then, they’d begun doing that earlier when he’d watched you head off to play darts with Will. His blood secretly simmering. He knows it should be, knows he’s being foolish. His body however wasn’t aware of that, least of all when your top rose up your back when you grabbed a stray dart from the floor—because you’ve always been bad at playing—and Will had the chance to bask in how you looked bent over.

He had needed to talk himself down from dragging you to a bathroom stall when you’d finally got a bullseye, had wanted to remind you that your calendar was synced with his, when you threw your arms around Will and jumped up and down.

Because all of his feelings were suddenly too much.

They felt too large. Bigger than him.

Jealousy weaves its way in, let in by the slither of darkness he always carries with him from bad days that led to bad months.

In truth, Frankie knew he had you to himself, but somehow it felt both too much and not enough all at once.

A sudden hunger, all unable to ignore, at wanting to have you all completely to himself, even if he knows he has nothing to offer you.

He’s a man with a blip on his record, a sketchy past of bad decisions, and some scars that show more proudly when it’s stormy, and the rain doesn’t stop coming.

Frankie knows this in great detail because he’s been here before.

He’d been stood in front of someone he cared about, being read his rights about why it wouldn’t work—and yet he’s no more prepared.

Bitterness worms further into his chest as he continues to watch you talk to him—the man at the bar. It buries itself deep, spreading its poison, reminding him he’s a secret, worth nothing more, nothing less.

You love her, don’t you? What the fuck are you asking me, Pope? I’m asking you if you lo—

He only snaps out of it when Benny slides out of the booth. Suddenly able to release the bottle, let out a sigh, sliding his eyes away, happily finding a new point to fix them on as he tried to get a hold of himself.

But, from the corner of his eye, he’s always watching.

He had been earlier, when he’d gone to get a round—you texting him to stop looking at me like that, Morales. He almost wonders if he’s always done it, or if you’ve only just caught on.

“So, how long?”

Snapping his head in Will’s direction, he blanks. Watching as his friends lean back in the booth, doing that head tilt he does.

“Alright, better question, you know what you’re doing? With her, I mean?”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Frankie swallows. A frown tumbles out across his forehead, somehow able to mutter a what do you mean as innocently as he could.

But, even he knows it holds nothing when it emerges. It’s wrapped, practically encased in the simmering annoyance that you’re still over there talking to him.

Will, though, is already not buying what he’s being sold. Likely hasn’t been way before tonight, before this. Frankie can tell. Should have guessed it when he spotted him ticking about an hour ago, two beers ago.

Even if they all had the same training, you couldn’t teach the level of observation Will had. The way he saw through things, people—more than ticks, secrets and lies, but truths and hidden woes. He was always watching, always aware.

“Y’know, I hadn’t put my finger on it until she said last week,” Will continues, “Then, it made sense. The shift—the difference between the two of you. So, I’ll ask again, you know what you’re doing, Fish?”

No. It almost falls out, all pitiful and weak.

But, he manages to claw it back, roll it to the back of his throat and submerge it back down his throat.

Because he can’t have this conversation with him. Not of all people.

Will who is both his friend and is somehow also yours.

The man who he often finds you huddled with, gossiping in low whispers, your smile wide, broad, fucking spreading up into your eyes as Will stares at you like you’re the one who hung the sun. He knows the two of you have your own things—ones he and Ben never get invited to.

And Frankie gets it, he does. Why wouldn’t Will look at you like that?

You’re wonderful, funny—practically the reason there’s a moon, stars and sun in Frankie’s world. He just wishes he deserved it, wishes he had more to offer.

Because unlike his friend, his job is unstable, practically rocky. His home is barely more than a one-bedroom, one-bath. He comes with baggage, often unable to close both his eyes comfortably and achieve more than five hours of sleep.

All things he knew Will didn’t struggle with. His job was good, his home nice, a body continuing to be curated in a gym—even around training Ben—and all he had was—

“Fish?”

“It’s fine.”

“Is it?” Will continues, tilting his head, dropping his voice. “Cause your fingers are turning white.”

Rolling his jaw, he fidgets with the bottle, running his tongue against his teeth. “She can talk to whoever she wants.”

Frankie almost believes his lie.

He suspects you’ve known something was off before you’d taken a seat at the table—choosing to slide in next to Will and not him.

You’d likely already spotted the mist hovering above the three of you—Benny still somewhere else, likely attempting to undo his dry spell.

It’s you who asks (suggests) you head home. A silent request, please take me home, Morales.

The two of you walk back to your car in silence, him still opening the door, watching you lingering on his eyes as you nod—searching, digging.

And, he can feel it, the way you’re pleading for him to open up, while he silently begs for you to stop.

But, the stare has already dug in. Is already driving him insane. It’s there when he blinks, sketched in concern, drawn into him, making his chest ache.

Because it’s a look you should never wear, never. Yet, he’s made it appear on your face far too many times.

It’s the only reason as to why he puts your car into park, killing the engine.

“Why are we in an abandoned parking lot, Morales?”

Trying to stretch his legs, he rubs the bridge of his nose. Unsure where to start, where to begin. A mixture of the evening mashing into the slowly building feelings he’s had since he synced the calendars.

Because now he’s had you, it’s all he wants.

Addicted, in only the best, fucking way.

“Just wanted to talk to you—before I dropped you off.”

From the corner of his eyes, he sees you fiddle, playing with the edge of your top. Twisting it around your finger, a habit you’ve always done.

Unlike before, you’re watching him through your brows, as he wipes his hand across his jaw—tongue swiping over his bottom lip, a punched breath escaping his nose.

“About the guy—at the bar—“

“Frankie.”

He hears you, but he’s already going, falling through his mind. Kind understanding flowing from his tongue, because he needs you to know you’re a good person, a person who deserves good things, nice things, a happy life.

Each thing wrapped in a compliment he isn’t sure if he should let slip, yet does—knowing each is tainted with a blend of truth and sadness.

Because of course he doesn’t want to give you up, doesn’t want to lose you. But he wants the best for you. He wants you happy, content—beaming like you were earlier without it ever having the chance to be stolen—

“—and so, if you wanna use that number the guy gave you and go on a date, you should—“

“I didn’t take his number.”

Whipping his head, he sees how you’ve twisted your body to face him. A sheepish, but slowly growing smile spreading. The streetlights put focus on it, on the two of you, illuminating the car, making every bit of you twinkle—and he’s sure there must be stars in his dark brown from the way your smile grows up into your cheeks.

Because he’s lost for words. Silenced.

His brain struggling to catch up. Even more so when you unbuckle your seatbelt, and he hears you take a steadying breath.

“I didn’t take his number,” you repeat, more forcibly, more sternly. “Because I didn’t want to.”

Sliding up onto your knees, you swallow, holding his gaze, placing a hand on his shoulder as you try and swing your leg over his—almost hitting the centre console—brows stitching, frustration mounting, until he reaches out, worrying you’ll get your fucking ankle stuck in the steering wheel.

“Be careful, querida.”

You inwardly groan, and he can’t be sure, but it sounded so close to an I’m trying, with it dying when he grasps your hips, his fingers brushing over the softness of your skin, all to aid your movement—but he can’t hide how glad he is to feel you.

Even more so when you’re straddled over his lap, all picture-perfect, something from a dream.

For a moment, he just stares. Processes. He’s sure you’re letting him catch up to what you were hoping to say without words being said.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he whispers back.

Unable to stop staring, his heart begins to do that thing again—the double beat, the little hammer. The thing it does whenever he’s around you, long before the movie night when things blurred over the line, and has only increased in its strength since.

Slowly, your hands slide around his neck, his mouth instantly moving to press a kiss to your skin. Leaving it against your forearm, all invisible marks he hopes you’ll think about long after they’ve faded.

Then, you part your lips—but nothing emerges.

No words, no confession.

Even if he’s adamant something is there, gurgling at the back of your throat. Words. Sentences. Likely even paragraphs.

You don’t spill them, don’t share them. Holding them close to your chest—just like him. Except, instead of words, you dip your face under the beak of his hat. Not wanting to speak, to share anything more, and so he leans into it—this thing which courses through him. The thing which is tough to cage, and harder to ignore. Choosing, rather, to slot his mouth over yours—tasting the remnants of your last drink, the gum you’d poached from Will, and bask in the feeling of you moving your lips against his.

And, he hopes he’s not wrong, but he swears I want you is breathed into his soul.

Hopes it is what is thrumming in the air because he feels the same.

Knowing it’s just fear holding him back, it having stitched and embroidered itself all around how right this all feels. Because it does feel right, as scary as that is to admit. He’s lost in it, descending further into it. Just as a needy moan is suddenly buried against his mouth, his fingers trace a path up your neck and along your jaw. Desiring more. Needing more.

“Always sound so pretty for me,” he whispers.

You groan, light, delicate at his words—just as he slides his hand back around your hip, tugging you closer, keeping you right there. A silent, but loud demand of do not move, and he’s hoping you’d never want to, praying you don’t want to be anywhere that isn’t on top, under or alongside him.

A thought which makes his throat dry, makes him pause against your mouth.

Because he’s been wanting to kiss you all night in that booth. Had been wanting to forego all the secrecy and just wrap his fingers around your cheeks, pull your mouth to his—and publicly declare that there’s something (small, large—he’s not even sure) going on between the two of you.

Something he’s fought wanting, something he’s tried not to wish or linger on, because…

You mean so much to him.

It’s the backbone to all his movements as his fingers skim over your cheeks—searching, trying to read what’s going on in your mind as he looks into your eyes. Trying to ride through the storm that’s swirling around and around, wondering if it’s named after him—because of him.

Because he’s riding out one too, and it eerily is named after you.

“You want me to take you home, hermosa?”

You smile—whether at the name or the implication—and then it unfolds, twisting, changing into a smirk. Leaning closer, he spots something darkening in your eyes, something that makes his stomach knot and heat wash over his spine.

Because he knows that look now. He sees it in his dreams, thinks about it—

“I think we should fuck in my car, Morales…”

He swallows, just as you roll your hips.

Dragging his tongue across his teeth, he flicks down to your spread thighs—wondering how drenched his fingers would be if he dipped them into your underwear. Wondering how long you’ve been thinking about him—whether you had been as affected by being sat so close to him, as he had been by you.

For the last few hours, he’d just been bathed over and over again in your perfume. Felt the heat of your leg against his, your laugh reverbing through him each time it emerged.

“You want me to fuck you in this parking lot, hermosa?” he asks, biting down on your lip, forcing your hips to roll against his, swearing he hears a little fuck escape from your mouth. “Cause, I’ve thought about that all night. Fucking you in this shitty car that I hate.”

Your answer comes in your movement, pushing your head into his neck, grabbing the level of the seat before he’s pushing it back as far as it can go. Buying you both more space, more room—something you further aid when you twist the dial, around and around, his eyes able to stare up at you, watching how your tongue swipes across your bottom lip, until the back of the chair slowly sinks to meet the backseat.

For a moment, there’s a pause. A few breaths. A few beats.

“Do you want that, baby?” he whispers, cradling your cheek.

And you nod, slowly. “Please, Frankie. Want to feel you inside me.”

Then, it’s hurried.

Both of you attempting to bury something, run from it, hide. Your bottom layers gone, awkwardly, but discarded all the same, bunched up in the footwell as you help free him from the confines of his jeans. Those fucking jeans—the ones he knows you like him in, you confessing it once, a while ago.

“Didn’t know you’d were into exhibition, hermosa.”

Snorting, you tilt his chin up—his hat unlodging from its place, falling freely from his head into somewhere in the backseat. “You don’t know what I’m into, Morales.”

Your hand teases his length, palming him, torturing him beautifully. Taunting him.

“Bet you’ve been half-hard since we left mine.”

He groans, his hands finding purpose on your waist, guiding, aiding as you emit sweet noises that echo around the car as he helps you sink down on him, taking every inch of him. Because you’re not wrong.

“So big,” you whine.

Licking into your mouth, he swallows another moan, another groan. “So tight around me, hermosa.”

His hand sliding down, grasping your ass, slamming your hips down on his. And you’re perfect. All of you—your fucking ass, your thighs, all at the top of your perfect legs.

Everything about you is perfect.

Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

“You like it, taking my cock in your car, baby?”

“Please, please, please.”

He grins against your mouth, feeling hot breath on his skin—your nails digging into his neck, his shoulder. “Can think about this when you’re driving to work—how good I feel inside you.”

You whine, louder, soft begging following.

“I’ve got you. Touch yourself for me, querida,” he moans.

Watching you nod, watching your hand slide from around his neck until it’s between the two of you. A little gasp emits from your pretty mouth when you begin circling, swiping over your clit as your walls flutter around him, reaching your peak.

Him burying against your neck how close you have him—feeling your pulse against his lip.

“Taking me so well...”

Your body stiffening, his feet planting on the floor of your car—thrusting up, watching your eyes clench shut as your fingers curl, digging, desperate to hold on to him. He hopes you leave more than half-moons that fade in time, he hopes it’ll bruise, it’ll be there when he showers later, can brush over it.

“You’re made for me, always feel so fucking good.”

You moan, loudly, his name never sounding so fucking good until he first heart it fall from your lips. And right now, it’s divine. Your lips parting, more hisses and pants filling the small space. They’re all embedding into the increasing steam on the windows—it clouding you both from view if anyone were to pass by. It all misting—a light sheen spreading over your skin. Another look he’ll dream up, conjure, of you.

For the second time today, he watches you unravel—how it floods you, him continuing to pound into you as you collapse against him, breathing heavily, painting his neck in it.

And, he’s nearing his own climax. So close to the edge. So close, so close, so close—

“I know you wanna come, I know you wanna finish inside of me,” you whisper, all sultry and soft into his ear.

His head turns, catching your eyes.

"Please. For me."

Hands full of your hips, he continues to feel your walls flutter around him as he fucks into you, body alight, burning, searing—

"I need it," you add.

And then he curses—a cascade of them—burying his spend in you as he pulls you close, pressing his lips against your neck.

CHAPTER SEVEN ->

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales smut #Frankie morales x reader smut #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #jo: iltwy #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #frankie morales smut #triple frontier smut #frankie morales x f!reader smut #pedrostories

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lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom · 29 days

Note

Hello there! 👋🏽 If you don’t mind, I was wondering if I could make a request with Tech? With maybe a bookworm reader if that’s okay? I feel like it would be a cute dynamic! Thank you and have a good day! 🙏🙌

Bookworm

Tech x Reader

Summary- You and Tech have a moment alone on The Marauder. What better way to spend it than reading! Accompanied by Tech on his datapad, of course.

A/N- It's totally okay!!! I figured the best format for this kind of request was bullet point- but I am not very good at those. So, i compromised with this! Hope you enjoy, thanks for requesting!

Word Count- 990

Hunter, Omega, Wrecker, and Echo had all left the ship to go look for some dinner. A job you all completed recently left you with some spending money. You figured everyone deserved a real meal for once.

It left you and Tech alone in The Marauder. You could have easily went to hang out at Cid's bar, but you couldn't stand to be around her. You hated the way she poked fun at Tech's goggles.

Only you were allowed to call him 'goggles.'

The thought only temporarily distracted you from your book. You quickly resumed reading, only to realize you had to restart the whole page. This time actually process what you're reading! You thought to yourself.

Grumbling, you squeezed your eyes shut and straightened up in your seat. You happened to take a spot in the co-pilots chair. Tech always sat in the pilots.

"Something the matter?" Tech asks, not looking up from his datapad.

It was sweet, that he noticed your small movements. "Just trying to focus, I lost my place." You finally found a comfortable position, situating your book back in your hands.

"It can help to fidget with one hand, to increase your chances of focus." He informed, per usual.

You smiled up at him, he glanced up from the pad when he felt your gaze on him. He flashed a very brief smile- more of a grin, it was all you needed though.

You listened to him rant about his findings on 'focus' for a few minutes, knowing anyone else would have shut him up by now. Him talking never bored you or made you uncomfortable, despite many others complaining.

"Thank you, Tech." You simply said, returning to your book. He seemed pleased enough and went back to tinkering on his datapad.

A newfound silence came over, you read your book in peace. The story of the thieves with powers fighting the government amused you. What amused you more was the fact you had personally been on more dangerous missions, yet the book still captured you.

It was nice to imagine yourself in their place, even when you wouldn't change what you have for the word.

You'd go on a million death defying missions if it meant you were with Tech.

While you typically could put down over 50 pages in an hour, Tech interrupted you again. Not with any other intentions than to please you.

"Yes?" You responded after he called your name.

He reached in a compartment to the left of the console. A place Tech used to store his latest experiments.

He pulled out a neatly wrapped gift. It had swirls of color on the paper that wrapped it. He said nothing, just handed the rectangular item to you.

"For me?"

"That would be correct."

You tried to fight the corners of your mouth rising, but it was no use. Tech watched you violently, showing little expression.

You gently took the paper off, not wanting to make a mess of his careful work.

You slowly revealed it to be a new book, the fourth book in the series to the one you were just reading.

"Tech, I- I thought it was a limited edition! There was only a hundred made across the galaxy!" You looked in his deep brown eyes.

"Yes, it is." He confirmed.

"H-how did you get it!" You were baffled, the thought he put into your gift- and for no special occasion.

"It was not difficult. I was able to track all the shipping numbers to their respective planets, and when we had a mission on one- I located the book through its buyers." He said, nonchalantly. Like he didn't easily buy one of the most rare books you knew of.

"Why? Did I miss an anniversary?" You were slightly confused on why he gave you the gift. You hoped you weren't supposed to also have a gift prepared.

"Uh, no. You mentioned exactly 129 rotations ago that you wanted the book. I saw no problem in getting it." He remembered...

You were moved to small tears, now flowing down your cheeks.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

"Yes, Tech. Of course I am." You rose to your feet, throwing yourself on him in a big hug. He hugged you back. While he didn't completely understand your acclimation to physical affection- he didn't mind you doing as you pleased to him.

He gently patted your back, and you pulled away. "Thank you, i'm going to have to finish this book quickly now. I can't wait to read it..."

"You are welcome." He responded, you let him be and lifted yourself off of him. He grabbed his datapad and clicked away.

What you didn't know was that sometimes Tech would watch you read. In times like these, when you found yourself sitting or laying next to each other. You reading, him on his datapad.

He would study your face, taking in every expression. He would think about what you were reading- was it sad, happy, thrilling? Feelings were a trivial matter to him, but he was always thinking of ways to make you happy.

He loved it when you read, sometimes out loud to him. It was soothing to hear your voice when he worked on a project or was fixing a part on The Marauder.

The way you tapped your foot, or bounced your leg when you got to a complex part in a book. Or, when you were both laying down together and accidentally hit Tech in shock at a twist in the story. He loved every bit of it.

You turned back to your original book, now more determined than ever to finish it.

You did, however, catch Tech staring this time. You met his gaze, a wide smirk on your face. You couldn't help but giggle briefly. He gave you an odd look, but went back to his datapad. Just as you went back to your book.

A/N- Thank you so much for reading! Requests are about to be open, just one more to fulfill! As always, I am open to constructive criticism.

Tags- (LMK if you want to be tagged as well!) @thethreeeyed-raven @knight-of-flowerss

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jewbeloved · 4 months

Text

What it feels like to live with them in one big house 😭 ❤️💖😖

Featuring: Team Stan and CATG

Warning: Absolute chaos (It's ficking south park)

Gender: Neutral

💙💚 The Main Four ❤️🧡

💙❤️ Craig and Those guys 💜💛

Oh my goodness, you'd be praying to god at this point If you expect there will be any peace in this house.

Your parents decided it would be a fun idea to have you all live in a big house together temporarily.

You will often wake up to Kyle and Cartman arguing and Cartman trying to get you on his side when Kyle is trying to prove him wrong about something.

Flour and batter everywhere when you walk into the kitchen and see Craig and Tweek making cupcakes, but Tweek freaking out that there isn't going to be enough for everyone and Craig constantly trying to calm him down.

If you want any peace, you might as well hope to go to Stan, Tolkien, Kenny, or Clyde..and maybe Jimmy if you're in the mood of hearing his jokes.

Stan would probably vent about his dad's shenanigans or him and Wendy's relationship and if you aren't in the mood of hearing allat go to somebody else then.

It's not very surprising that you and Tolkien have a great time spending time with each other because you both do your own things or play games.

Not everyday is absolute chaos though. sometimes you and everyone else actually get to have fun with each other with nobody arguing, fighting, etc. But there's no guarantee that peace will last long because Cartman is sure to start something like he always does.

Just give him that one death glare that Wendy gave to him when she fought him on the playground and Cartman will shut up.

When the days of living with them in one big house are over, you can't help but think what it would be like to have the parents living in one big house together but they aren't allowed to leave for 3 weeks.

This can be seen in romantic or platonic.

#south park x reader #south park #southpark blog #southpark sp #sp x reader #x reader #southpark x y/n #stan marsh x reader #kyle broflovski x reader #eric cartman x reader #kenny mccormick x reader #craig tucker x reader #clyde donovan x reader #token black x reader #tweek tweak x reader #jimmy valmer x reader #southpark scenarios #southpark headcanons

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woso-fan13 · 7 months

Text

Sicktember 2023: 19 (USWNT)

Curled Up With a Pet

“Where’s Y/N?” Kelley asks as she enters the kitchen.

She had just gotten back from her run and was greeted with Emily cooking breakfast. The two share a quick kiss before Kelley looks around, noticing that you’re not there. After an unexpected and sudden transfer, the couple insisted that you move in with them, at least temporarily. You had been casually looking at apartments, but no one was in a rush to break up the makeshift family that had formed.

Usually, you would be perched on one of the barstools, watching and talking to whoever was cooking. Today, though, your stool was empty.

Emily frowns, looking around the kitchen as if you would suddenly appear.

“I’m not sure. I haven’t seen Bagel yet, either, I assumed that the three of you had gone for a run together.”

Kelley shakes her head, looking over to see that the dog’s dish was still full of the breakfast she had given him before she left. This was highly unusual, he usually shoveled it down as soon as he got up.

Emily turns the stove off and puts a lid over the oatmeal, and the two women walk upstairs. She knocks lightly on the doorframe before peeking her head through the open door. Smiling at the sight, she walks into your room, Kelley following close behind.

The sunlight was streaming in through the windows and illuminating your room. They could see Bagel passed out on the bed, fast asleep. You were behind him- one arm thrown around his stomach and your face hidden in his fur. After taking a picture (and sending it out to all of your teammates) the women exit the room quietly, pulling the door mostly shut.

This was the first time that the women had seen you sleep in, and they weren’t going to mess with it. It was usually a struggle to get you to sleep at all, so they avoided waking you if at all possible.

—-

A while later, Kelley had showered and the two had eaten a leisurely breakfast. There was no training today, just an optional but highly encouraged group recovery later in the afternoon. The two women moved to the living room, an old game playing on the tv in the background as they talked.

They still had not heard anything from you. Both women could feel worry growing in the pit of their stomach, this behavior was so unlike you that they could tell something must be wrong.

After the conversation had drifted to you for the third time and they knew they wouldn’t stop worrying, the women retraced their steps back to your room.

Kelley whistled quietly, getting the dogs attention, “hey, bagel boy, go get your food,”

At that beloved ‘f’ word, the dog pops up on the bed, hopping off and tripping over himself in his haste to get to his breakfast. His movement had caused you to be distributed, and you buried your face into the pillow.

The two women walk over, sitting on either side of the bed. Kelley rests one of her hands on your back, rubbing gently but firmly. Emily rakes her fingers through your hair. She continues this action a few times before she moves to smooth your messy hair back from your face. Once her hand makes contact with your forehead, she freezes. She moves it slightly, resting her palm on your forehead before flipping it over to use the back of her hand. A knowing look forms on her face.

Kelley can take a guess as to what Emily’s figured out. She moves her hand off of your back- ignoring the way her heart clenches at the small whine you make at the loss of contact- and rests her wrist on your forehead.

Her suspicions confirmed, she moves her hand back to your back and resumes her comfort. This time, the strokes are less purposeful- less about waking you up. Now, they’re trying to allow you to relax and rest.

As Kelley watches you slowly relax under her hand, she hears pattering in the hallway. Seconds later, a hurricane of paws and fur comes tumbling onto the bed, scooting in next to you and sacking out with a huff. The dog nudges your cheek with his cold nose, and the women watch as you curl back around your canine companion.

#uswnt players #uswnt woso #uswnt x reader #woso imagines #reader insert #woso x reader #uswnt imagine #womens soccer #woso #woso imagine #uswntsoccer #uswnt fanfic #uswnt reader #uswnt imagines

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thecuriousquest · 1 month

Note

Thinking about an NSFW with Yandere Levi where maybe the reader is being a brat. His response? He inserts a gun in her and starts fucking her with it. She is scared shitless but can't struggle too much because what if he accidentally shoots her? And he is like, "I won't stop until you cum." But she is just so scared that it's hard for her to cum.

Pleasure Spot

Yan!Levi Ackerman x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes, NSFW (gun fucking) guns, condescending behavior, degradation

I have decided to start writing sexual content again. Ask Box is still temporarily closed. Thank you for your patience.

Master List

—————————————————————————

The barrel is thick and hollow. With these new tech advancements, the barrel is shorter versus the former musket.

It’s not much of a relief though as you feel it sliding in and out by Levi’s brutal hand. He knows just the right way to make it feel good. And you WONDER how does he know how to handle this weapon in such a pleasurable way?

However, you’re still scared for your life. Your cunt grips it tight, almost as if trying to suck it in further only to have him pull it out and thrust it back in. With the way you’re bent in half, you can see the cream of your dripping pussy cling to the metallic black.

Forcing yourself not to squirm is the hardest thing every time you feel him slide over the little goddess-like pearl built into your walls. And he knows it too. He knows just how scared you are, sweating with trepidation.

One wrong move, and you might not be able to bear children ever again.

One little slip, and you’ll definitely bleed out like a gushing period.

You’ll be dead if you’re lucky because the pain would certainly be astronomical. You know even a skilled surgeon might not be able to help you with something that severe.

So you grit your teeth and shiver a little, your thighs only quaking in the slightest as beads of sweat drip down your body from how you have to force yourself not to wriggle around too much.

And the way he looks at you the entire time, with a sick smirk and those piercing gray eyes.

“Levi…please…”

It’s a whisper, your voice horse from stifling any noise which tried to escape.

“Please, what? Please fuck you harder? Maybe slower?”

You squeeze your eyes shut and grip your thighs as the barrel of the gun plows back into you.

“Maybe with my finger on the trigger?” Levi teasingly adds, his cruelty only intensifying.

You shake your head before arching your back as the weapon glides back over your sensitive little spot.

“I hope this teaches you to keep that mouth in check. Now, come on my gun, bitch. Do it, or I’ll keep going until you pass out.”

But you can’t! You simple are too scared. What if the pulsing in your walls accidentally does something to set it off? What if his finger twitches and pulls the trigger? What if…

Oh, but you have to admit, the way the metal went from cold to warm, and the way he’s sticking it so far up your weeping pussy. It feels good.

None of this is helping the fact that you’re so scared of upsetting Levi. You want to come and get this nightmare over with, but you’re struggling because you fear what might happen if you do.

You’ll be dead if your orgasm causes some kind of horrible situation with the gun in your body to occur.

You’ll never have to see Levi again, but you’ll be dead.

You’ll never have the chance of escaping and living the rest of your life in peace because you will be dead.

“Levi, please, don’t make me do this!”

And he’s grabbing your jaw and sliding the gun out to point it at your temple. You can feel the creamy mess against your head as he increases the pressure.

“You’re going to do exactly as I say because you’re nothing more than a needy little come slut to me. Understand?”

He taps your forehead with the tip of the gun, reveling in the way your eyes shine with tears of anxiety and terror, taking joy in the way you flinch.

You can barely squeak out a “yes, sir”.

The fucking picks up in speed, and he’s now rubbing that delicate button of overwhelming nerves in your slick cunt.

You arch your back and rear your head.

“Sir! I’m sorry! I’m sorry, sir! I…I can’t…”

Your whines, whimpers, and cries are pitiful. They’re exactly what Levi needs to hear.

Judging by how your swollen pussy is throbbing and pulsating on the thick barrel of the gun, he can conclude the spasming is connected to your orgasm.

You gush waves of pleasure all over the weapon, leaving the black coated in your creamy substance. He finally removes the gun from your womanhood and tosses it on the table next to you.

“I don’t even know why you were so scared. Thing wasn’t even loaded. Crybaby.”

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 7 months

Text

In Plain Sight: Fresh Starts

Summary: The reader and Crew have been living with her parents temporarily while they decide where to live. But Crew may enjoy the convenience of having family close by more than she anticipated...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x daughter!reader (with lots of daughter!reader x OMC)

Word Count: 2,500ish

Warnings: language

A/N: Enjoy!

______

“And up!” Laughed Crew as he tossed your little brother up into the air, Zeppelin laughing loudly as Crew caught him in his arms.

“Again!” he pleaded, Crew doing it once more. “Again, Crew!”

“Sorry little bro but it’s time for bed,” he said, Zepp whining when Crew settled him in his hip. “Come on. I let you stay up late if you promised to go to bed when I said so.”

“Fine,” he groaned, Crew chuckling as he gave you a wave and carried him upstairs. You were still grinning on the couch when he returned ten minutes later.

“What’s that look for, kid?” asked Crew as he plopped down next to you, throwing his arm over your shoulders. You only smirked and pushed him to lay flat on his back, Crew’s eyes darkening when you straddled his hips.

“I love watching you with my siblings. You’re so good with them,” you murmured, leaning down to kiss him.

“My siblings too,” he whispered, closing his eyes when you gripped his hands, pushing them back by either side of his head. “If that’s okay.”

“My silly boy,” you whispered, kissing under his jaw and near his ear just where he liked it. “What’d I tell you about asking dumb questions?”

“I’m a work in progress,” he grunted out, chuckling lightly. “Don’t be all sweet when you’re on top of me.”

“But it turns me on seeing you all happy and loved by your family,” you teased. You gave his hands a squeeze, rocking your hips down against him.

“Ugh. Fine,” he groaned, snapping his hips up when you ground your knee against him. He whimpered when you did it again. And again. “Fuck Y/N.”

You had your tongue halfway down his throat when you heard another throat clear. Your eyes darted upwards and were met with a pair of smirks.

“That’s my girl,” said your dad with a chuckle as you practically jumped backwards off of Crew.

“Excuse me but that is my girl,” said your mom. Crew sat up with his back to them, staring at you with pleading eyes. “Crew, sweetie. Relax. I’d be more concerned if you two weren’t trying to get frisky.”

“Thank you, mother. Honey,” you said, shoving a throw pillow over his crotch and grabbing his hand, dragging the two of you down to your room.

“Make smart choices!” teased your dad.

“We so need our own place again,” you sighed, locking the door shut after the two of you. Crew plopped back in the bed with a tired grin. “What?”

“I’ve kinda liked being here the past month. Your side of the house is pretty private to be fair.” You shrugged, reaching behind yourself to take off your bra, climbing into bed beside him.

“Yeah but in our own place, I can walk around without a bra on which is a benefit for the both of us,” you said, rolling onto your side. You propped your head up against your hand, Crew smirking as he glanced down at your shirt. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Yes,” he said, trailing a finger over the thin cotton of your shirt. “But isn’t it nice to be around people too?”

You watched him trace his finger down further, stopping at the hem of your shirt, tickling the patch of exposed skin.

“Babe. We’re married. I liked when we had our thing. You and me, figuring it all out.” He frowned, pulling back his hand. He had his head turned towards you, eyes glancing downwards, away from your own. “Crew. This is supposed to be temporary while we figure out where we want to live.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I just…”

“I know, babe,” you whispered, inching closer, wrapping your arms around him. “I promise no matter where we go, whether that’s the same city as them or not, you’re not losing them. You’ll always have them.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled, kissing your forehead. “I do like when you don’t wear a bra though.”

“See? Lot of perks of us having our own place,” you chuckled. “So want to try house hunting again tomorrow?”

“Yeah. By the time we get something lined up it’ll be awhile anyways,” he said, sliding his hand down to your hip. “In the meantime, I can think of a few ways to keep you thoroughly entertained.”

“I bet you can.”

One Week Later

“Relax,” you said to Crew, rubbing his back at the dinner table. You were having a late night drink with your parents and you could tell Crew was having second thoughts about telling them where you’d decided to move.

“We did have one more bottle of that red you like, sweetie,” said your mom, carrying it into the room, cracking it open and pouring a few glasses.

“Thanks,” you said, your dad re-entering with a glass of bourbon in hand. “So we’ve decided on our living situation.”

“Oh you have?” asked your mom. “There’s no rush guys.”

Your dad cleared his throat, giving her a look which surprised you. You’d never gotten a vibe that he had a problem with you and Crew staying there.

“Well there is a slight rush,” said your dad, your parents sharing a look. “Now’s as good a time as any. Mom and I have decided for several reasons that we too would like to move. I want to be somewhere closer to work and these days that means near Toronto for the new show I just signed onto.”

“So the northeast?” you asked, Crew giving you a surprised look. You’d chosen downstate New York as it was close to the city for Crew to get any flight he needed or do work and you had plenty of career opportunities with the business there. Plus he was close to Canada for any work he got there which was just as likely a place as any these days.

“Yeah. Everyone loves seeing real seasons and we think it’ll be a good change. Mom and I have lived in the middle of the country and the west coast so we want to give the east a chance. We’ve been working with a realtor and are going to head out this weekend to view some places if you guys wouldn’t mind watching the gremlins.”

“Of course not,” said Crew, sitting up in his chair. “Where uh, specifically in the northeast?”

They shared a look and smiled. “Not too far from Uncle Jeff and Aunt Hilarie. Same town, maybe a five minute drive. We love it out there whenever we go-”

Crew was beaming, your dad staring at him like he was nuts. “Uh. Crew? What’s going on buddy?”

“That’s where we want to move! Well, close enough, maybe like twenty minutes away, but that’s where we picked cause I have that movie in New York and Y/N has countless options for work,” said Crew, your parents giving you a big smile.

“You guys are really…” trailed off your mom as you nodded. She shrieked and popped out of her seat, rushing over to hug you.

“That’s amazing,” said your dad, giving Crew a hug and then you. “We had a plan to convince you guys to come to the east coast and everything so you’d at least be close.”

“Well, we may want to crash with you guys until we find our own place,” you said, glancing at Crew. “If that’s cool.”

“Of course,” said your mom. “We’ll figure it all out. Promise.”

One Month Later

“Oh there’s a little creek behind the house too,” said Crew as you settled in for dinner at your parents' new place in New York. While they’d been busy with moving, you and Crew had focused on trying to find a place of your own nearby. They had a bit more land and open space than either of you were looking for which meant your home search was on the other side of town. But a fifteen minute drive was more than okay with Crew if that meant you got a view of the valley.

“You’ll have to send us the listing,” said your mom, dishing up some food onto your siblings plates. “You guys sure you don’t want to look at the options over here? Our realtor found some really nice places that were smaller. Perfect for just you two.”

“Eh, maybe. I have to be gone for about a month soon and there’s more houses around that side of town. I don’t want Y/N to have to be alone in a big house by herself,” he said. Your dad leaned over to your mom, whispering something in her ear that had her nodding.

“You know the property here is pretty big…we could sell you guys off a parcel of land over the hill…let you build so you’re close but not too close. Y/N’s going to be alone quiet a bit unless she comes with you on projects and once kids come into the picture, that’ll get harder. We know from experience,” said your dad.

“We need to talk about it. That would definitely mean staying here a bit longer,” you said, Crew shrugging.

“Is that such a terrible thing?” he asked as Zepp shook his shoulder. He smiled and helped your brother cut up his chicken, quickly getting pulled into doing it for Arrow too.

“We’ll look at the land tomorrow,” you said, shoving some food into your mouth. “Oh, I got a job lined up by the way. At least to do promotional work.”

“Oh really? Already in the city?” asked your mom as everyone started to dive into their meals.

“Toronto. It’s only one week,” said Crew, nudging your shoulder. “You didn’t tell them?”

They raised their eyebrows and you smiled. “It’s uh, for a showrunner dad is friends with. I don’t have details but-”

“It’s for my new show,” sighed your dad. “I told him you want to work jobs in the city, not another country.”

“It’s right there,” scoffed Crew. “And it’s only for the promo. It’ll give Y/N and me a chance to see how we do long distance in the short term so we know how to make things work in the future when they get messier.”

“Don’t have good points, child,” said your dad, pointing his fork at Crew. Crew only beamed though, your dad shaking his head. “Alright, alright. You guys have a plan it sounds like. I assume you’re crashing with me then?”

“If my loving father doesn’t mind?” you asked, putting on your best puppy-dog look. He rolled his eyes, your mom tsking him.

“I got a one bedroom lined up already. Don’t complain about sleeping on a pull out couch,” he said, taking an extra large bite of salad. “I was never naked on Supernatural. Why couldn’t you work on that show? First the show with bedroom scenes galore and then this? I swear I’m cursed.”

“Maybe you just like taking your shirt off,” teased your mom. You groaned as they started to playfully tease each other.

“Please tell me that won’t be us,” you mumbled to Crew. He laughed, leaning closer.

“Pretty sure that’s going to be exactly us, kid. I mean, you did pretty much eye fuck me the moment we met. It’s like you wanted to get caught,” he whispered.

“In your dreams, Foxe.”

“Every single one of them,” he said with a wink. You blushed, his hand coming to rest on your thigh. “We don’t have to live so close-”

“I don’t mind. You went too long without a family. I want you to have them nearby.” He pecked a kiss to your lips, your younger siblings groaning. “But we can wait awhile for kids.”

“Agreed,” he chuckled. A voice cleared, your dad shaking his head.

“If y’all are going to make out like it very much looks like, can you do it in private? I’d like to have one moment of peace in my meal,” said your dad.

“Such a diva,” you and your mom said, Crew nearly spitting out his drink when he tried to laugh.

“Yeah, yeah. Well he’s a diva in training then,” said your dad, nodding at Crew.

After dinner, your dad pulled him aside out on the patio, your mom bumping your hip while you helped her wash up. “What’s up?”

“Dad’s having a chat with your husband about how to deal with being long distance which you probably will be sometimes. But take our advice and try to go together when you can at this age. You can’t get the time back,” she said. You slowly dried your hands off, watching them out the back window.

“I know. I’m only doing the promo stuff and then Kripke’s going to help me get in a good set in the city he said. I’ll only be gone a week or so. Crew’s been alone enough in his life. I want him to be able to come home to someone at night or drive down the road and pop in here and hang out for awhile. He’s already decided once we do have kids someday, he’ll only take projects in New York, no matter what so he can be there for us. He can work and I’ll shift into freelance photography and-”

“That’s a nice plan and all,” she laughed. “But it’s gonna change. He’s gonna get a job offer he loves that’s halfway across the country and you’re gonna tell him to go because it makes him so happy. You’ll learn what works best for you both. The only advice I can give is talk. Never stop talking, even the days you’re both exhausted. You are not in his shadow just because he’s famous. Your dreams matter as much as his.”

“He thinks mine matter more actually,” you said, glancing down.

“That’s why we know he’s a good one. He’s a good boy,” she said giving you a hug you happily returned. “Plus it’s such a turn on when a big strong guy is more than willing to be on bottom-”

“Thank you for the thoughtful moment and emotional scarring mother!” you said, quickly walking away. “I’ll try to forget that ever happened!”

You walked outside, Crew as white as a ghost, your dad ruffling your head as he slipped inside. “Honey? You okay?”

“Some things stay between a man and his father-in-law,” mumbled Crew, shaking his head out. “Are you good? I saw you talking to your mom.”

“Yeah, just getting some advice,” you said, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Caught you.”

He chuckled, kissing the top of your head. “I guess you did Mrs. Foxe. Lucky me.”

________

#jensen ackles #jensen x daughter!reader #jensen x daughter!reader series #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #jensen ackles fanfic #series

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amerricanartwork · 4 months

Text

RW Headcanon: Goodnight, Moon

AHHH YESSSS, now that that Lilypad essay is done I can FINALLY share these—!

Hey, @ghostlycoze! So you remember a few months ago how I made that drawing acting on the Moon beepsnort headcanon, and how in my last reblog I eluded to the possibility of drawing out some of your headcanons again? Well, it looks like that time has come, and this time I've got not just drawings, but lots of additions to another headcanon of yours!

This time, it's from your tags in these three posts, which I also saw a while ago! Yet for some reason I began thinking about it again recently, and as is my nature with ideas I like, I decided to develop it further, and even draw it this time!

Also, just to preface, you'll see I did a bunch of notes beside the actual drawings as well. I'll share the picture and roughly type out the notes (in case my handwriting is a bit hard to read) as well as whatever info I couldn't fit on the page. Some of the text also just says "robots" rather than "iterators" because some of these ideas are stuff I actually imagine applying to robot characters in general! Maybe I'll make a post on that someday...

With all that out of the way though, the actual headcanon is under the cut! Hope you like it!

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

What are iterators like when they’re sleepy? Do they even get “sleepy” the way we humans do? This headcanon answers that question with a focus on the iterators’ puppets. Much of this info is also framed in the context of a hypothetical “worm-off-the-string” scenario, since I believe that’s the main situation where sleep and getting tired would actually matter to the iterators.

Firstly, when iterator puppets are low on power, until they find a place to recharge they usually enter a power-saving state where, to conserve what’s left of it, their energy is temporarily redirected away from some of their less-important processes. The side-effect of this, however, is that iterator puppets show symptoms of drowsiness kinda like humans! Whereas humans may yawn, stretch, or rub their eyes when sleepy, iterators will often make sloppier/less precise movements, close their lenses a little, and may even have a harder time thinking, since they sometimes shut off some processors and other cognitive functions until they can recharge. The most common symptom, however, is slurred speech, coming from less power given to their speech-forming software.

Another very-common sign of iterator sleepiness is frequent beeping, often in place of words. This is because, like slurred speech, beeps take much less energy and processing to make than analyzing data, formulating a complex response, then vocalizing it clearly. Beeps are thus far more efficient for conveying simple emotions and reactions than words. Looks to the Moon in particular gets super beepy when she’s tired because she and other early models relied more on beeps for communication — they were made back when things like vivid emotion weren’t as taboo in Ancient society, and iterators were meant to be more friendly and openly interactive with their citizens — so she’s more used to beeping to easily express her emotions.

As a side-note and mini-headcanon (wow, real headcanon-layering action here), while even the newest iterator puppets can beep, the older iterator models, as a result of this design influence, also have a much greater “beep-vocabulary” with a wider range of sounds that shrunk with the generations. Their beeps are thus a lot more expressive as well, with some sounds even being similar in nature to animal noises or regular speech! I imagine the entire range of their beeps would closely resemble shorter versions of the “droidspeak” sounds of the astromechs in Star Wars.

But, back to sleepy iterators.

When it’s hibernation time, iterators enter a “sleep-mode”, where almost all of their systems are shut down and recharging becomes the primary objective. However, compared to how I imagine other robots, iterator puppets have a unique way of recharging. Rather than shutting off completely and absorbing power from an external source, iterator puppets have a few key systems within them that remain on even during sleep-mode. These systems, just like those in their superstructures, are capable of converting nutrients into power directly. They emit a soft, rather comforting whirr while the puppets sleep — the only sound iterators make while sleeping, and comparable in nature to stomach sounds during digestion. Otherwise, though, the only other systems remaining on during sleep-mode are a few basic senses, and a program that decides when to “wake up”. The presence of this program also means, uniquely to iterators again, they can wake up on their own, rather than having to be powered back on by someone else like other robots. Overall, these systems are yet another aspect of iterator designs that make them far more biological than many iterators (*cough* *cough* Pebbles *cough*) would like to admit. And in my imaginings of a “worm-off-the-string” AU, systems like these are one of the main sources of both physical and internal conflict for these characters.

Also, since most of their systems are off during sleep mode, iterators sleep, both figuratively and literally, like statues. Whatever position they fall asleep in is the position they remain in the entire time unless a.) someone moves them or b.) they wake up and move on their own. This also means (unfortunately, if you thought these ideas would be cute) that iterators do not snore, shift around, sleepwalk, sleep-talk, or dream while in sleep mode.

That’s about it for this headcanon as it applies to iterator puppets overall. Now, I’m gonna get into how I imagine Looks to the Moon specifically likes to sleep.

In addition to getting very beepy, Moon also gets very cuddly when sleepy, though some of this comes from her affectionate personality. However, it's also due to a lasting trauma from her collapse. Of course she's learned to tolerate the rain over time, yet after spending so many cycles being rapidly drowned over and over in her can — with endless disorientation and senses so out-of-control from being disconnected from most of her superstructure, no one around to comfort her save for the occasional wandering creature, and the knowledge that her own beloved brother was responsible for this — it’s still left a fair amount of bad memories with her, especially from those cycles most recently after her collapse/revival, and this general unease often resurfaces with the sound of the rain. Therefore, whenever the rain comes, this trauma serves as another, more internal reason Looks to the Moon always wants to fall asleep holding onto/being held by someone, or at the very least while sharing the shelter with someone she loves.

On a more positive note, since I’m now officially a Lilypad shipper, I imagine that No Significant Harassment is Moon’s default choice of cuddling partner! It can be a little hard to get in position — I imagine Moon always likes to be the little spoon despite her being slightly taller than him — but they manage! Moon pretty much always falls asleep first, because, as the oldest model of the group, and having sustained the most damage post-collapse on top of that, she simply doesn’t use power as efficiently as the others do and therefore gets tired much more easily. In some ways, the poor thing even feels a little guilty about it; she’s supposed to be the leader of this group, and yet here she is, tiring out after less travel and growing drowsy before the rain even starts! Luckily, Sig makes an effort to ensure her she’s more-than worth keeping around, because after every awful thing the world has thrown at her kindness, the least she deserves is some quality guilt-free nap time! And sometimes, if they want a little alone-time (or if Pebbles gets too fed-up with their lovey-dovey gestures), it’ll be just the two of them, and perhaps their slugcats, cuddling together in the shelter.

And speaking of slugcats, Moon’s second choice of cuddles is Rivulet! Being very soft, warm, and equally cuddly, she makes another good source of cuddles for Moon. And sometimes, if Hunter’s also around and willing, the two join forces with Sig and Hunter for a big, soft, cuddle-filled slumber party!

Still, though, Sig is definitely no. 1 provider of snuggles for Moon. But he loves her dearly, so for the most part he doesn’t mind! Since she falls asleep first, some of his favorite moments each cycle are from just watching her and holding her close as the rainfall echoes from outside; she always looks so beautiful when she’s relaxed, and having her in his arms makes him feel like he can protect her no matter what. So he never really minds when Moon, slurring her words, tiredly asks for him to hold her while she enters sleep mode.

That is, except when this happens and he’s stuck in that spot for the next several hours…

A few more ideas to this headcanon:

Moon’s third choice of cuddles is Five Pebbles. It’s a bit interesting, because in basically all other scenarios Pebbles insists on sleeping alone in a separate shelter, even though he’s actually rather touch-starved (though it'll be a while before he admits it). Moon is one of the only people he’s actually willing to sleep with, besides occasionally Artificer (in which the feeling is mutual and no one else must be in the room). If I someday decide to ship Pebbles with someone, I imagine he’d also be willing to sleep with them, again, only if no one else is around to see it.

To elaborate on the last point and shift to Five Pebbles’ perspective, the reason why Pebbles always wants to sleep alone is because, as I imagine the worm-off-the-string story so far, Pebbles’ biggest internal conflicts are learning to accept all those “worldly attachments” the Ancients so strongly rejected, and overcoming his god-complex and fear of relying on others. And one of the main ways this manifests is him being so deeply embarrassed to be dealing with these basic survival needs — like yet another one of the savage beasts roaming the world, after having been a vast mechanical god so far above those primitive creatures — that he refuses to let others, even his friends and family, observe him in such a “pitiful” state whenever possible, and resolves to try and overcome it alone.

To further continue this idea, this is why Moon sometimes insists on sleeping with him. Even though he’ll have to overcome these conflicts on his own, it doesn’t mean he has to be alone while he does it. She makes an effort during these and other moments in this scenario to assure him that it’s okay, no one’s gonna judge or punish him for living this way, and she’ll always be there if he ever decides to accept some help. Pebbles always falls asleep with his head buried in her chest and holding onto her very tightly.

The iterators often like to sleep with their slugcats, who in the AU also stick around a lot to help guide them as they figure out the ins-and-outs of organic survival.

Both Moon and Pebbles tend to sleep in a curled position. It's actually very similar to how slugcats generally sleep!

Pebbles is quite the workaholic in general, but it also means he has a hard time falling asleep — not because he doesn’t get sleepy, but rather that he often denies it or its significance in an attempt to get more done that cycle (and because, again, he’s “too advanced” for animalistic things like sleeping). The group often has to literally drag him to bed to get him to sleep, and Sig often teases him when his lenses start drooping and his syllables begin to stretch.

In extreme cases, where almost all of their power has been exhausted, iterators won't just slur their words anymore, but their speech will often lose coherency overall, like a spoken case of very drunk typing .

When sleepy, Moon not only slurs her words, but has a tendency to say rather strange and very silly things. It’s another side-effect of less power being used to actually think through her words. There have been many instances where the whole group erupted in laughter after Moon made a really out-of-left-field comment!

Oh, and here's one last quick doodle based off one of the ones above:

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Aaaand that's all for another headcanon! Even though it took me a whole week to do the drawings, it was SO fun getting to develop this idea, especially since sleepy Moonie is such a cute concept! I am so glad that you shared that little idea, Ghost!!

And speaking of which, if you've made it all the way down here, Ghost, may I invite you to add any more ideas to all this, if you want? I'd especially love hearing ideas for the other iterators' sleeping habits (how fast they get tired, what position they like to sleep in, who they usually sleep with, how they wind down before bed, etc.)! I mainly focused on Moon and a bit of Pebbles at the end, since I'm still trying to get a read on Sig and Suns's personalities (especially Suns), so it'd be fun to even further expand on this idea in that regard! Of course, you don't have to, but it's a proposition!

But regardless, I hope you and anyone else who made it to the bottom enjoyed my contributions to the idea! And be sure to keep the adorable headcanon ideas coming!!

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Bonus: Here are the full sketchbook pages, in case anyone was interested in seeing the completed layout! I think I'm gonna be making more of these kinds of drawing/explanation combo artworks!3

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moodymisty · 5 months

Note

Request; Guilliman's partner comforting him? He is so sad in 40k, and has so much on his plate. The Lord Regent needs cuddles when he has a break!

Author's Note: #LetRollarcoasterGhilliesuitRest. I'm having fun writing all these cute requests while I work on some Konrad stuff >:3

Relationships: Roboute Guilliman/Fem!Reader

Warnings: None apart from Cato Sicarius being an stick in the mud because that's just who he is ✨ he just born that way ✨

Word Count: 932

Guilliman's chambers remain unchanged from when he had last entered them, a massive room adorned with the symbols of his legion. It is all ornate, golden, tapestries hanging and filigree tracing the edges. It's all decorative, indulgent. But none of it is his; The room feels nothing but sterile, to him. There isn't a single remnant of his life, only his legacy.

"You look tired."

You sit small on his massive bed, Guilliman's gaze having turned to you upon hearing your voice. It's quiet in the massive room, nearly drowned out by the high ceiling.

He is tired. Incredibly so. Perhaps mentally more than physically. Though the sight of you serves to act like some sort of drug to give him a boost, abit only temporarily.

He works tirelessly, endlessly, with no goal or end in sight. The Imperium is no less rotten, galaxy no less plagued since he'd last looked. You serve to be a small candle for him, a hope for a future, but a candle can't light a cavern. But still, he hates to imagine his life without you now.

Though Chapter Master Marneus Calgar and the Commanders of the Legion had not taken well to it. To you. It seems their Primarch having wants and desires beyond his supposed godhood is upsetting. They seem to almost speak of it, of you, as if it's an illness- being in love. Wanting a life beyond war.

Gulliman still remembers Cato Sicarius' attempt to discipline you for referring to him as Roboute so casually, spitting venom at your supposed disrespect.

The holotable shined against blue painted armor and skin, sickly green blending with blue and gold. Guilliman had been expecting a moment alone with you, to voice his thoughts, though it has quickly seemed to have turned into a meeting of sorts. You moved to take your leave, as you know well you were unwelcome in the Ultramarine chapter's private dialogues. Guilliman doesn't disagree that you shouldn't overhear, but his chapter takes it much more seriously. Vehemently so.

You look up at him, holding your hands close to yourself.

"I'll be in the Librarium, Roboute-"

Cato Sicarius turned his gaze to you, searing even through his helmet. His stance across the holotable was firm and unmovable, one hand on the pommel of his chainsword. He is ever the epitome of Ultramarine valor.

"You will speak of Our Lord Guilliman with the proper respect-"

Guilliman turned to the Ultramarine, who's zealotry has been wearing on him like waves against a ragged shoreline. To him he can begrudgingly deal with it, but he will not let him trample you.

"She can refer to me however she wishes," Guilliman said, his armor making noise as he resisted balling his hands into fists. "Do not speak for me again."

The Primarch had shut the Astarte down within moments. But the burn still remains. Their overwhelming zeal has proven irritating, but in that moment it finally turned him to anger.

They treat him like a god, speak of him as such; You are the only one who still treats him like a man. Perhaps he might be far removed, but he is still human, underneath his overwhelming size and power. At least he feels he is. Sometimes he isn't quite sure anymore.

"Perhaps I am. Sleep is rare for us all." He finally responds to your comment, neither disagreeing or agreeing fully. Despite it, you look up at him with this soft, caring face- It reminds him of Euten. You gently pat the bed.

"Can you come here?"

The Primarch listens, coming closer. He gently sits on the bed to avoid jostling you, watching the way you curl your hand to gesture him closer. He furrows his brow.

"What do you have in mind?" Guilliman watches you intently, trying to read you and figure it all out. You just give him that same sweet look.

"Just come closer. Lay down." When he doesn't move, you sigh.

"Please?"

Then does the Primarch finally give in, laying back; Feeling your hands as you adjust until the back of his head lays across your thighs. Your hands brush through his hair, and Guilliman swears for a moment he could die right here and be satisfied. With such a simple gesture, you've healed him just a bit from the horrors gnawing at him.

His eyes are hooded, not quite closed as he looks off. He looks deep in thought, or tired. More than likely both.

"You have the time to sleep, if you want." If he returned here, it could only mean he finally had managed to obtain a moment to himself. He's looking away from you when he responds.

"I don't wish to weigh you down for so long." Your hand brushes across his cheek for a moment, brushing a chunk of short blonde hair behind his ear.

"I know you Roboute; You won't be asleep for that long."

The sentence makes him let out a dry laugh. You had him down to a science within months; His Legion barely knows him, and they worship him.

His hand reaches up to gently cup your face, and it swallows so much of it. You lean into his palm none the less. You put your hand on his own for a moment, before returning it to his head.

"Take a moment to yourself, Roboute. You've fought for everyone else for so long. The galaxy can spare you a minute."

He doesn't remember anything else, after. Just the soft look in your eyes and the feeling of your fingers against his skin.

#roboute guilliman x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer40k x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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undercoverpena · 1 year

Text

adjusting.

soap mactavish x f!reader (squid!reader)

summary: soap has also seen cuddly you, arms wrapped all around him, keeping him as close as humanly possible. Even when the two of you were just friends. so, this is something else.

an: set after yours to keep, but can be read as a standalone | established relationship, adjusting to going from friends to lovers. wordcount: 2.9k

soap mactavish masterlist

Soap hears, before he sees you.

Entering the briefing room expecting your face to meet his, finding everyone sent on the operation except you.

It’s Ghost who crosses the room. Gently nodding at him to go to the side, mask still in place—arms folded across his chest as he explains.

—But, she’s fine. Just twisted her ankle, badly. After we'd got out.

Deep down, Soap knew you had come up against worse—handled and grunted your teeth through things worse than even those.

However, when he saw you hobbling awkwardly down the corridor—most likely against medical advice—something knotted inside of him. Because it’s different seeing it again.

Temporarily forgetting times when you’re hurt or injured, as he assumes you do with him.

Like anyone who was dating someone, he hated seeing you in pain, wishing to forget it as soon as you were better. So, having to watch you try to push through it, stings.

How? How’d she twist her ankle, Lt? Tripped on a tree root on her way to the heli.

If you weren’t currently being seen to, and were with them all, he’d have laughed. Likely jabbed a finger into your side as Ghost filled them all in on the successful, but eventful mission. Instead, the first sight of you back on base was that of you limping and hissing in pain.

“Y’shouldnt be walking on tha’—which, I imagine y’know.”

The way you pause, shoulders sinking as your head dips tells him all he needs to know. That you’ve sunk your pearly whites into your cheek, biting back a retort that would have been flung at him if he wasn’t… well him.

He watches as your fingers curl into the wall, its crevices between each brick trying to carve under your nails. You’re still in your gear, likely not even having the chance to run fresh, clean water over your hands.

Stopping just behind you, he places a comforting hand on your hip—feeling the heat from your body, even through the layers. Can even feel the grimace, the pain and annoyance bubbling furiously under the surface. Even if you try to hide it, he knows it’s there.

He’s come well versed in Squid.

“Mari—“

“Shut up, Soap.”

He does.

Even if your voice is more exasperated than bossy or sharp. It’s tinged with heaviness, likely guilt too knowing you—probably already wrapping its way around you, pleading with you to apologise.

“C’mere—“

“I’m fine, Johnny. Just…need to get to my room.”

“Lemme help.”

“No.”

It comes out sharp. Sharper than he’s heard you be in a while.

You look over your shoulder at him, sighing heavily. "I've been shot. Stabbed. Fuckin... I'm so mad at myself."

Your words are all words and no air, and you almost look as though you’ll shoot him an apology. Almost—

He steals the words as he lifts you. One arm under your knees, the other supporting your back, the smallest oof leaving your mouth as he holds you close, floor coming away from your feet.

“Steamin’ Jesus, yer stubborn.”

You glare, slowly weaving your hand around his neck.

He’s missed it, your touch.

Three days is barely anything after he's put up with longer, but it was only supposed to be one night instead of two.

You shift in his hold, and he adjusts your knees in his arm. Wondering how much you’re hating that you’re enjoying it, that the pressure off your body is welcomed—

“Be careful of doorways.”

“If that’s a dig at me being clumsy, lass. Yer should rethink it. I’m not the one wit’ a twisted ankle.”

“I’m not bridal picking up colleagues.”

“Colleagues, aye?”

He watches it flash across your face—the guilt again. The adjustment harder than the two of you’d banked on, the settling now the two of you are something far more than friends.

“You… you know what I mean?”

“I’ll let yer off—cause of the pain.”

“How generous of you.”

He leans close to you, contemplating something snarky back, but instead, he kisses your cheek. Pretty sure it means more than any quip could.

He’s seen many sides of you.

The frustrated, gnawing at your lip side. The funny, energetic side where your words are sharp and your middle finger is present.

Soap has also seen cuddly you, arms wrapped all around him, keeping him as close as humanly possible. Even when the two of you were just friends.

So, this is something else.

It’s like all of the versions of you are fighting to be at the front.

You smile, and then it’s robbed by frustration, and then you’re sharp and funny—making a joke about him being your bitch until you can walk. The jokes don’t land, because the light in your eyes isn’t there.

He watches you struggle for far longer than he’d have liked, but he knows when to pick his battles. Once he’d gotten you to his room—not yours, like you’d said—he’d placed you on the bed and let you unknot your emotions.

And Johnny hates it.

Nothing more that winds him up and creates an internal storm than being on the other side of the room, not able to help you. He’s leaning, purposefully digging his shoulder into the wall to keep him rooted; his arms folded as he watches you try and stuff elements of how you feel into various boxes.

You need to do this—it’s something you always do. Behind the jokes, the smiles and the occasional middle-fingers, you’re always processing—stuffing and stifling things just so you can keep your head up and your shoulders from around your ears.

So, as much as he hates it, he lets you do it. Doesn’t bother to move until you attempt to remove your boot, and then he’s across the short space in three strides.

Your eyes cut into him, all fuelled with anger and mounting annoyance at yourself. Your pupils attempt to slice through the air, but… they don’t.

Because he’s not holding back, he’s not throwing up walls to keep you out. You do that enough for the two of them.

“Want me t’remove yer sock, Mar?”

You look conflicted, chewing a response before you swallow it—whatever you’d been about to say—and nod. His fingers slide up the back of your ankle gently, each movement so slow and cautious, afraid of spooking you, of brushing over something swollen as he takes hold of the band of your sock.

It removes with relative ease as it unveils an angry, assorted blue-shaded bruise that’s spreading across your skin and bone. It takes all of him not to hiss, to not want to rub his own ankle in sympathy.

“Looks worse than it is.”

The purpling of your skin said otherwise. The angry swelling that shifted like jelly under your skin when he brushed his fingers over it.

You meet his gaze then, no walls, no shields to keep him out—just pain flooding the space where there had been anger. And then, if something hadn’t already twisted his insides, your eyes filled with tears, one’s which stung and burned him as much as they did your cheeks.

“Liar.”

You smirk, the smallest slither of the usual Squid.

“We should ice it, Mari.”

His eyes look up, seeing the signs of defeat beginning to spread over your features. Your eyes continue to shimmer, lips no longer curled up, and tiredness slowly kissing the skin under your eyes.

“Hey… it’s alright, yer man-bitch is ‘ere.”

For a second, you just stare, no smile, no smirk. And then, you’re burying your face in his neck, and his hand rises to cup the back of your neck.

It’s natural, almost on-demand, that he begins to knead the skin with his fingers—circle those spots on your neck with his calloused touch. The ones that can either relax you or make you moan. His body uncomfortably leaning over yours, rather wishing he could lie you back, bring you over him, hold you as close as he normally would.

“Can we just... cuddle?”

Great minds… he thinks to himself. “Course we can, Mar. Don’t ‘ave t’ask me twice.”

He brushes his lips against your forehead, feeling you soften against him as he eases you back, moving you with far more ease than you can manage.

“I can handle a shower,” you had said, pausing at his bathroom door, clutching the handle in your hand as he watched you.

Your weight all on your other leg, barely letting the sole of your foot meet the bare floor as you smiled as sweetly as you could.

“You sure? Y’don’t need some soap with y’soap?”

You smirk, and it warmed him like the fucking sun. “I can’t wait to tell Ghost you just said that.”

Once the door shut, his smile faded.

Body moving around his room, pulling out clothing you’d left—some purposeful, and some accidental. He found a t-shirt, shorts and some underwear, making a small pile on the edge of his unmade sheets as he listened to the spray of the water.

He should be on the other side. His hands holding you up, taking the weight from your ankle. It’s what he’d suggested, offered. Your eyes looking at him, a little brighter thanks to your nap and some more pills.

You haven’t got to always save me, Johnny.

He knows that.

Aware that you can more than handle yourself, but isn’t that what you do when you’re in love? Do you not take the burden, carry the weight until the person can lift up their own head?

The words had almost left his lips to suggest so, but instead, he brushed his fingers over your skin. He felt the mission on your cheek before he kissed an I love you against your lips.

Go on then, lass. I’ll be ‘ere.

You looked at him like you know.

Your finger ghosted over your lower lip as though you also couldn’t get over the fact the two of you do that now. As though it hadn’t quite hit you either that the two of you aren’t hiding, aren’t concealing all that lived between you.

He glances to the clock, threading his fingers together as he sits on the edge of his bed.

Eventually, he calls out, “Y’alright, lass?”

Waiting a beat, hearing the water turn off.

“No. Think I perished down the plug hole,” you comment from behind the door, steam rushing out when you eventually open it.

“Aye, y’hilarious y’ar—“

He feels them die, his words.

You standing, beads of water dripping down your body—falling down silver scars and toned muscles. Rolling across your hip bones, down your legs and passed your knees. It's your lips curling up, half-smirking as you stare at him with eyes full of flaming determination.

Steamin’ fuck.

His throat is dry, little point in trying to swallow, as he looks at you respectfully. Not that he wants to.

He wants to take a fucking picture and then carve it into paper with a pencil. He wants to study you, have you stood there so he can draw you until he has to plunge his cock in you to get himself thinking straight.

He’ll never tire of it—seeing you like this. A prize, one he was gifted and not won. Something he cherished before ever really having it, and now he does, not a soul can yank it from his grip.

“I’m hungry,” you say, voice full of silk as the syllables bless his ears. “You hungry, baby?”

Fuck is he.

And then his eyes land on your ankle, the one twice as big as the other. He tells himself that’s the reason he’s standing, sliding his palms against your bare hips as he tries to keep a level-head. You make it hard—you make him hard.

“Squid—“

“I’m okay,” you mutter, staring up at him through your lashes. “Promise.”

“Can we.. can yer, just come over ‘ere—can make you feel good right over here.”

Your smirk widens, tracing your lower lip with your tongue as you keep yourself stuck, soles glued to the floor. “No. Want it here, want you to fuck me right here, Johnny. Up against the wall, like we did before I left.”

But, it’s not like when you left, though.

Then you didn’t have an ankle three times its size amassing a colour range close to a craft shop. And it takes every thought of Price’s moustache not to give in.

To not kiss you—not lift your injured leg over his hip and push your other one to the breaking point of holding you up.

“If y’can just come ova’ ere—“

“Soap MacTavish. Are you fucking rejecting me?”

He closes his eyes, releasing a sharp breath as he pinches the bridge of his nose. Because he’s not sure how to explain this without it going wrong.

Without all the words leaving his mouth incorrectly and making you mad. Because technically, he fucking is. And he knows what an idiot that makes him. But also, you're hurt. And the way the two of you fuck, it's guaranteed to make it far worse.

“For now, lass, yes. But, you can’t even imagine how fuckin’ difficult tha’ is right now.”

Your face shifts. Changes.

He watches as a storm eclipses your eyes—one full of thunder and lightning. One with a purpose to pull him under and drown him, fry the skin from his bones.

Johnny also half expects to be thrown across the room from the look on your face alone.

But he’s quicker, bigger—stronger. Somewhat moving you before you can root yourself, half carrying and half dragging until you’re perched again, off your feet, on his bed. Him on his knees, right in front of you—staring at you on the same level.

“I found y’some clothes?”

You don’t speak. Don’t take them from him either. Your eyes morph into a knife as they try to plunge into him.

He unfolds the t-shirt—the one from a concert you went to with Gaz. Your voice all animated as you told him about it once, promising him that you’ll show him videos off it on your laptop when you go home.

Y’inviting me home, Mar? Course. This time mine, next time yours. Y’got it all planned out, aye? Yeah. Will even get you streaky bacon. Yer fuckin' glorious y'are.

You slide your arms through it, begrudgingly so. Your eyes not shifting from before the fabric goes over your face, to after. Just staring, cutting into him as if you’re the reason for all the wrong in the world.

And he’d take it, even if he doesn’t want to.

He’ll let you hate him if it means you’ll sit, and rest—like he knows you’ve been told to. That even if the two of you can follow it for tonight, tomorrow he can have your thighs clamping around his head as he makes you forget all about hating him, tree roots and swollen ankles.

“You’re a bad boyfriend.”

He smirks, watching your eyes soften. “The fuckin’ worst, lass.”

You just about smile—fighting it, clearly.

“Wait—Boyfriend again, am I?”

You shove him lightly, snatching the underwear from beside you to put in his hand. “You know I didn’t mean… just colleagues.”

I know. His hands guiding your feet through your underwear as he hands it you to pull up. “Aye, we’re jus’ adjusting.”

You nod, shifting in place as you pull them up onto your hips. Your hand rising to cup his cheek as he presses a kiss to your wrist.

The two of you in time returning to your places on the bed, the scent of his shampoo hitting his nose from your hair—your arm across his chest, fingers dancing on his ribs.

“I should tell y’, when Lt told me y’were with the medics—“ he whispers, his hand clutches yours, bringing it to his chest, right over where his heart is currently pounding into your palm. “Heart almost stopped.”

You look up at him, almost in disbelief. The look makes him wonder if he’s done a shit job of making you believe he’s all in, or whether—like him—you can’t believe it’s real.

“I’m not leaving you, Johnny.”

“Aye, best not. B’ shit of yer to make me fall in love wit’ you, and then y’leave me with those bastards.”

You laugh, it bristling over him. “Gaz isn’t terrible.”

“He’s not you, though.”

You roll your eyes, before closing them, burying yourself more into him. “There’s no one like me, Johnny.”

“Aye. Y’one of a kind, Mar.”

You sigh, a murmur of a noise leaving you—and he almost asks, almost questions. But decides against it, slowly counting in his head from 1 to 100, unsurprised that he only makes it to 62 before you’re asleep.

"Night, hen," he whispers into your wet hair.

Slowly closing his eyes, listening to your soft breaths as he lets his muscles relax for the first time since you left.

#john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x you #soap mactavish #soap x reader #cod soap x reader #cod soap x f!reader #cod soap #cod x reader #soap cod x reader #soap cod #soap squad #soap 🧼#soap sunday

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eddies-house · 10 months

Text

Felt kinda angsty and this came out so here you go

Angst to comfort, some jock says a certain phrase that triggers Eddie and puts him right back in his childhood.

"Living up to that Munson name."

Eddie doesn't know why he let the words stab him in the heart and almost bring him to his knees but they do. He'd been conducting a deal with a few of the jocks, obviously overcharging because they didn't know any better. All he wanted to do was make a few extra bucks but now he wishes he would've turned them down. Eddie was never one to let things get to him, especially when a dumb jock was the one attempting to berate him. But that didn't stop certain topics, specifically his past, from breaking through the barriers he so carefully built around himself. Internally he feels himself crumbling, that all too familiar feeling settling in the back of his throat and his mind going numb in self defense. His fingertips tingled and his hands began to shake--no not here. He wouldn't grant them the slightest satisfaction in letting them see that the words got to him.

Instead he blankly stares at the ground and closes up the deal, accepting their money and pocketing it, not once making eye contact. He was in fight or flight now and he knew he just had to isolate himself as the panic built up in his body, he was a master at containing it until he knew it was safe to let his walls tumble down. He was called a few names, he recalls the most obvious, freak, as they parted ways but he didn't care. Eddie needed to be alone.

So there he was, fumbling with the handle on the van door, hands trembling and curses uttered under his uneven breaths. Once he successfully sat in the driver's seat, he immediately put the key in the ignition and drove. There was no way of telling if those jocks would hang around an try to fuck with him some more so he needed to get far away.

His breathing was getting heavier the more he sunk into that place in the back of his mind, eyes temporarily clenching shut as he tried to shake it, he just needed to get home and he would be safe, right? The drive felt longer than he ever remembered, probably because it also felt like he was fighting for his life. Luckily he eventually saw that Forest Hills Trailer Park sign and though he should've felt relief, he felt this impending doom slowly creeping in on him. They're not gonna be here, they can't jump me here. He's convincing himself that he wasn't followed home before entering the darker places of his mind. He can't get me. He's in jail. Even if he is here, I'm grown, I can take him. His ten year old self is resurfacing and its making him feel smaller by the second. She keeps the doors locked always, he can't take her away from me, not like he did with mom. The van screeches to a halt in front of the trailer, he wants to let go of it all right here in the van, in the silence where he can be alone but now he's convinced himself that something bad has happened, that he's going to walk inside and find his worst nightmare laid out before him. That the trailer will be trashed and that you will be hurt, and he'll lose you.

Quickly he uses his key to unlock the door, struggling at first in his state of panic, screaming at himself mentally that he needed to hurry up or more bad things would happen. The door swings open and he prepares for the worst but is only meant with the coziness of the living room, the clutter still the same as when he left earlier and the warm glow of the lamp in the corner. Slamming his keys that he had clutched in his sweaty grip onto the counter, he picks up a baseball bat near the kitchen in the event that there was an intruder. Slowly, he scopes out the bathroom, forcing the shower curtain open only to find nothing. Finally he makes his way toward his room, now your shared room and he bites his tongue so hard he may have drawn some blood. He gently pushes the door open, peeking inside and taking in the darkness, noting that everything seems to be as it was earlier, nothing rummaged through or trashed as you sleep peacefully on your side of the bed bathed in moonlight.

A breath of relief is released from his lungs however the anxiety still lingers. At least he knows you're okay. That was his biggest fear. Setting the bat back in its place near the kitchen, he returns to the room quietly, closing the creaking door behind him as he takes a moment to sit on his side of the bed, his back to you.

A jolt of panic courses through him, his brain is drowning him once again and telling him he's ten years old. Tears sting his eyes as he buries his face in his hands, working himself up again as the memories rush through like a film reel he'd like to burn for good. His entire body begins to shake and though he tries to resist it he can't and he has no control anymore. His breathing becomes erratic and his shaking hands yank at his hair.

You had never been the heaviest sleeper so the slightest shaking from your boyfriend sat on the mattress facing away from you had you stirring awake. He was too far gone to notice. At first a small smile graces your lips, he was home and you could cuddle with him the rest of the night. That thought was quickly put aside as you realize the state that he's in, that his body is trembling and sniffles are heard along with labored breathing.

This kind of thing had happened before and you had some knowledge from last time to know that he was not physically present and that his brain was taking him back to places he never even wanted to go. Very carefully, you crawl out from under the sheets and make your way next to him, making sure not to touch him so he isn't startled. It happens any way and he gasps as his thigh grazes yours.

"Hey, you're okay." You try to assure him gently, knowing it might not get very far but they key was to keep trying until you were able to calm him down, that's what you did last time anyway and you were able to eventually talk him down. "You're safe, Eddie. You're safe." You try to look into his eyes but they're darting around the room fearfully, wet with tears blurring his vision. "Can I touch you?" You ask just above a whisper, holding back your own tears at the sight of your boyfriend in such distress. You're able to get a small nod from him. You scoot closer to him cautiously, seeing that he's not flinching so you keep going and softly take his clammy and shaky hand in yours, rubbing your thumb along his knuckles. "Everything's alright. I'm right here, okay?" You manage to also run a hand along his back, also sweaty as he hyperventilates.

You realize he's in pretty deep as he lets go of your hand, slowly falling to the floor on his knees and crawling into the corner between the nightstand and the dresser. This is something he described doing as a kid when his dad was out of control, he was coping by hiding and trying to make himself feel safe and secure and your heart broke at the sight. "Eddie..." You whisper through a cracked voice, slowly doing the same and crawling toward him.

He shakes his head and you stop immediately, the last thing you wanted was to make him uncomfortable in any way. "No one's going to hurt you, okay?" You tell him. "You need to breathe, baby. Can you breathe with me?" He hesitates for a second before nodding, lip wobbling. You guide him through some slow deep breaths, him slightly hiccupping as he exhales. "In....and out..." you try to soothe him through the motions, taking notice that his chest isn't heaving as much. "There you go, just like that. In...out..." You encourage him, he still lets out a shaky exhale after a few goes at it but he seems to have calmed down a lot, wiping his nose on the back of his hand and using his thumbs to swipe some tears away.

He looks so lost and vulnerable, his eyes are a pool of sadness as he comes down from the anxiety he just experienced. Suddenly for the first time he's looking right into your eyes and if you could just scoop him up and love on him forever you would. As he talks, his voice is so small and timid. "Can-can you come here?" he asks shyly, as if you were about to deny him. In seconds, you're in between his now spread out legs, kneeling in front of him, catching his face with your hands and lovingly stroking your thumbs along his wet cheeks. "Of course I can." You whisper, pulling his head into your chest. His grip on the back of your shirt reminds you of a scared child clinging onto their parent. He releases his grip as he rubs the cotton fabric of your shirt in between his fingertips, something you noticed he always did to ground himself, maybe to make things more real around him. You weren't sure but you'd let him do it for as long as he needed. Again, you feel the need to assure him that everything is alright, that he has nothing to worry about. "You're safe, I promise." You say softly into his ear.

His body was no longer shaking and his tears had somewhat dried up as the two of you sat there. There were no words needed, you helped him feel safe and loved when his mind was tricking him and was eternally grateful for you. He showed this by nuzzling his face into your neck, breath fanning over your skin while you ran your fingers through his hair. You knew you should probably get him out of the corner and into bed but the small sigh of content he let out had you staying just a little bit longer. Whatever he needed was your priority right now and if that was just to sit and be held then so be it.

That night he finds it hard to fall asleep, the images plaguing his brain just hours earlier didn't necessarily just disappear, he just wasn't in a state of panic anymore. And you stayed up with him so he didn't have to do it alone, playing with his hair, tracing his face with your fingertips the way that soothed him, fingers lingering on his jaw as you got lost in his big brown eyes. You would do anything for him. So when he finally finds his voice again after becoming selectively mute for the past few hours to tell you what happened, how he was doing a deal with some jocks and one mentioned that he was 'living up to the Munson name' in the most malicious tone, all you want to do is ruin that guy's life. Although its a small statement that doesn't really have to mean anything, it meant something to Eddie and sent him back into his childhood body, terrified and traumatized. But instead of scheming something up, you simply breathe and remember that Eddie deserves all of your energy right now, not some asshole.

When Eddie tries to reprimand himself for getting so 'worked up over something so stupid' you won't have any of it. "It's not anything I haven't said to myself before, I don't know why I started freaking out." he says while playing with your intertwined fingers as you face each other in bed, the little lamp on his nightstand covering the room in a dim glow. "I-I lost my cool and I don't know why, I don't know why I let it get to me this time." he says with clenched teeth, just about ready to send himself spiraling again. "Hey." You tell him gently, cupping the side of his face, his emerging stubble tickling your hand. "Stop that." is all you say. "Stop what?" he asks, red and puffy eyes scanning over your face. "Stop saying you let it get to you. It was a fucked up thing to say to someone and you're not showing weakness by being affected by it." Your words are wise but he knows he'll continue to beat himself up over it. "It's okay, baby." You whisper sincerely. Tears prick at his eyes but this time its out of pure love, the way you understand him is unlike anything he's ever experienced. He sucks back the tears with a small laugh as he stares up at the ceiling. "God, you're making me cry." He rasps out. You give him a little pout, grabbing his chin so he looks at you again. "No more crying, you've had enough." You give him a brief but caring kiss to his lips.

Eddie still has trouble sleeping but he's used to it. What makes it better and less lonely is that you're laying half on top of him, fingers running over his stomach, through his happy trail and back up to his chest, the motion repeating over and over. A few soft kisses are press to his neck, little reminders that you're still awake and attentive to him should he find himself back in that awful place in the back of his mind needing a lifeline. Eddie has never known love like this, never even come close. But he's more than okay with getting used to it.

#sobbing to myself lmao??#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 9 months

Note

AITA for putting knob covers on the stove that my disabled dad couldn't open?

So I (26M) recently moved back in with my parents (60M and 58F) temporarily because I'm kind of between apartments right now. My dad has Parkinson's disease and has, over the years, become both clumsier and more absent-minded. An important symptom of Parkinson's that will become relevant in this story is that he also has partial anosmia (his sense of smell is impaired).

So anyway, about a year and a half ago, before I had moved out, one day I came home from work and smelled gas as soon as I entered the house. I discovered one of the burners on the stove had been left open, and gas had been seeping into the room. I turned off the main gas supply, opened all the windows, and waited outside while calling my mom about it frantically. It turns out Dad had been cleaning the oven earlier and must have bumped the burner with his head while leaning in to clean the door. Because of his anosmia, he had not smelled the gas. I kind of freaked out and threatened to remove all the knobs off the stove, because I felt my life was in danger, but my mom talked me down into believing that it was just a fluke and probably wouldn't happen again.

Anyway, fast forward to the day before yesterday. I woke up after sleeping in late (I work night shifts now) and went to go make myself some food, but for some reason the GFI circuit breaker to the stove outlet had tripped. After resetting it, I immediately noticed that the lower drawer oven was on, because the knob had been left on. That oven is a little broken because the drawer mechanism is bent, so it doesn't close fully - I'm speculating, but the only thing I can think of is that the breaker must have tripped because the drawer was open and the heating element couldn't keep it up to temperature without getting so hot it exceeded its current rating or something. There was no gas leak this time, thankfully, but I knew my dad must have left it that way since my mom never cooks in the morning, especially not with the oven, ESPECIALLY not with the broken drawer oven. The only logical conclusion was that he accidentally bumped the knob again and didn't notice again. This time, thank God it wasn't the gas again.

I basically just told my mom that I was getting knob covers for the stove, and she agreed. So I got some on Amazon with next day delivery and installed them as soon as they arrived. I then took an afternoon nap, and then spent a few hours in my room playing video games and talking with friends on Discord. I was home the entire day, though, and he has my phone number and is able to text if he thought it would be impolite to knock or something. He didn't say a word to me all day.

Apparently, though, he got furious with my mom because the knobs have safety covers on them now. He told her he can't open them (although I later walked down the stairs, and found one of them open, and I had not left it that way - he definitely can, I think he just had trouble figuring out how at first. They're child safety caps so unfortunately they're a bit tricky to get open) and that now he was unable to cook for himself. He did not ask me to help him get them open though, and I would have done so in a heartbeat. He has not said anything about this to me at all, not even anything subtle or passive-aggressive.

I discussed it with my mom, and we agreed to leave them mostly closed but unlatched - the latch is the difficult part to get open, but they stay closed enough for them to keep the knobs from being bumped even if they are not fully latched shut. My mom agreed to communicate with him better about stuff like this. But if he asks to have the caps removed completely, it's a hard, hard no - I don't want to die in a gas explosion.

AITA for doing this?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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captainremmington-13 · 1 month

Text

A Lady Made of Snow

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own The Hunger Games franchise, the images above, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, or any of the characters in this fic other than Bellova. I also do not condone the beliefs or actions of Coriolanus or Bellova.

SUMMARY: While Bellova recovers in the hospital, Coriolanus pays her only immediate relative a visit.

⚠️Warnings⚠️: THIS IS A DARK CHAPTER. It contains manipulation, swearing, murder, and misogynistic undertones.

A/n: Coriolanus’s kill count is rising lmao

Admitting Bellova into the hospital was easy enough. Coriolanus was easily able to convince nosy Capitol citizens that she had accidentally inhaled coma-inducing fumes inside Dr. Gaul’s lab. She would make a full recovery, but would be unconscious for at least two days.

After leaving the hospital, Coriolanus went straight back to the Citadel to finish his work. There was a large stack of papers waiting on his desk to be read.

Halfway through the stack, he felt his concentration begin to waver. Though he knew the paperwork was important, he couldn’t stay focused on its contents. The words seemed to blur together, and he struggled to comprehend the information, which was highly unusual for him.

Clearly, his mind was elsewhere.

Sighing in frustration, he leaned back in his chair. The papers could wait. There were more urgent matters at hand.

Now that Bellova was out of the picture temporarily, he had to determine how to handle the people closest to her. She had several friends who would not take kindly to finding out what he had done. They were the children of incredibly powerful families, with reputations that rivaled even the House of Snow.

And then there was Bellova’s father, Julio Reginelle, who held a prominent position in the Department of Justice. He truly loved his daughter, and would never allow Coriolanus to get away with hurting or manipulating her.

There was no question about it: he had to go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Mr. Snow, Sir Reginelle asked to not be distur-“

“It’s urgent,” Coriolanus snapped, making the butler cower slightly. “I must speak with him.”

The butler nodded frantically. “A-Alright, if you say so.” He lead Coriolanus down the happy of the Reginelle estate, which he had only seen a handful of times. Bellova only invited him over if the rest of their friend group was getting together.

The butler knocked on a door at the end of a hallway. “What is it?” a strained voice said from inside.

“Sir, you have a visitor. He says it’s urgent.”

A moment of silence.

“Send them in.”

Coriolanus stepped into the office, and turned to face the butler once more. “Can you leave us, please? This needs to be discussed in private.”

Clearly, the butler found Coriolanus’s icy stare frightening, because he gulped and swiftly left the room, shutting the door tightly behind him.

“You have some nerve giving orders in my home, young man,” Mr. Reginelle said coldly.

He looked truly awful. His ebony hair was tousled, his tie was undone, and there were dark circles under his emerald eyes. He was known as one of the more handsome middle-aged Capitol citizens, but clearly, worry had affected his appearance greatly.

Coriolanus walked towards Mr. Reginelle’s desk, which the older man was sitting behind. “You look troubled, sir,” he said.

Mr. Reginelle scowled. “What is it that you want, Mr. Snow? Or are you just here to waste my time?“

Coriolanus smiled. “Not at all. I want to talk to you about your daughter.”

The sneer that sentence elicited from Mr. Reginelle was identical to the one Bellova used to give him. “My daughter is too good for you.”

Coriolanus laughed without humor. “That’s your opinion. I, however, believe that she would be overjoyed to be my wife.”

Mr. Reginelle stood up, his nostrils flaring. “You are ridiculously arrogant, just like your father.“

“You knew him?”

“I wish I hadn’t.”

Coriolanus elected to ignore the slander. “I’ve come to inform you that Bellova accepted my proposal of marriage.”

Mr. Reginelle strode towards him, his eyes flashing dangerously. “The Reginelle bloodline will never mix with the House of Snow,” he snarled. “I will do everything in my power to ensure that.“

“You can’t change her mind,” Coriolanus said cooly. “I’m afraid she’s quite set on it.”

“You’re a liar,” Mr. Reginelle said, prodding his chest. “My daughter wants nothing to do with you. She hates you.”

He smirked. “Not anymore.”

“I know Bellova far better than you ever will,” the older man said, his voice raising steadily. “She would never just forgive and forget everything that you’ve done to her unless…” he trailed off. “Unless you forced her to.”

Coriolanus cursed internally. Mr. Reginelle was just as insightful as his daughter.

“You’re talking nonsen-“

“What did you do to her?” Mr. Reginelle screamed, pushing Coriolanus against the wall. “You hospitalized her! You fucking monster, what have you do-“

Before he could finish his sentence, he collapsed on the floor, seizing violently.

Quickly pocketing the small syringe, Coriolanus screamed for help. Servants rushed in seconds later, frantically trying to assess the situation and calling an ambulance.

By the time it arrived, Julio Reginelle had stopped breathing. The medics declared him dead, killed by a sudden seizure caused by his already-existing heart issues.

A car was arranged to take Coriolanus home, but he insisted on going to the hospital, where Bellova was still asleep. He told the driver he “needed to check on her and make sure she was still in a stable condition”. After what had just happened to her father, he was “paranoid that he would lose her too”.

The hospital staff recognized him and lead him towards where Bellova was being cared for. A nurse assured him he’d be right outside just in case anything sudden were to happen, and left him alone in the room with the unconscious girl.

Coriolanus sat down next to her bed, studying her face. Her dark hair was splayed out on the pillow, and her lashes fluttered every now and then, indicating that she was dreaming. She looked peaceful, angelic almost. Even in her sleep, she looked far less threatening than she had been before.

He smiled, lifting her wrist and placing her smaller, limp hand in his.

Whether she wanted to be or not, she would make a beautiful bride.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊

TAGLIST: @daenerysqueenofhearts, @squidscottjeans, @euphemiaamillais, @gracieroxzy, @effectwalker, @vxnilla-hxrddrugs, @mystargirl-interlude

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments! Chapter 14 is a pretty long one, I really hope you guys will enjoy it!

Also, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

#coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow x oc #coriolanus snow x reader #the hunger games #tbosas #thg prequel #original character #the capitol

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pixelatedraindrops · 7 months

Text

Edit thread story of the NDA helping take care of a fever stricken Yuma~ 🌡️

“You’re such a handful… Come. Let’s head back to the agency for you to recuperate.”

Halara escorts a very dizzy Yuma back to base safely lending him their shoulder to lean on. Making sure no Peacekeepers can mess with them. The bright lights of the city aren’t helping his throbbing headache so his eyes remain shut. Halara also picked up the supplies needed from Kanai's shops. (spending their own money in the process no less) They’re still not used to touching Yuma yet so they feel a bit awkward. 💦

“Yuma you’re burning up. And you’re shaking like a leaf. Go sit down and I’ll go and get you a blanket.”

Upon return and Halara’s explanation, Yakou walks over and checks Yuma’s temperature (with the back of his hand) He’s burning and shivering from the fever induced chills. He quickly ushers him to sit down on the sofa he sleeps on. Then he lets him borrow the blanket from his own bed to keep warm. 🧣

"Yuma are you okay? Here, let's check your temperature..."

When Yuma sits down wrapped in Yakou's blanket gripping it tightly still shivering, Kurumi sits right beside him. Although Yakou already checked for a fever, she worries deeply for his state and insists on taking a device reading of his body temperature, using the thermometer Halara bought. When the device is inserted, it turns out to be about 39 degrees (102 degrees f) 🌡️🥵

“Alright Yuma, here's your medicine. Open up, my man. Down the hatch.”

After Kurumi leaves temporarily, Desuhiko sits next to Yuma. He's told by Yakou to give him the liquid medicine that Halara bought earlier. It was a strong fever reducer. After some hesitation, he finally takes it. But it was very strong and bitter. He didn’t like it very much 💀💊

“Here Yuma, I was told that warm soup is always the best if you don’t feel well! This should help to heal you!”

Fubuki cooks and feeds Yuma some nice hot soup from the ingredients that were bought. (Kurumi helps her make it) Even if he doesn’t finish it all, he still enjoys how warm it is with what little he does eat 🥣 It was warm enough to stop his body from shivering.

“This fever is… persistent… What a pain… I wanna die someday…”

Vivia rests in the dark with Yuma after everyone works on cooling him off with ice water. (and ice) due to his fever suddenly spiking later in the night. (rising to nearly 103) So Vivia stays with him until he’s stable. They both end up falling asleep, and Vivia places his cool hand against Yuma’s warm hand. 🤝 They remain this way through the night.

"Sheesh Master, you're so pathetic... Don't worry me like that again. I thought you were a goner for sure..."

Yuma wakes up the next morning with his fever finally broken. Shinigami lays beside him with her ghostly hand over him as if she was hugging him. She mutters something under her breath, and he hears every word. He smiles placing his hand to her form, even though he can't feel it. 👻

He couldn't have been more thankful to have such kind friends

Maybe even a family 💕

Yeah, I just wanted to make another edit scenario where the nocturnal found family agency takes care of their frail lil’ trainee needing some help 😷

A different scenario from what happened in my sickfic but similar enough 💕

I love this family so much 🥰 They are perfect.

(Quite happy with how these came out)

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bae04xx · 7 months

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Heyyy I just saw it post and like I couldn't resist sending in an ask (or request if you will)!! If you want to could you write a bill cipher (yes ik💀) x reader where he and the reader are dating but get into an argument and he just says/does sum really mean stuff?? Fluff ending tho please I can't take only angst lmao, for the reader i would pref a Fem reader but gn is fine to!! Also for bill could he be in his triangle form?? (I'm so sorry if this is a long ask💀💀) but yeah that's it!!

One last thing if you don't mind could I be the 😻 anon so like if I send a ask/message I will add that and yk its me!!

-😻

hey ofc, sorry don’t check my tumblr that often! i would love to :)

thanks 😻 anon :)

bill cipher x fem! reader

angst and fluff 🖤☁️

i grabbed my bags out of my car boot, harshly gripping them between my fingers, which the knuckles of began to loose their colour from the chill in the air. after shutting the car doors and locking it up i begin storming down the pebbled drive towards my little cottage of a home. i sigh as i drop my bags and twist the key into the lock. i walk into the warmth of my house- silence greets me. after a full day at work, a very busy day might i add, then running about 5 errands i expect my home to be as i left it, cleaned to perfection. my eyes squint at the crumbs left all over hallway’s floor, i walk through them and set my bags onto the kitchen’s table- only to see condiments and dirty dishes scattered on the counters.

i quickly put my food shopping away, then hastily clean the house top to bottom, from hoovering to polishing to mopping to cleaning all of his dirty clothes because god forbid he contribute anything to this house and take any weight off my already drowning shoulders. i bury my face into my hands and curl up on my sofa, after sitting like this for a few minutes i decide to sit up and distract myself, flipping through a few tv channels to find a decent one.

i wonder why i’m even here, i was only meant to be in gravity falls temporarily, after my mother decided i was too much for her, she shipped me off to live with my aunt for the summer- aunty suz, or as the locals called her, lazy suzan. she ran a diner, which i helped out with as my keep, and there i met the twins. i felt like mable understood me, she really helped me deal with my mental health and overcome it all. she was my bestfriend- until i fell for him. i made the stupid mistake of choosing bill cipher, a living breathing demon, over my bestfriend. and now i’m stuck in this hell hole- gravity falls.

“loving boyfriend my ass..” i mumbled, throwing the tv remote to the ground in frustration.

“what about me were you saying, peach?” he smirks, materialising out of no where, with a snarky expression.

“what the fuck have you been doing all day cipher? i work my ass off and i come home to the house a state?” i plead, standing up to be someone as tall as the floating figure.

“woah woah woah, don’t be so aggressive peach, calm it and remember who you’re speaking to,” he warns, i laugh at him.

“i do everything for you cipher, i have up my life for you and this is the thanks i get? no support, messing with my home and threats? i have every right to be angry at you, you always do this!”

“do what exactly, peach?” his eyes narrow at me, staring me down.

“fuck me over! you expect to be fed, even though you don’t need to eat and can make anything you want appear but no- i have to supply it for you, to clean in a clean house but it’s fine for you to constantly mess it up, and to leave for days at a time with no warning and then just appear back and expect me to be fine? and treat me like shit!”

“i can do whatever the fuck i want peach, whatever i want-“ he grabs me by the chin, “you listen to me, you’re a puppet in my hands, you’re lucky i’m even giving the time of day. you’re only around because i like you, and you’re so lucky i like you because do you wanna know what would happen if i didn’t?”

…

“you’d be dead, rotting your own personal hell. so show me a little respect? don’t forget your place.”

i push myself away from him, i regretfully look in my eyes, i don’t know what to do, so i just stand there, scared, confused, anxious yet angry.

“i’m going, don’t try and get in my head, i don’t want you there.” i announce, before storming off and grabbing my handbag.

“i’ll never get out of your head, you belong to me remember, you’re nothing without me.” he announced, as though he’s just next to me but he isn’t. i’m in the car, applying as much pressure to the accelerator as i can- and he’s no where near me. he’s in my fucking head again. i have no space, no boundaries, i’m not just me, i’m him too- and i have no choice. i can’t escape.

i break as hard as i can, in the middle of a road, no cars were within a mile radius of me, perks of living i. a quiet town. i scream, a blood curdling scream, my nails clawing into my h/c, tears stream out of my eyes. sobbing uncontrollably i feel an arm snake around me, pulling me close.

he’s shushing me, trying to calm me down as a shriek and cry into his chest, not sure if i should push him away or accept him embrace. his boney hands stroke my h/c and instantly calms me, not by my choice though- the bastard is in my head again.

“i’ve given everything for you bill.” i state, wiping my tears away, a dead look in my eyes.

“i’m sorry peach,” he hugs me tightly, “i know i’m shitty, but i’m so sorry.”

and he just holds me, let’s me stay in his arms, i focus on my breathing, as he plays with my hair, he whispers a small ‘i love you’ in my ear, i hum back to him, too exhausted to process what’s really happened.

i wake up in my bed, changed into my favourite fleecy pyjamas, a very worried demon next to me.

i yawn, stretching my arms up, turning to him i say “and how did i get here?” my voice a little gruff from sleepiness.

“you don’t think i was going to let you sleep in the car do you? what kinda demon do you think i am?” he replied in his usually snarky yet flirtatious voice.

“ah yes sorry, you’re such the gentleman- how could i forget,” i giggle back at him before rolling away to the other side of the bed.

“i really am sorry y/n, i’m gonna try more, for you peach,”

“i love you bill,”

“i love you more peach,”

a comfortable silence surrounds us, i sigh before deciding to get up, yet just as a i begin to take the duvet off me i get it pulled start back on.

“what’re you thinking for breakfast peach? my treat, you just stay snuggled up in bed,”

“i bought some croissants yesterday, they’re in the cupboard,” i muse, before grabbing my book off the bedside table. bill let’s out a laugh.

“my treat, you just wait and see what i’ve got planned peach!”

#gravity falls x reader #bill cipher #bill cipher gravity falls #gravity falls #x reader #bill cipher x reader #my first request #hope this is okay!

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