#there's been a part of me that's wanted to reach out this last week

[sftykth]

milk and cookies ⟢ anakin skywalker ii.

banner made by me!

╭ summary: your doll like face will be the end of anakin skywalker he was sure of it. however he must stay away from his disturbing thoughts as he was only your sugar daddy, and you two had agreed on a deal, no physical contact. Though for how long can you both resist the temptation?

╭ pairing: y/n x anakin skywalker

╭ genre: college au!, gap age (y/n is 20, anakin is 42), sugar daddy

╭ a/n: here’s part two of the series:) let me know what you think! any ideas of what you may wanna see, my requests are always open:)

part i

You huffed at the lack of notifications on your phone.

It has been officially two weeks since the last time you had spoken to Mr Skywalker. There was no messages, no calls, absolutely nothing. Your tendencies to please people made you overthink the worst, did he not like you? Were you not pretty enough for him. Shaking your head, you knew that could not have been the case. Though you could not shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You debated if you should reach out first, it was a Friday night and you were incredibly bored.

Reaching for your phone, you chewed on your lip as your fingers hovered over the keyboard. Thoughts racing your head, thinking of what you could say to him. Keeping it simple and short would be best, you thought.

May 2024

[Dollface] hey how are you?

[Sky] Hello, dollface. I'm alright why are you texting me this late at night. No plans for the youngsters hm?

[Dollface] uhh nopee. i wanted to ask you something..

[Sky] Go on. Don't be shy now.

[Dollface] um well you hadn't messaged me at all, did you decide i wasn't up for the role or something..

You slightly cringed at your desperation, but something about him just made you so needy for his attention. You wanted it, no you needed it.

[Sky] I do remember we both agreed to the deal, no?

[Dollface] well yeah.. but its been two weeks i just thought

[Sky] There has been no reason for me to do so. My next event is not until next Saturday which I will send more details over near the date.

[Dollface] oh i see yeah that makes sense haha sorry i will leave you be now.

[Read]

You felt something wet hit your cheek, you didn't even realize you were crying. The cold attitude was something you didn't expect to receive, though you should have knew better. You were always so senstive to people's feelings towards you, always wanting them to like you, doing anything in your power to please them.

Wiping the tears that had managed to escape, you threw your phone to side as you laid down on your bed. You didn't understand him, some moments he seemed to be kind and then other times he seemed so harsh and cold. You wrapped your arms around you, craving warmth as you mind couldn't stop creating thoughts upon thoughts of why he was so mean. Falling asleep that night was near impossible.

-

One week had passed since you reached out to Mr Skywalker, or your sugar daddy you could say. It felt like a painfully slow week, barely managing to attend your classes not really having much motivation. The nerves on attending the event had kept you up most nights, wondering how will it plan out. Your head perked up at the ding coming from your phone, rushing to your desk you saw the name which made you feel so many emotions at once.

[Sky] Good evening, Dollface. I hope I'm not interrupting you, I just wanted to let you know the details of the event tomorrow.

[Dollface] hey! no no i wasn't doing much. and yes of course

[Sky] Good. Luckily, the event is a local one so travel will not be far. We are promoting a new product so many important figures will be there, so formal outwear is a must for this case. Most importantly, do not be late.

[Dollface] yes i understand Mr Skywalker, what is the address of this place?

[Sky] No need. My driver and I will pick you up at eight o'clock sharp.

A relieved sigh left my lips, having some form of knowledge on the event slightly eased my nerves or perhaps it was the fact I got to speak to him. You shake your head, you shouldn't be feeling this way towards a man who only is there to pay you essentially.

Now you had a major task up your sleeve, try and find something fancy enough. Oh God. You thought, this is going to be difficult seen as your wardrobe was made up of tiny skirts and dresses. You had always preferred clothes that revealed your figure, not really finding the problem in lengths. Though you were determined not to disappoint the man, and rushed to find something that will be acceptable enough.

-

Twenty minutes. That is how long you had before Mr Skywalker picks you up. You had managed to find a dress that you had long tucked away, a dress you mother had gifted you on your eighteen birthday, saying how you were finally a lady and should dress like one. You remember rolling your eyes at her, never understanding why she found your style to be such a big deal.

Glancing up at the mirror, a big smile crossed your face. The long black gown hugged your figure in every right place, a flower pattern embroidered in the material, paired with some black heels. It was quite see through which did cause a slight doubt in your head but you pushed it away, it surely wouldn't be that much of a problem. Typically, you would have your hair straightened but for tonight you had put it in nice curls, your make up enhancing your docile features even more.

You could only hope he also thought you looked pretty. Cursing yourself for once again thinking about him so much but at this point you could not stop your little mind.

A knock was heard from the downstairs, it must be him. You quickly rushed downstairs, not faring to be a second late. Opening the door it felt like your breath was knocked out of you. There he stood towering over you, his dark blonde curls perfectly styled. A giddy feeling had crept in at the fact you were unintentionally matching, him in a full black suit.

He raised his eyebrow once his eyes had landed on you. Giving you a look over, "You look different." Was all he said before turning around and walking to the car parked in front of us. Your lip quivered, what did he even mean by that. Glancing down at yourself, you thought you looked pretty okay, yes it was very far from your usual style. Approaching the car you tried your hardest not to let out a sob, you didn't want to cry in front of him, he wouldn't understand your sensitive side, you thought.

The atmosphere inside the car was thick, you tightened your arms around yourself. Not a single word had been spoken between you, you felt so uncomfortable. So much so you almost were tempted to stop the car and run as far away from him as possible.

A shake to your shoulder made you jump from your thoughts, arrived already? "We are here. Now remember we are here as a couple so try to be on your best behavior." he says before leaving the car. Getting out the car the slight breeze hit your legs, you should have brought a jacket with you.

You felt someones hand touch yours, you jolted at the touch as you saw he had intertwined your hands together. Your doe like eyes peered up at him, forgetting for a minute at the reason behind such intimate action. He only gave you a tight smile before leading the way towards the building, you could only hope your poor heart won't give up on you.

Entering the massive hall you were surrounded by what you could only assume other rich people. Instantly, a lady had come offering drinks you both had declined her. You were not prepared to get drunk in front of all these people, knowing your self your ass would act out. You were a very emotional drunk.

"Here comes Mr Windu, he is my main opponent at the minute. Always challenging my role, that idiot.." he rambled on, you listened quietly finding it slightly cute at the tiny frown that appeared on his face.

"Just don't say anything got it." you nodded in response, you were unsure what type of man Mr Windu was, you had heard of his role in the state wanting to take Mr Skywalker's position from what you heard on the radio.

"Well well, what do we have here. Mr Skywalker it is a pleasure to see you. Have come all prepared as per usual." the older man grinned as his eyes never left Mr Skywalkers's. You gulped at the intense eye contact between the two. Only for Windu's eyes to glance down at me, your eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights.

His dark eyes looked you up and down, "Oh and what a delight do we have here. I don't think I have seen you here before. Last I seen it was the beautiful Mrs Amidala"

A twinge of pain crossed your chest for a second, you almost forgot about his wife, or ex wife you could say.

"There is no longer a Mrs, Mr windu. If you have forgotten I had divorced my wife long time ago" Mr Skywalker's voice was strained, you could tell he did not want to be speaking about his ex wife with the man right now.

"And this is my new Lady, if you could excuse us now," he tried to walk away but was stopped by the grip Windu had on my wrist,.

"Now now, there is no reason for such a rush leave. I only wanted to learn the name of this gorgeous being, Skywalker. Does she not speak for herself, hm." he questioned as his hold never left my wrist. You winced at the harsh hold, "It's Y/n" you whimpered in response.

Dropping your arm he smirked, "It was nice meeting you Y/n, and of course you too Mr Skywalker." Watching him walk away, a huge sigh left your body you didn't even realize you were holding your breath.

Turning your head sideways, Mr Skywalker was already staring at you. Blushing at the long stare he was giving you, you looked down at your shoes biting your lip. You felt a gentle tug at your chin, raising you to look at him. Glancing at his eyes, you could see concern?

"Are you alright dollface? He should not have dared to put his hands on you like that. No man should. Are you hurt?" his questions made your head dizzy. The unexpected concern for you made you feel something inside. Giving him a slight node, "I'm okay Mr Skywalker, thank you. I just didn't expect it is all."

"Please use Anakin, dollface. It is easier to say and I feel so old when people use my last name so often." he chuckled, reaching for your hand again he held tit so gently this time, giving it a small squeeze as he led the way towards the bar.

You couldn't help but grin at the affection he was suddenly giving you, the cold attitude from earlier fully wiped away. It almost gave you a whiplash. "Would you like something to drink, dollface?" he asked as he ordered himself a whiskey. "Maybe just a coke, please."

"Not a drinker huh?" he questioned, taking a seat to your left on the high stools. "Not really, I just hate how I get when I get drunk. So rather just not cause a scene." you gave him a nervous laugh, playing with the ends of your hair to distract yourself from the piercing eyes that belonged to such a handsome man.

"Oh? And what would that be, dollface?" he raised his eyebrow, eyes never leaving me. The use of the nickname made you gush inside, loving how it sounded coming from him. You debated whether you should answer him but the affections side he shown you made you feel comfortable enough for some reason.

"I-I just get very emotional.. I'm just sensitive when it comes to things I guess. Or well more so than others, my mother always told me I need to grow out of it. But that is the thing its just who I am. I can't change something like that" you rambled on, in that moment it felt almost right.

He hums, "You shouldn't feel like you need to change for anyone, dollface. I'm being serious you know, you need to embrace yourself for who you are whichever way that is." The way he spoke to you was so soft and nothing like before, you almost didn't recognize the man facing you.

"Thank you, Anakin I really do appreciate that." you gave him a big smile in return. His hand reached out and brushed a piece of hair from my face, tucking it behind your ear, you didn't even notice the gap that began to close as his face neared yours.

"Now what do we have here." A stern voice spoke out.

let me know what you guys think!:) and what you may wanna see in future series 👀 also let me know if you wanna be in the tag list!

tag list:

@cl0esblogg @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack

#anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin fanfiction #star wars anakin #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagines #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker #darth vader #anakin skywalker fluff #anakin skywalker drabble #anakin skywalker masterlist #star wars

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

The Lookalike (Part 8)

☒ Summary: The first thing you remembered after your death was an argument. “No, this isn’t one of my fucking sluts.” The man behind you exhaled, frustrated. “This is a present for you. Something to help you work through your Alastor fixation.” You awaken in Hell as the near-spitting image of a certain infamous radio host. Unfortunately for you, you immediately fall into the clutches of his nemesis, then into the arms of the Radio Demon himself. 

☒ Warnings: hermaphrodite!reader, deer!reader, crying!reader, they/them pronouns used, Alastor X reader, explicit content, tentacle sex, bottom!Alastor, reference to drugs, reader is in Hell for a reason, canon typical scenarios.

☒ Series Links: Part I Part2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 6 BONUS SCENE Part 7

Ever since Niffty had mistaken an expensive cock ring for an insect and attempted to kill it, the duty of cleaning Angel Dust’s room had been solely yours. You traipsed down to his wing of the hotel, pushing the cleaning and laundry hamper in front of you, and after a cursory listen and knock on the door, you went in.

You’d worked a few different jobs in your mortal life, and more than a few of them had been janitorial. You knew the drill; stripping and changing out the bedding, emptying the bins and cleaning any surface that looked soiled. Angel’s pet pig Fat Nuggets followed you from point to point, and you stopped sporadically to bend down and scratch the critter behind the ears.

When Angel Dust returned, you were scrubbing the floor of the shower, thinking of a time you’d butchered a kill in a similar space; the tray not wide enough to properly lay out the body horizontally. People such as yourself were, out of necessity, not squeamish. It had been hard to get the blood out of the grouting, and whatever Angel had left in the shower was giving you similar grief.

“Hey, Stunt Double! Ya in there?” called Angel as he walked in, dumping his bag on the bed.

You backed out of the bathroom, cleaning tools still in hand, and smiled at him. “Hello, Angel.”

“So it is you cleaning this place.” Angel tilted his head as Fat Nuggets emerged from the bathroom behind you to greet him, and he picked up the pig in his arms. “I was wonderin’ who was puttin’ all my butt plugs in size order.”

“I could do them by color, if you prefer,” you offered, pulling another bottle of cleaning fluid from the trolley, and Angel laughed.

“Neah, size is fine.” He flopped back onto his bed, arms splayed. “Man, I am beat.”

“Should I come back later?” you asked, but Angel just shook his head.

“Just do what you gotta,” he said. “It’s what they pay ya for.”

You gave a noise of surprise. “You have money in Hell?”

Angel lifted his head. “You’ve been here how long and don’t know that?”

You shrugged, heading back into the bathroom with more bleach. “People usually just give me things.”

“What happens when no-one wants to give you what you want?”

You took a couple steps backward into Angel’s room again. “Give me your phone for half an hour.”

“What?” He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Because,” you said, reaching into your pocket. “If you do, I’ll give you this baggie of mysterious white power I found in your room last week before Charlie searched it.” You dangled the drugs in front of Angel with a flourish. You had found them inside the cistern whilst fixing the toilet.

Angel leaned forwards, still squinting. “Those were my drugs.”

“They were,” you said, tilting your head. “And they could be again, for the low, low price of let me search the internet for half an hour.”

“Jeez, fine-” Angel dug in his corset for his phone and flung it at you. “There. Now, gimme.”

You caught the phone with a grin, tossing the drugs into Angel’s lap. “Pleasure doing business,” you said, taking a seat on the corner of Angel’s bed as you unlocked his phone. Alastor had specified you should work, but not how hard.

Angel looked between you, Fat Nuggets, and the drugs, quickly coming to the decision that you were the most interesting of the three. Pivoting with one leg, he rotated so that his head was level with your hip, and looked up at you. “Whatcha searchin’?”

“Overlords,” you said, and when Angel frowned, you added. “Alastor is sending me to some sort of get together and I don’t know what any of them look like.”

“Well, why didn’t ya say so?” Angel reached out to take his phone back, and you handed it over. “I have most of ‘em on sinstagram, ‘cept for Smiles of course. Here.”

You looked over Angel’s head as he swiped through a photo reel, mostly candid shots of the overlords at parties, pointing out both the overlords themselves and any major lackeys. It was information with much greater worth than a few grams of toilet cocaine, and Angel was more than happy to talk as you pressed him on details.

“There’s this rumor that Carmilla and Zestial are an item but I don’t buy it. Friends, sure, but old Zee’s a queen if I ever saw one, and Carmine’s not the type ta keep that kinda thing a secret.”

Angel scrolled to the next picture. “And of course I don’t need ta tell you about the television guy,” he said. “Hey, you want some of this coke?”

You laughed, a small shake of your head. “Thanks though. I’ve got everything I want now.”

“You’ve got everything you want?” Angel rolled over, his expression suddenly sultry as he propped his chin up on his hands. “You sure about that, Stunt Double?”

You nodded. “Oh, you wouldn’t believe.”

Angel deflated. “Smiles must be some lay, huh.”

You grinned. “I’m not answering that.”

In truth, that morning, Alastor had given you what you really wanted. A target.

The sinner that Alastor had named was one of the new overlords who had risen in the power vacuum following the previous extermination, having previously been a minor gang boss in Zeezi’s territory. He was a horse demon, and at least if Alastor was being truthful, guilty of just about every cruelty one could imagine. Including, Alastor had stressed with particular emphasis, disrespect.

His name was Kennedy, also known as the Smoker Demon, and aside from a few grainy sinstagram snaps Angel had shown you, you had little other information to go on. But when you took Alastor’s place at the next overlord’s meeting, you would see him with your own two eyes.

Alastor had agreed that you should have a weapon to hand when you appeared in his place, and on the day of the overlord meeting he presented you with an elegant red-tipped black cane.

“It’s no microphone,” he said, a little cryptically- you had never seen him use a microphone save for the ancient one attached to the desk in his radio tower. “But I had it made with a little surprise inside.”

You twirled the cane, testing its balance in your hand, and pulling the handle you found it held a concealed blade.

A short blade; not a duelist’s sword but a knife, long enough to slit a throat or to puncture a heart through the ribcage. You beamed at Alastor, the excitement bubbling within you at the prospect of violence mirrored by your delight that he had anticipated your preferences so exactly.

“It’s perfect,” you told him, twirling it just to admire the balance again.

“Of course,” he demurred, the creases at the corners of his eyes telling you that he was soaking in your praise. “I can hardly expect you to perform with second rate equipment.”

He hovered about you like a mother hen as you put on his ragged tailcoat, brushing it flat across your shoulders with the palms of his hands, and tutting as he adjusted your bow tie. You half expected him to take out a pocket square and start cleaning your mouth as he fussed over you, adjusting a fold here, a button there. Finally, when you were attired to his liking, Alastor pushed his index fingers into the corners of your mouth and pulled up, not painfully, but enough to make you bare your teeth.

“You mustn’t forget your smile, now,” he said.

It wasn’t hard at all to grin at him, not with the euphoria that currently welled within you. It was a maniac’s grin you gave him, wide and wicked and infectious.

Vox had been wrong about how much the other two Vees would object to his actions. Velvette had been legitimately furious that he had overstepped his usual bounds into social media campaigns, had called him a bloody idiotic twat, and had set the notifications from all of the accounts she usually managed to automatically forward to him. The pings were constant and it gave him a godawful headache. Valentino, by contrast, had broken the television set in their shared quarters, then stalked off to do drugs somewhere.

This was how Vox drew the shit lot of being the one of the three of them to attend the overlord’s meeting. His abilities allowed him to traverse the city quickly through the powerlines, but given the delicate political situation of any meeting of powerful individuals, such flashy displays were frowned upon. Anything that made people jumpy was frowned upon.

As such, Vox sat in the back of his limo as it drove to the meeting place, glaring at the traffic and wincing every time a notification from Velvette’s shit came in. Fuck his fucking life. Apart from, perhaps, the small portion where he got to watch Alastor fuck his doppelganger, that bit of his life could stay.

Would Alastor be at the meeting? Probably not, Vox decided. He hadn’t attended one since his altercation with Adam last extermination.

There was a spring in your step as you walked the streets in your red finery, feeling the breeze in your hair, your cane tucked neatly under one arm. The winds of Hell carried with them the scents of polyurethane and sulfur, and every sinner you passed cowered from your gaze as you grinned. It was barely even an affectation, if you were being honest with yourself. You were loose on the streets with one weapon in your pocket and another under your arm, about to meet a man that you would hunt. Anyone would grin, given the circumstances.

The sensation of being watched prickled familiar on your neck, and you stopped, hand on the handle of your cane, ready to draw the hidden blade as you turned.

A demon taller than yourself stood before you, with black, chitinous skin and a large, plumed hat. “Alastor, hail and well met.”

“Zestial!” you said with a smile, immediately grateful for Angel Dust’s overlord rundown. “Good day to you too.”

He fell into step beside you, taller than you by some margin. You didn’t feel malice emanating from him, but that was hardly a guarantee of anything. Perhaps your instincts were off. But you were heading to the same locale, so giving him the slip was hardly an option. “How have you been?” you asked, keen to push the conversation in Zestial’s direction. Alastor hadn’t told you anything about his relationship with the overlord, so the less you said, the better.

“Alas, my troubles would seem to pale in comparison to thine,” said Zestial, and you cursed internally.

“My troubles?” You raised an eyebrow. “And what are my troubles?” You had a warm place to sleep and a boyfriend who hand-fed you breakfast- practically the high life.

“Rumor has it thou suffered a mortal wound,” said Zestial, his narrow eyes looking you up and down. “ And thy former protégé doth set his sights on the folly thou suffered for.”

It took you a second to realize he was talking about Vox and the hotel. The documentary crew and constant stream of influencers through the hotel was Vox’s doing. And the timing was too co-incidental for it to not be related to the hidden cameras in Alastor’s room. Alastor already suspected Lucifer as the culprit for that, though he had no proof save that Lucifer was one of the few people powerful enough to dare to fuck with him.

“My protégé,” you repeated, lending a little darkness to your tone. “Tell me, who in the hotel did he deal with?”

Zestial smiled, eerily. “That information hath value,” he said. “What dost thou propose in exchange?”

You paused to think, twirling your cane idly around your palm and wrist as the two of you walked. Offering future consideration was a shitty thing to do, doomed to piss off either Zestial or Alastor, depending on who got saddled with the debt. You could sell the overlord the information that you were a fake, assuming that he hadn’t already figured it out, but that would undermine your own usefulness as a double for Alastor. “It seems to me,” you said, a smile at Zestial. “That the window of usefulness of that information is rather short.”

“The identity of a traitor in thy camp-” said Zestial.

“Ah, but it is a rather small camp, is it not?” you asked, grateful for the time you’d spent giving museum tours with a transatlantic accent as you stuck as hard as you could to Alastor’s mannerisms rather than lapse into iambic pentameter. “Are you sure you’d rather keep hold of it in the hopes of a high price when I need only wait for the blasted picture box to gloat about their identity?”

Zestial hummed, but didn’t argue the point further.

“I’ll tell you what. How about an exchange in kind? I’ll tell you the recent gossip I know, and you can stop me if I tell you something you think meets your price.”

“An entertaining prospect,” said Zestial. “Pray continue.”

The conversation with Angel Dust was fresh in your mind, so you recounted what you judged to be of interest, skipping over both Rosie, who Alastor had indicated was his friend, and Vox, whose very mention made Alastor’s smile seem forced, as well as the figures closest to Zestial himself. You named the underbosses vying to work under Zeezi, talked about the sinner who had been stalking Valentino, along with a few other tidbits, and Zestial was a good audience, chuckling and curious in turn.

“Thou art an enigma as ever, Alastor,” he said, as you reached the venue for the meeting, and imposing red-brick building.

You grinned at him. “I suppose that means my little stories don’t pass muster?”

“Quite the contrary,” said Zestial, a slight inclination of his head. “I consider my price paid in full. The king of Hell himself paid a visit to overlord Vox in his domain.”

Vox fought hard not to glitch when Alastor walked into the meeting room. The infuriating grin on his face, the buzz of an electric field around him, the cane twirling idly around his wrist, ears up and alert. He might not have noticed the differences if he hadn’t seen the two of you together barely a week before, if Alastor hadn’t caught him out by being disguised as you. The differences were subtle, but they were there, in the shape of your antlers and the markings on your ears.

No. Not Alastor. You. Fuck.

What were you doing here? This was a room full of overlords; people who would eat an innocent, sweet creature like you right up without a second thought. Had Alastor sent you there to taunt him? To see what he would do? The new overlord, Kennedy, had been talking shit about the Radio Demon for weeks. Vox hadn’t seen reason to worry about it before now, but the rest of the overlords were smart enough not to take a run at the Radio Demon, or anyone they believed to be the Radio Demon.

You met his eyes as you took your seat, a small smile on your lips, and Vox resolved that he would save you from this den of monsters. You were still the sweet little Bambi he had led tottering across his bedroom floor, before Alastor had stolen you. You were probably scared out of your tiny little mind, he reasoned, putting on a smiling face out of fear, or even compelled by the soul contract Alastor doubtless had over you. The small scrunch at your brow told him you were deep in thought, probably trying to think of a way out of your situation.

You strolled to your chair at the overlord’s meeting, a friendly smile to the woman you recognized as Rosie as you pondered two things. First- had Zestial rumbled your disguise? If he had, he’d shown no sign of doing so, taking his own seat across the table from you without comment. Second- was it a terrible idea to blackmail the King of Hell? The few times you’d crossed paths he’d seemed to barely register you as a person, merely part of an amorphous blob labeled ‘staff’. It was entirely possible that he would obliterate you without a second thought. And, if you did blackmail him, what would you ask for?

“Hello, one and all!” you chirped as you swung into your chair. “Tales of my incapacitation are unfortunately exaggerated!”

“More’s the pity,” muttered Vox, and you raised your eyebrow at him. It was only a few days since he’d sat next to your bed and begged Alastor to let him jack himself off as Alastor fucked you. Surely his feelings hadn’t soured that much for lack of aftercare.

“I’m sorry,” you said, cocking an ear. “Could you speak up? Your audio dropped out a little there.”

Carmilla spread her arms as Vox opened his mouth to retort. “Since we’re all here,” she said, a scowl at both you and Vox. “We should begin.”

“Wait, you’re just gonna let that motherfucker waltz in here and take a seat at the table like nothing’s happened?”

You turned and looked curiously at the demon that Alastor had told you you could kill. The Smoker Demon was tall by sinner standards, but much like you he was dwarfed by the larger members of the overlord contingent. His face was long and equine, his teeth jagged like those of most sinners, and he wore his mane plastered to his head with gel, the humanoid portion of his body attired in business casual. He looked around, seeking agreement from the other overlords.

“What? Are you just gonna not talk about how all our problems right now are the Radio Demon’s fault? The war with Heaven? Anyone?”

War with Heaven? Well, that certainly hadn’t been on sinstagram. You scrunched your nose. “Was that on the agenda? I didn’t get the memo.”

“Fuck the agenda.” Kennedy stood, glowering, and you watched as his demonic form manifested. Smoke streamed from his nostrils, wrapping itself around his arms to become biceps, and a single serrated horn proceeded from his forehead. A fucking unicorn? You’d never seen anyone manifest in anger before, except in the sinstagram videos you’d watched whilst prisoner in Vox’s quarters. To your surprise you could feel it, a low thrum in your antlers, akin to the feeling of the hunt. But the hunt was already afoot.

“If you could save that activity for after the meeting?” you said, a grin and a tilt of your head as you stared Kennedy down. You could feel the pulse in your throat, the promise of violence in the air. You felt alive. “I certainly don’t want to watch that.”

Vox watched you with increasing concern as Kennedy stepped onto the table. You didn’t know how much danger you were in, and no-one else around the table gave a fuck. They knew that one mid-tier bisexual unicorn was well within Alastor’s capabilities.

Vox watched as you rolled your eyes, turning to Carmilla with a lopsided smile, even as Kennedy loomed behind you, completely unconcerned. “The use of deadly force is still banned at these soirées, correct? Or did standards decline in my absence?”

Okay, you weren’t just unconcerned. You had a suicidal disregard for your own wellbeing. He had to do something, before Kennedy turned you into an Alastor-colored smear on the floor.

“Sit the fuck down, fuckface,” growled Vox, putting full threat behind it. That worked- Kennedy was too young to properly know the terror of the Radio Demon, but he knew Vox had a bigger dick than he did. Reluctantly he backed down.

“Unusually civic minded of you,” you said, in a perfect facsimile of Alastor’s voice, and Vox rolled his eyes internally. You’re welcome.

You stared across the table at Vox on and off for the entirety of the overlord meeting.

He had cut your altercation with your quarry short. It had been a great opportunity to gauge Kennedy’s speed and strength, maybe set him entirely off-balance by getting him kicked out of the meeting, and Vox had ruined it. It made your fingernails itch, your smile almost painful to maintain. You breathed through your nose, calming yourself by settling your attention on Kennedy, who glowered balefully at you, a little smoke still rising from his nostrils. What had Alastor even done to him anyway? You’d have to ask once you got back to the hotel.

Vox lingered after the meeting. “Hey, uh, Alastor. A word?”

You inclined your head, remaining as the others filed out. You would rather have followed Kennedy, but part of you still felt bad for just chucking Vox out of your bedroom. What you weren’t prepared for was just how close Vox stood to you, his face close enough that you could feel the static from his screen.

“I can take you away from all of this, babydoll.” Vox’s voice was low, the sort of coaxing tone he’d used as he pushed your knees apart. Not the voice he’d use for the real Alastor.

You kept the smile that Alastor had asked you to wear regardless. “Is that a threat?”

“Fuck.” Vox pressed his knuckles to his forehead. “You can drop the act, alright. I know who you are.”

“Oh? And who is that?” You grinned, slow and toothy.

Vox was quiet. You’d never given Vox your name. You hadn’t even given Alastor your name, for all you’d spent each night trading inconsequential secrets with each other, your tongue in his mouth and his in yours.

“Well? Who am I?”

“That guy’s bad news, okay.” Vox changed the subject. “He’s dangerous. He could hurt you.”

Oh. Vox was still buying the ditz act from when he’d taken you in. The only thing he’d seen you do was fuck Alastor, so you supposed he couldn’t really be blamed for that, and that certainly explained the protectiveness, however inconvenient. You fluttered your eyelashes. “How dangerous, exactly?”

It was hard to contain your excitement as you returned to the hotel, neatly sidestepping splashes from acid rain puddles. You had fooled a room full of overlords into thinking you were Alastor, except for Vox, and Vox had given you some downright detailed information on the overlord that you were going to hunt.

And you had traded up from Angel Dust’s toilet cistern cocaine to the identity of the person who had put spy cameras in your room.

When you entered the hotel you were so light on your feet that you were almost dancing, and you caught Alastor by the waist as you swept past, pulling him with you.

“It went well, I take it?” he said, falling deftly into step with you, taking you by the hand and by the shoulder.

You grinned wide, blood hot in your veins. “Zestial either rumbled me or you’re friends with him now,” you said, and Alastor laughed.

Your effervescence faded gradually, but your blood stayed hot, your excitement buzzing behind your teeth even into the night.

You watched Alastor, primly attired in his pajamas in the bed next to you, as he opened his book to the page he had reached the previous night. This was the point in the evening where you would find a book of your own, or simply sit and think, but you were too restless for that now; your senses too keen and your body still thrumming with adrenaline. You reached out and put your hand on his stomach, fingers trailing over the thin fabric, feeling the warmth of his body through it.

Alastor gave a soft hum, and turned the page, though his eyes did flicker to you briefly, curious. You pressed your suit, pushing up the hem of his pajama shirt to expose a few inches of skin, and lowered your face to him, lips brushing the skin of his hip, his flank, and then up to his navel; all of the skin that you had bared.

You lifted your gaze as your lips found his bellybutton and found Alastor staring at you over the top of his book, his antlers perhaps an inch taller than they had been a moment before, and you felt his diaphragm shift as he breathed in.

“You’re certainly forward tonight,” said Alastor, a warm crackle to his voice. “Did you want something from me?”

You shook your head, playful. “Don’t put your book down on my account.”

The snort Alastor gave was so soft that you didn’t even hear it, simply felt it through your hand on his stomach. “I wasn’t planning on it, dear,” he said, lifting his book again with theatrical indifference. “This is a very interesting chapter.”

Sliding your hand down the strip of hair that extended below his navel and under the waistband of his pajama pants, you found he was already hard for you. Just feeling his cock hard in your hand sent a sympathetic surge to your own loins, and you squeezed his shaft in your hand as you eased his waistband down over it.

Alastor feigned insouciance, but you could see the color rising in his cheeks, and feel his growing hardness under your touch. There was a matching heat in your own cheeks too; up until now, Alastor had been the one to set the pace, centering your pleasure, but now you had him in your hands. It was a surrender of the thing he found most precious- control.

You pressed your face to his stomach and then his mons as you stroked his cock, burying your nose in the coarse hair there and breathing in. He smelled like Alastor; like musk and woodsmoke and formaldehyde, and you felt the shivering intake of breath that he gave as you pressed your cheek against the silky-soft skin of his shaft, kissing your way from the base of his cock to the tip. Alastor made a show of turning the page of his book, but when you lapped up the salty liquid beading at his tip with your tongue, he actually gasped, his free hand going to cover his mouth.

You looked at him, questioning, challenging, but Alastor used the few seconds reprieve to recover his composure.

True to form, Alastor did recover, his eyes losing a little of their glazed look. “I hope you plan to finish what you started,” he said, his gaze going back to his book. You waited for him to finish turning the page before you took the tip of his cock into your mouth, careful to curl your lips around the sharp edges of your teeth, and sucked as you pumped his shaft with your hand.

“Fuck,” whimpered Alastor, and the noise went direct to your core. His eyes were closed, his teeth digging into his smiling lip as you stroked the underside of his cock with your tongue, pressing the head of his cock first against the roof of your mouth, then against the back of your mouth as you took him further in, saliva dribbling from the imperfect seal of your lips all the while. “Love,” he whined, though you doubted it was a confession, more likely a reflexive cry, a sweet nothing in his throat.

Alastor put his book down, pages open on the bed, and reached for you. You took his hand, twining your claws with his as you moved your mouth over him, going from pressing the head of his cock to the roof of your mouth to as far back in your throat as you could get him, the deepest point leaving you with your nose pressed to hair wet with your saliva, and then back again. His reaction told you that you were doing well; the quickening of his breathing, the spasmodic jerks that his hips made when you took all of him in your mouth- not enough to make you choke but enough to make your eyes water- the way his fingers gripped yours, and best of all the noises he made. Each cry he made was sweet enough to be intoxicating; to make your cunt throb and your cock ache, and you were sure that if you had ever told him your name it would be on his lips right now, in between the profanities and the broken cajun french.

You crawled between his legs as he kicked his pants the rest of the way off, your free hand cradling his balls as you took him in your mouth again, and between ragged breaths he reached for your antlers, fingertips brushing the perfect, sensitive spots that only he knew, a single tentacle extending from his back and resting at the back of your knee. It was an offer of a good ending for the evening, one that would leave you fucked out and content, deeply asleep on top of him, and it was a lie to say that it wasn’t a tempting one.

But you had other plans; you were feeling bold tonight. Gently, you moved his hand from your antlers, lifting your mouth from his cock with a soft pop, and took a moment to appreciate him being a flushed, panting mess for you. You stroked the tentacle, taking it in your hand. “I want to deflower you,” you said, as evenly as you could manage. “Let me fuck you in the ass.”

Alastor paused, his eyes registering surprise but not disinterest, and you gave him a few seconds to think about it. “You are welcome to try,” he said, finally, and for anyone else you would have offered reassurance. That you wouldn’t hurt him, that he didn’t have to do it. But Alastor had already swallowed so much of his pride in acquiescing to your request that any offer of reprieve would just have him doubling down, so you simply took him at his word, reaching into the dresser for the lubricant. It was one of the preparations you had made for Vox’s visit, a tube from the supply usually kept in the cupboard under the hotel’s front desk, along with the toothpaste and other single-use toiletries.

“Must I do all the work?” Alastor asked, a little archness layered over the desire in his voice as you applied lube to his tentacle, your palm spreading it across the smooth black surface.

“I’m not enough of a sadist to open you with my fingers,” you replied, wiggling a sharp claw at him, and his face split in a silent laugh. His tentacle coiled over your lower back as you crouched between his legs again, twining round your forearm and leaving the first few inches in your hand. You could feel the tension in his body as you touched him again, tracing fingers over his hip as you licked his cock, slowly, from the base to the tip.

He was expecting it to hurt, you realized as you took his cock in your mouth again, feeling the tension in his stomach and in his thighs, held open for you. He was expecting it to hurt and he was letting you do it anyway. You breathed out through your nose as you sucked his cock, pushing the head up against your epiglottis with a tilt of your head, and felt for his entrance with the knuckle of your index finger, stroking the tight ring of muscle with a feather-light touch before guiding the tip of the tentacle to it and pushing it in, your hand around the tentacle controlling the depth. You kept the motion shallow and slow at first, letting the lube on the tentacle spread to his hole, your mouth on his cock slow and unhurried. His body lost a little of the tension as he realized that you weren’t about to bully your way in, and you used that slack to fuck his tentacle a little deeper into him, motion slow and measured to not damage him as he took the thicker section of the taper.

Alastor gave a debauched noise that went straight to the base of your cock, eyes fluttering closed, and you held him by the hip as you kept up the pressure, his tentacle squelching into him now through the generous amount of lube, your lips and tongue and throat up and down on his cock. You could probably slide yourself into him now, smooth and easy as anything, and the thought made you twitch, but you gave him the tentacle a little longer, enjoying the way his breathing hitched at the nadir of each stroke, the salty taste of him as his cock leaked precum.

When you lifted your lips from his cock, he was staring at you again, eyes blown and dark.

“I need your hips a little higher,” you said, reaching for one of the pillows, but Alastor rolled his eyes and extruded another tentacle from his back, curling it under him to raise him up. The view it gave you was pornographic; legs spread, cock hard and angry red at the tip, glistening with your spit, his own tentacle stretching out his hole, lubricant dribbling out around it.

You eased his tentacle out of him, the soft noises he made at the sensation making your whole form ache with desire. Freeing your own cock with a quick movement, you lined yourself up with him, letting the head of your cock kiss his entrance. The sensation made you shiver, the skin there hot and slick.

Alastor’s expression told you that taking him in this position rather than from behind had been the correct decision. His smile was still there, but his ears were flat against his skull, uncertainty in his eyes alongside desire. You paused, palms on his hips, thumbs on his waist.

You could feel your pulse beating in your throat and in your groin. You didn’t want to harm Alastor, didn’t want to upset him, not with him vulnerable beneath you like this. You cared about him. “We can stop if you want. Just say the word.”

Alastor gave a scoff deep in his throat and used the tentacle looped around your back to push you into him.

The feel of being inside him was enough to make you forget to breathe for a second; his intense warmth and tightness and slickness around your cock. You’d worked enough of his tentacle inside him that you’d slid in easily, and you found yourself falling forward a little as you bottomed out inside him, his cock pressing up against your stomach, a snail trail of wetness as his precum spread across your skin.

Alastor’s smile was indulgent as he watched you struggle for breath, and he raised his head to kiss your forehead. “Do I really feel that good?”

“So good,” you said, your voice low and frank and thick with static, and Alastor’s answer was a purr, a vacuum tube hum from the back of his throat.

“I feel the same, you know,” he said, attempting a conversational tone and failing, slipping into a tone lower in his register, cock twitching against your stomach. “Every time I’m inside you, all I can think about is spilling myself.”

That statement sent heat to your face, doing nothing to help you acclimatize to the exquisite feeling of him around you. You bit your lip as you willed yourself to stay hard for him, reminding yourself that if you came in him now he was unlikely to let you try again. And you couldn’t let that happen.

Fingers round his sharp hipbones, you rolled your hips, easing out of him before pushing yourself in to the hilt again. If he’d watched you indifferently it would have been easier to keep hold, but Alastor was already half-lost, thick distortion resounding in his throat and through the cavity of his thin chest. His hands were on your back, claws flexing, tearing fine parallel incisions in your skin, but somehow the pain only ripped a libidinous growl from your throat, serving as an accent to the pleasure you felt. Alastor’s heat was slick and searing and perfect around you, and you narrowed your focus to him, only him.

You watched his face- the subtle change in expression behind the smile that he doggedly held, the way his eyelids fluttered, the way his larynx bobbed when his breath caught. You listened to him- the way he moaned and cursed in turn as you rutted into him, and the ragged edge to his breath. You felt him- his hard cock pressed between the two of you, twitching every time you hit the correct angle with a downstroke, his claws in your back, and the exquisite constricting heat of his ass.

Alastor’s breath grew more ragged, his voice more distorted, and you grinned as you felt your victory draw near; Alastor filled and spent on your cock. Alastor gave a growl, a low thrum of power, and you were caught off-guard as a third tentacle from his back curved between your legs and slid frictionless into your soaking cunt. You had been ignoring the ache there, but now, with a tentacle squelching into you, it was painfully obvious how much you had needed to be filled.

With Alastor’s tentacle stretching you, its movement compelling your rhythm, your already tenuous grip on yourself slipped, the cusp of your orgasm threatening with every stroke. You were close, too close, but so was Alastor, and you fought to make him cum, angling your hips in the way that made him tremble even as he forced you to adhere to his beat, tentacle curling in you with mirrored cruelty.

You came together; both gasping, both twitching, Alastor into the palm of the hand that you shoved between you to catch his seed, and you inside him, hot and deep and quivering.

“Alastor,” you whimpered, your whole body seeming to twitch with your first aftershock.

“Darling,” breathed Alastor, with as much awe as you had ever heard in his voice. “Oh darling, don’t you move.”

Your stomach fluttered as you looked at him, and you realized, perhaps belatedly, that this was something like love. You licked his cum from the palm of your hand, then held yourself over him, careful not to put weight on his injury. The expression on his face was one of clear, perfect bliss, with you inside him and he inside you.

You could feel yourself softening inside him already, beginning to slip out of him, and he wrapped an arm round you, pulling you onto his chest, not seeming to care when you lay over his wound. The claw marks he’d made on your back stung with the pressure, but you found you didn’t care about that, either.

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #alastor smut #bottom alastor #antlerplay #hazbin x reader #alastor tentacles

[miirohs]

nightingale [m.v.s]

pairing: Mob Boss!Max Verstappen x Nurse!Reader wc: 1.7k cw: indications of ppd (not explicit but you'd have to read the lines for it), max is not the most mentally stable, abuse mentioned (not in detail) an: elle is 100% made up and if yall want more family content hmu i can do it 😝 also, the nightingale oath isn’t universally used, but essentially it’s almost the same thing as the Hippocratic oath doctors take :)

“She won’t stop crying!” Max snapped, frustratedly clutching the rails of the crib as the baby in it cried relentlessly, giving you a crazed look from the corner of his eye as you got closer. It was like dealing with a wounded animal that refused your help.

“Breath Max. Breath.” From the moment you had arrived at the Verstappen home, it had been walking on eggshells, anger fueling his every waking move from as far as three weeks as he prowled around the house.

“Godverdomme (goddamnit) Y/n, I know that! Why is she crying though?!”

You reached out a hand, stroking his back gently. You ought to be as angry as him for having you snatched off the streets but you couldn’t, not with the reveal of his child. You had the barest idea of what he might have been going through.

“I don’t know, I'm not… yeah.” The look in his eyes turned sharp and you closed your mouth, staring down at your hands.

“I’m leaving, I can’t do this right now. Don’t come after me or else.” He threatened, the anger on his face fading into a stoic look as he turned away from the child, one look you feared more than his explosive anger.

It wasn’t until he left the room, gun drawn in hand, that you could breathe again, nearly collapsing to the floor.

You turned around, weakly holding the rails. You could hear him barking at the guards from inside the room, fading into the distance as your anticipation slowly died down. You thought that maybe today, you were good as dead.

The baby’s fussing had died down long before you had finally noticed. You hesitated when looking at her, reaching in to pick her up gently.

“Hi Elle.”

All the baby did was look at you blankly, eyes still wet from the countless tears that’d been shed before Max left. She had his gorgeous blue eyes, but most likely her mothers soft face.

You knew he was a dangerous man, and now you supposed the baby knew as well, seeing the way she’d been crying before Max had finally left the room. It wasn’t an isolated incident as well, building up across many miniature incidents.

The most shocking part, though, was the fact you’d been told the biggest kingpin in the Netherlands had a child. You would’ve laughed in the face of the person telling you before, but now it felt realer than it had been for the last couple weeks.

You gently cradled the baby in your arm, rocking her lightly as you looked out the door ajar to the hall. You could hear the guard grumbling in discontent as they went about their business, yet none of the commotion had bothered Elle. 

She had finally fallen asleep in your arms, gripping onto your finger as you put her down, a strong sense of familiarity washing over you. 

You spent a good part of your time caring for children, as this was no different to you.

Letting go of the crib, you steeled your nerves to walk out the room, arms crossed in front of your protectively as you eyed the men in the hall.

One of the guards, Daniel, held you back gently by the shoulder, looking at you with curious eyes. This was probably one of the more rare times seeing you, it was like you’d never left the nursery from the moment you got here.

“You can’t-”

“He kidnapped me from my own home Daniel. I don’t think he has a right to keep me from going wherever I want in his house.” You snapped, surprised at how hoarse your voice seemed.

He didn’t fight you, simply nodding and slinking back to his spot because there wasn’t much he could do to convince you to stay. 

You could easily recall your steps to the kitchen, the heat in your feet dispelled by the cold tiles as you entered.

You didn’t know how long you were there, standing blankly at the sink as the water continued to fill up in the glass.

The glass was overfilling and you watched it, hands clenched into fists before you released them entirely, weight rolling off your shoulders.

The sound of a door slamming snapped you out of your stupor, turning off the sink and staring into the dimly illuminated living room.

Max came through the door, blood staining his shirt and face, dirt smudge across his nose and cheeks. He noticed you, a look of disparagement in his eyes as he got closer. Looking into his eyes, it really reminded you of Elle.

He ignored you as he limped into the kitchen, opening a cabinet with more gentleness than you’d seen in days.

“I thought I told you not to leave her alone?” He said, voice scratchy and low as if he’d been screaming. 

“She’s finally asleep.”

You responded. He didn’t bother to critize you again, popping open the bottle of whisky and pouring it into a glass. 

He limped back to the living room, settling into an armchair with his back to the cityline. He looked almost formidable as the harsh shadows cast lines on his face.

“You sure have a way of showing you care, Max.”

“I know you aren’t criticizing me now, schat.” He laughed humorlessly, sending down your spine.

“Oh yeah, because kidnapping someone to take care of your child really says you love them.” You snarked, eyes trailing to his sides. 

There were minor tears when you hadn’t seen his shirt before he left, heart beating loudly as you got a glimpse of his bloodied side as he pushed himself up.

“What happened to you?”

“What do you think happened?” He said, rolling his eyes as he lowered the glass from his lips.

“Well, this isn’t healthy. For you or Elle.” You said wearily, finger tracing the rim of the glass. “Have you ever considered therapy? It might-“

“No.” 

You blinked, surprised by his sudden refusal. “Why not?”

“I can’t. Do you know the kind of risk that poses?” He grumbled, clearly offended at you for suggesting so.

“Okay then, sure would’ve been better if you’d kidnapped a therapist rather than an underpaid nurse to do that job for you. Secrecy and all.” 

“That’s how you want to play then? I’ll give you the money, then leave this place and never come back, if you’re that desperate.” He gritted through clenched teeth, temper clearly being dialed up by the reminder.

“What? Absolutely not.” It was your turn to reject his offer, staring at him blankly. You didn’t know why that made you feel so upset.

“I’m offering you money and allowing you to leave, what more could you want, schat?” He scoffed, sharply putting down the whiskey glass as he held his head in the other hand.

“I can't just leave her like that, you know that as well as I do.” He remained silent, which you took as permission to get closer to him.

He didn’t protest as you leaned over, yet flinched slightly as you pulled his shirt up.

“Calm down, if I had any intention of hurting you, you’d know.” You rolled your eyes, turning up the light a little more so you could see the full extent of his wounds.

“I don’t think it’s necessary-“ 

You cut him off with a sharp inhale. The other miniature wounds stared back at you, barely cuts compared to the jagged scar that ran down his side. “When did this happen?” You whispered.

He slammed his glass down again and you flinched back, split seconds before you could look him in the eyes again. They were slightly sorrowful, but otherwise empty, where there had been every negative emotion a human could muster moments before.

“It was my dad.”

“Did he…” You didn’t finish the sentence, swallowing your doubts as you stared at it.

“Yes. It was in a fight. He won, obviously.” He answered, short and clipped as his posture dropped slightly. 

“Is this why you don’t want Elle? Because you don’t want her to go through-” You asked meekly, cut off almost instantly. “The old man is dead. I killed him myself, made sure he couldn’t lay a single hand on anyone else.” Max hissed, a few beats passing in between the both of you.

“Do you know anything about her mother maybe? I could probably pull together something if-”

“She’s dead.” 

You blinked, mouth gaping slightly.

“She was a prostitute. Most likely gone from all the drugs up her system by now. That’s why I needed you. Our old doctor… left his position early.” 

You watched him get up from his spot, clearly done with the conversation, but something about what he said seemed to strike a chord in you.

“So you brought me to make sure-“

“The baby wasn’t affected. You weren’t a doctor but you did just fine I suppose.” He finished, back to you and he poured himself another one.

“Max, do you know what a Nightingale oath is?”

“Een nacht wat (a night what)?” You continued on, though you had a feeling you knew what he said.

“It’s an oath some of us take. To protect and to serve.”

You got up, feet pattering against the ground as you got closer to him.

“I don’t think anyone really abides by it anymore-“ He let out a short laugh, clearly unbelieving of your words as you continued, “-but maybe, just maybe, that’s why I haven’t gone home just yet.”

“Are you sure you want this Y/n? When you could just as easily leave and go home now?” He muttered softly, hunched over the countertop as your hand met his back.

“I’m sure. You need the help Max. You can’t deny it.”

“Then so be it nachtegaal. I can’t stop you when you’ve made up your mind.” He murmured, steely blue eyes meeting your own as he held your gaze.

“Maybe, once you’re well enough, you can finally form some connection to the child.” You sighed, looking at him. “I promise it.”

“You’re very confident in this plan of yours.”

You smiled inwardly at his words. “Why else would I be here if I wasn’t?”

#f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x female reader #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #formula 1 fluff #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fic #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 x you #max verstappen x reader #mv1 x reader #mv1 imagine #mv1 fic #mv1 x you #mv1 #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #f1 mafia #mafia au #mafia f1 #mafia!f1 #f1!mafia #f1 mafia au #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fluff

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Part 3 - Oakmoss

Autumn Embers Masterlist

CW: Omegaverse scent-heavy flirting, food related flirting, Brandon (derogatory)

It’s three weeks later that Sergeant Garrick catches you walking out of your building at the end of the day. You’re more distracted than usual - trying to decipher a text from Jack about his upcoming heat - so you’re almost on top of him before you realize. His smile is genuine when you jump back from nearly stepping on his boot.

“Sorry!”

“No harm done,” he assures you. His hand comes forward. “Sergent Kyle Garrick.”

“We’ve met,” you point out, allowing a short, comfortable handshake.

His grin goes a little bit sheepish when he takes his hand back. “Well, I had to introduce myself better than Soap, at least. That’s MacTavish.”

“Ah,” you say. “Well… good to meet you.”

“The team wanted to thank you, for the information,” he continues. “It was very helpful. That Lawrence guy would have had us runnin’ in circles. We also, uh,” he shuffles his feet a bit, and looks away. “We didn’t want to overstep. By offering a gift before clearing it with you.”

Oh, he thinks he’s clever. You arch an eyebrow, “You want me to give your pack permission to give me gifts, Sergent Garrick?”

“I told them you’d catch on too fast,” he laughs.

At least he has the decency not to deny it. Here you had been tying yourself into knots about being too emotional in a meeting, and now a pretty man is asking permission for his pack to court you. Part of you is relieved. The last thing you need is more alphas pissed off at you, prowling around the base looking for a pissing contest.

Another part of you is annoyed.

You carefully regulate your breathing. “Yeah, I’m pretty good at catching these kinds of things by now. But you don’t have to thank me for doing my job.” You sidestep him and start walking toward the car park.

Sergent Garrick falls into step beside you. “I’ve offended you.”

You sigh. Of course he’d be sensitive to the way your scent changes. You practically scent burned him in a closed room. You step to the side of the walkway and turn to face him. “I’m sure you and your pack are wonderful, sergeant, but I’ve had a long day.”

His smile is charming. “Anything we can do to help?”

“Not approaching me with a courting offer at my workplace would be a good start,” you say, blandly. You watch his face muscles twitch through confusion, shock, and a tinge of horror before continuing. “While I’m flattered that you would tell your pack about me, I prefer to keep things professional on base. And I’m sure your team would prefer that as well. Have a nice night.”

“Wait,” He reaches out, but has the good sense not to touch you. “Would it be better, then, to maybe approach you off-base?”

Why do alphas think I’ll find you elsewhere is ever a good thing to imply? “Like how Sergeant MacTavish approached me at the bar?” He doesn’t seem to have anything to say to that. You take a step back, his confusion tickling your nose. “I’m not really interested in being the subject of whatever competitive thing you have going. Have a good night, Sergeant.”

By the time you get back to your car, you’re not mad anymore. Just tired. You climb into the drivers seat and tip your head back with a sigh. Garrick and MacTavish aren’t the first alphas to want to try taming the Wildfire, and they won’t be the last. But it still stings. For once, it’d be nice if someone saw you and thought you were pretty and interesting instead of just a challenge to conquer.

You let yourself have a few more seconds of self-pity before you strap in and start the car. You’ll give Jack a call, make plans for his heat, and leave the sergeants to do their thing.

The next day, when you get to your office, there’s a travel cup of hot coffee from your favorite coffee shop on the edge of your desk, along with a gift card and a note. You don’t really think much of it - coffee from Sherry as a reward for a job well done isn’t unheard of - but the the gift card for 25 pounds is a bit excessive. The unfamiliar handwriting on the note catches your eye.

Please accept this apology for yesterday.

It’s signed by Captain John Price. That’s… interesting. Speaks well to the cohesion of the 141 that Sergeant Garrick would let him know that he made you uncomfortable. Hopefully this means that neither of the sergeants will be dogging your steps. On the other hand, an almost perfect coffee made it to your office somehow. You’re still dealing with a bit of overbearing alpha bullshit. But apology bullshit is better than the alternative, so you settle in for your day.

By lunch, you’ve pushed the note to the back of your mind. When Sherry walks in, you expect a conversation about taking on Jerry’s workload with his upcoming parental leave. You don’t expect her to place a paper bag from the very fancy sandwich shop across town onto your desk. You can smell warm bread and something else in there.

“Special delivery,” she says. Before you can pull the bag close to poke around, she holds out a folded piece of paper. “Ah, ah! I was told to give you this first.”

“What? Sherry, let me… eat.”

Please accept this offer as a formal request to discuss an intention of courtship. Captain Johnathan Price Lieutenant Simon Riley Sergeant Kyle Garrick Sergeant Johnathan MacTavish

Each of the signatures is different. You look from the note to Sherry’s curious face and back down. You’re glad you have so much practice locking down your scent, because your emotions are all over the place. You flash her a quick smile as you refold the note and stick it under the edge of your keyboard.

“Thanks, I’ll take care of it.”

She nods, with a nervous smile of her own. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” you lie, hoping she doesn’t pick up on the spike of your scent as your heart races. “The 141 had a successful mission after that awful meeting with Brandon and that CIA agent.”

“Oh! Well that’s good,” she says with a sharp nod. She knocks twice on the edge of your desk before she turns to leave. “You always do good work. Least those boys could do is buy you lunch.”

Once she’s gone, you wait a few seconds, then get up to quietly close your door. And then you eye the fancy paper bag on your desk like it’s a bomb. You circle back to pick up the note, read it, fold it, open it to read again.

You snap a picture and send it to the group chat. Then snap a picture of the gifts and note from this morning. You re-re-re-read the second note again.

When you phone rings, you pick up without looking. “What do I do?”

Jack wails into your ear. “Bitch, what do you MEAN what do you do?”

“Do I open it?”

“Open what?”

You snap a picture of the stamped bag sitting on the edge of your desk and send it to the chat. “They sent this with-”

Chrissy’s icy voice startles you. “If you don’t show me what’s in that bag right now I will scream.”

“What if opening it is accepting it?” When the phone chirps in your ear, you hiss, “I can’t do a video call, I’m in my office.”

“Quit stalling,” Chrissy snaps. “Open the bag.”

You pull it closer, then pause. “Should we wait for Mel?”

“NOW,” Jack bellows.

“I’m also at work,” Mel’s says, steady and unbothered. “So please stop yelling.”

The bag crinkles a bit when you pull it closer, silencing everyone. You’re not sure why you’re holding your breath, but it comes out in a little huff of disappointment when you look inside and the first thing you see is napkins.

“Okay,” you whisper, as you start pulling things out. The first food item you find is a roll. “We have… bread, still warm. A half of a sandwich - ooh! The goat cheese and pear one. A half salad,” you squint through the translucent lid. “It looks like it has berries. Oh, it looks like there’s a soup in here, too, nice. And the utensils. And…”

When you don’t say anything else, Jack prompts you. “And?”

“There’s a, uh,” you cover your eyes as your face flushes. “It’s a cake.”

The silence is deafening. You make yourself peek into the unassuming box, and the four-inch, round cake positively dripping with what smells like orange syrup, spices, and the faintest hint of alcohol. Your face gets even hotter when you connect the dots and realize the cardamom you’re smelling reminds you of Sergeant Garrick.

It’s Mel who breaks the silence, clearing their throat before asking, “Did they get you a custom cake from the Trinity Rose?”

You can’t make yourself say anything, so you take a picture of it for the group chat. Then a couple more at different angles, because the curl of orange and peel on top looks like something out of a movie. You hear when the photos load, each of your friends sucking in a quiet breath. Chrissy must mute her mic, because the background noise drops significantly.

“Someone please say something,” you whisper.

Jack says, “Holy shit.”

“What does it smell like?” Mel asks, cutting to the chase. “Is it good?”

“It smells so good,” you admit. “Like… ridiculously good.”

Chrissy comes back on the line, sounding a little breathless. “They apologized with coffee this morning?”

“Yeah-”

“So this wasn’t part of the apology,” she continues. “Guys, this is. This is a legit courtship thing.”

“The website says they offer courtship packages,” Mel confirms. “It’s pretty cute, a subscription service for lunch. But it doesn’t actually include a cake.”

“There’s gotta be at least a two week wait on something like this.” You say it as soon as you realize it. Embarrassment flashes hot and cold down your entire body and you have to cover your face. “Oh gods, this had to be planned in advance.”

Chrissy hisses, “The bakery at the Trinity Rose is award winning. Of course this was planned in advance.”

“Wait, are they all in a pack?” Jack yelps. “All four of them? And they’re all alphas? There has to be more to the pack than that, right?”

Mel makes a disagreeing sound. “If there were more, they’d have signed. This is a very formal pre-courtship gift. Well. Mostly formal.”

You have to resist chewing on your lip. “Should I eat it?”

“No reason to waste a perfectly nice lunch,” they point out. Jack and Chrissy make agreeing noises. “But I’d probably wait to eat the cake until you get home.”

“So I can think about it?”

“What? No. You’ve already decided to hear them out,” Mel dismisses. “I just wouldn’t eat a sex cake at work.”

That startles a squawking laugh out of you. “It’s not a sex cake!”

“Oh, so they got a custom syrup cake that matches your scent as a platonic gesture?” Chrissy challenges.

“…There’s a little bit of cardamom,” you admit. “That’s Sergeant Garrick’s scent.”

“It’s a sex cake,” Mel confirms over the train whistle noise Chrissy makes before she can mute herself again. “When Garrick shows up to escort you to your car this evening, maybe don’t chew his head off.”

“Oh no,” you groan. Your head thumps against your arm as you throw yourself down onto the desk. “He was trying to ask for permission to court me and I was a complete bitch to him.”

You deserve the laughter of your best friends for that. But eventually, you rally. If you’re actually going to enjoy your lunch, you have to start eating now or you’ll have to eat and work later. You start with the sandwich and mute your mic as you take a huge bite. By unspoken agreement, the conversation shifts to the weekend and Jack’s heat, then Chrissy’s client who insists on in person meetings three days before her heat. Mel lets you all ramble for a good twenty minutes before ushering everyone off the phone since Jack is the only one who doesn’t have deadlines and scheduled clients.

Which leaves you staring at the cake.

Your eyes dart to the still closed door of your office, then back. You’re too full of good food to eat a whole cake, but… a bite couldn’t hurt. And while the gift is definitely a little… suggestive… it’s not actually a sex cake. Just a bit... decadent. Sherry’s husband sends her flowers that match their pack’s scents. That’s basically the same thing.

Right?

Before you can second guess yourself, you scoop a bite into your mouth.

The taste that bursts over your tongue makes you moan out loud. You definitely should have waited until you got home. The cake is so rich, cut by the orange and whiskey in a way that almost demands a second bite. There’s something indescribable teasing the back of your palate, hidden by cardamom and the hint of something - raspberry? - but so distinctly there. When you try to focus on it, you keep coming back to a smokiness that can’t be anything but the alcohol.

Before you know it, you’ve eaten a quarter of the little cake. Your stomach feels warm, and you admit to yourself that it’s probably not a good idea to keep consuming alcohol at work. So you close the little box and lick the fork while you log back into your computer one handed. Your lips are sticky. Even after you use your thumb to help clean them off you’re so aware of them.

You catch yourself pursing and rolling your lips through the rest of your day. You can’t resist taking another bite every now and then. Every time, you remember Mel calling it a sex cake and wonder if Captain Price thought about this when placed the order. You remember the way Lieutenant Riley’s eyes had slid down your body. Had he known he wanted to send you this cake then? Did Sergeant MacTavish imagine you licking your fork when he signed the note? Was Sergeant Garrick thinking about this moment when he saw you yesterday?

When the day ends, you send a picture of the cake with more than a third missing to the group chat as you log out. I fucked up, it’s a sex cake.

Beta Daddy: Told you.

Best Bitch: WHAT DOES IT TASTE LIKE

Barbie: drinks at mel and jax tonite

You: :thumbsup:

You: genuinely no idea how to describe, i’ll try tonight

You’re nervous, closing up shop for the evening. Would Sergeant Garrick be waiting for you again? Or will your hyper-independence come back to bite you? You hope someone will be there to walk you, and the possibility of that not being the case cools you. And then you look back at the box of cake in your hands and flush hot. Maybe it’s better that you don’t run into anyone after an entire afternoon of rubbing your lips and thinking of the 141.

You’re shocked out of your musings just before you can exit the building by Brandon of all people calling your name. With a groan, you’re dropped back to reality. You at least let yourself step outside for some fresh air before he can reach you.

“Sherry said the 141 had a question for you. What was it?” Not even a hello. Typical. Thanks a lot, Sherry.

Luckily, you have a lie prepared. “Just another question about Cloudstone.”

“What question?” He steps closer, trying to use his height to intimidate. “I’m the point of contact, they should be speaking to me directly.”

“Hm. Maybe should’ve reached out to you,” Lieutenant Riley’s voice says from behind your right shoulder. “Got a lo’ of info on alpha enhancements, then?”

Brandon’s shocked, offended scent almost drowns out the Lieutenant’s. Almost. You tilt your head before you realize you’re doing it, and catch that hint of something that you’ve been chasing all afternoon, earthy and intriguing. Your mouth waters. You barely stop yourself from biting your lip and tune back into the conversation.

“I wasn’t able to give them an answer today,” you butt in, before Brandon can get too worked up. “I’ll CC you on the email when I have everything.”

“Fine,” Brandon says, glaring daggers at the Lieutenant.

And then the three of you just… stand there.

Behind you, Lieutenant Riley smells amused. “Dismissed.”

Brandon gapes at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re dismissed. Unless you have more to add on the subject.”

Being caught between clashing alphas is not how you thought today would end. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see people look at Lieutenant Riley, then at Brandon, and then visibly decide to wait to exit the building. When you start to inch away, the lieutenant touches just beneath your left shoulder blade with the tips of his fingers. You freeze with a sharp inhale. Brandon looks between the two of you. Then his face settles into a sneer.

“Think hard about what you say next,” Lieutenant Riley ways with almost no inflection. Brandon’s face freezes and goes a little pale. You remember, suddenly, that the man at your back is also called the Ghost. “Because challenging me won’t go well for you. Walk away under your own power.”

The resonance of his voice combines with the way his scent teases your olfactory nerves and sends a shiver through you. You’re suddenly aware of the warmth that’s been building behind your bellybutton all afternoon. You don’t hear the next thing Brandon says. He’s too focused on his own offense to notice your distraction, thank the gods, but -

One of the fingers at your back taps you gently, once, twice. And then you feel the gentlest scrape of a fingernail against your shirt.

“I have to go,” you squeak, taking a step toward the parking lot. To Brandon, you say “I will make sure I email you first thing in the morning.”

You can see Brandon’s jaw working, but no matter how irritated he is, he’s outmatched and he knows it. After a moment, he answers. “See that you do.”

“’Ll walk you,” Lieutenant Riley intones. “Wanna make sure I understand the answer to the Captain’s question.” He turns his back to Brandon and gestures for you to continue walking.

A part of you wants to see what will happen if Brandon answers the obvious insult. It’s not hard to imagine the crunch of his body hitting the pavement, the way the Ghost might growl down and force him to yield. Another, loud part of you needs to not get this wet standing right outside of your office. So you hustle away and try to cool yourself down.

Of course, the Lieutenant is right beside you. You chance a glance up - he’s so tall! - at his face, covered today by a black surgical mask. His brown eyes catch yours and crinkle at the edges as he smiles, but he doesn’t say anything. Just keeps walking with you until you’re standing next to your car.

“Sorry,” he says, looking across the car park. “Weren’t my intention to cause trouble.”

“No,” you say, fidgeting with the edge of your jacket and looking at your keys in your hand. “It’s not your fault, I, um, I told my coworker that lunch was work-related. I guess she told Brandon.”

He nods. “Tha’s fair. Should I tell the Cap’n that lunch was work-related?”

When you look back up, he’s already gazing back at you. There’s just enough light to see his eyes darken as he tips his head up just a bit. He’s scenting you, his effect on you. You feel your face get hot as you look away from him again.

He gives an amused-sounding huff. “Need time to think about it?”

Do you? “No, I… I would be open to discussing an intention of courtship.”

Lieutenant Riley purrs. It’s deep and gravely, but unmistakable for anything else. The sound startles you into meeting his eyes. This time, he holds your gaze and takes a step forward, then another when you back up until you bump into your car. He doesn’t come any closer, but his eyes say that he wants to.

“Skipper wants to meet somewhere open,” he says. “The Spice Garden has a nice outdoor space, if you’re free Saturday.”

You almost say yes, but catch yourself. “I… have to help my friend through his heat this weekend.”

He nods his head, never breaking eye contact. “Next week, then.”

You do a quick calculation in your head. “I can be free tomorrow evening by… seven, as long as things aren’t too… formal.”

“Won’t be formal,” he assures you. “Cap insisted on a gift and formal invitation, but we don’t stand too much on ceremony. Bit unconventional, far as packs go.”

You nod, too fast. “Okay. I… does tomorrow work?”

“If you wanted us tonight, you could have us,” he answers, eyes crinkling again. He takes a step back, looking at the box in your hand, then back into your eyes. “Tomorrow then. Enjoy the cake.”

#dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction #poly 141 #omegaverse #autumn embers verse #manic pixie dream ghost

[k1ngpin42]

This one's actually wild- Ghoul x Reader Fic

𝔾𝕣𝕚𝕥 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕖 (𝔹𝕪 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤 𝕋𝕣𝕦𝕝𝕪)

WARNINGS: Part 1 of 2 (Part 2 has all the smut but read this first u won't regret it :) (unless u do)

You have been travelling for weeks. Taking meaningless jobs for people for not enough caps and spending them on drinks and a spot of food every now and then. You promised yourself you wouldn’t end up like this. That you’d use your skills in craftsmanship and explosives to help those big organisations clean up the helpless towns you’re always coming across. 

You took a seat on a rusted bench in the center of town, next to some skinny, middle aged man. You eye the synth bartender who has been scrubbing the same mug since you got here. 

“Do you have vodka?” You ask it, and it reaches down, picking up a dusty bottle filled with clear liquid. You nod. 

“Good, how much?” The synth replies in inaudible dialogue and the man besides you smiles.

“He says, 35 caps.”

“For one drink? Pretty steep….” 

“It’s the good stuff.” The man tries. You glare at him.

“‘Good stuff’ huh? It’s got a layer of dust….”

‘It’s…aged.” The man returns with a smile. You roll your eyes. 

“Fine, here.” You say, pouring a small bag of caps into the robots hand. 

He pours you it and you drink it straight without flinching. The man watches you intently. 

“Tough day?”

“Tough life.” You reply, grimly. He nods.

“I hear that.” You nod back, thankful that that unneeded conversation in your life had concluded itself.  “I’m not having the best day myself.” You sigh, having just jinxed yourself. 

“Really?” You ask, acting mildly interested. 

“The group I run with, we protect this town but we’ve been having a time of it lately. This one guy we’re after is relentless. In fact, he’s not even a man he’s a fucking ghoul, and a horrific one at that.”

“Feral?” You question, tapping on the side of your glass to indicate another drink. The robot looks at you, unimpressed. Or at least that’s how you depicted it’s synthetic, lifeless face. You sigh, placing another bag of caps into its hand and getting another swift poor in result.

“No, but he’s the worst type there is. He’ll take out anyone who gets in his way by force.” You tilt your head in confusion. 

“Wait, you’re after a man-“

“Ghoul.” Corrects the man. You sigh at the unneeded correction.

“Ghoul, because he got some people killed in a crossfire? That’s kinda how life is, law-lover.”

 “A man he had conducted business with hadn’t delivered his end of the bargain, and he fed his son to him in soup.” You smirk, surprised. 

“Sheesh. Hardco-“ You return your face to a neutral expression when you notice his look of outrage. You clear your throat.

“How do I find him?” His eyes widen.

“Y- You’re offering?” You roll your eyes.

“No, I said it for shit’s and giggles. There’s a reward I take it?”

“Oh a handsome one- but I’d need proof before the payment can be delivered.” You continue glaring at him.

“I know how a fucking bounty works, Mr…?”

“Flint.”

“Your last name is fli - you know what I don’t care. What’s the reward?”

“1000 caps.”  Your ears perk at this, a warm smile coming to your face. 

“I want 200 now. I need money for my weapons and such.”

“200…”

“If you can’t even cough up 200 how am I meant to believe you’ve got 1000?”

“Fine, here.” He pulls out the caps. “And a drink, on me.” He tells the robot. It nods and you let out an annoyed sigh.

“Knew that fucker could understand English. Why are you trusting me anyway? You don’t even know me.”

“I do, actually. Beautiful young woman in road leathers with a big bag on her back. I take it filled with explosives?” You eye him cautiously. 

“How do you know me?”

“It’s my job to maintain connections in other settlements. I’ve heard you help the odd person with your unique explosives. You build traps, turrets, dirty bombs and such. I trust them, and even if you do just run away with my caps, better than having no hope at all.” You sigh.

“That’s stupid. But I’ll get you your ghoul.”

Even with your advanced tracking skills, the ghoul wasn’t hard to find. He wasn’t exactly subtle, and when he walks in everyone turns, eying him like he’s nothing. He was more handsome than you expected, and to be fair, you hadn’t expected him to be attractive at all. This man wasn’t like any ghoul you had encountered. He looked more put together, and he had a cowboy hat like he had just stepped out of a fucking movie. 

“I’m looking for Adam.” He yells, and you notice the shotgun doing tricks in his hand. 

“To anyone who tries to stop me, I hope today is a good day to die. Although, I suppose it’s as good a day as any…” His accent was unexpected to you. It was deep and real pretty. You wondered why he was the way he was. You always wondered about ghouls, but had never met one you could exchange a sentence with before you had to blow them limb from limb in self defence. 

The bombs were already in place, set to detonate when he got into a certain building. It was made with a fluid ghouls were particularly prone to, and not even a ghoul can survive being transformed into pink mist. Now all you had to do was lure him up there. You had gone with Mr flint from earlier, and were now using him as a cover story. 

“You cock-sucking bastard! I know you took my sister.” He goes along with your story. 

“Took her? She wanted to go.”

“Anyone could want to do anything when their blood is pumped with jet you fuck.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about”

“I know you took her, and I have proof-“

“Oh yeah?” He asks, grabbing you and putting your body against his, running his hands along yours.

“What if I did take her? You wanna join, hm?” The ghoul tilts his head, watching this unfold in the distance. You grab the mans arm and twist it backwards, making him scurry away from the floor. The ghoul smiles.

“Well, well. What do we have here?” He asks, stalking over to you and putting the cold, cracked skin of one of his hands upon yours, kissing your body with goosebumps in consequence.  Flint scurries off to the ambush location, leaving you alone with the ghoul. If there were any others in the town, they certainly weren’t making an appearance with him around. 

“Please don’t hurt me.” You pretend to cry, and he lets out an uninterested groan. 

“I’m not even here for you I-“ He looks at you a little longer and something in his cold eyes change. 

“Fine, what happened, anyway? This man messed with your sister or something?” “He took her, I know he did!”

“Just calm down sweetheart.” He says, putting his hand on your arm. 

“Any idea where?”  You nod, positively surprised that the ghoul fell for the bait. You had heard he had a soft spot when it came to women, children, animals, that sort of thing, at least in certain scenarios, if he cared enough. 

“Yes…that building over there.” You say, pointing at one of the higher buildings. He nods.

“Well….I gotta take care of some business first. You right to stick around? I’m always happy to helps when insects…” He shoots his shotgun from his hip, killing a roach you hadn’t heard approaching. “Needs crushing.” He adds. You tense up a little. The plan was to get him to that building as soon as possible, if anything else triggered the explosion the ghoul would know you had planned to take him out and would likely respond in ways that wouldn’t leave you in one piece. The ghoul becomes more wary at your reaction.

“Everything…alright?” He questions, taking a step away from you. You nod.

“Just…worried about my sister. But I guess I have no idea what’s in that building…I’d probably be dead if it’s filled with giant mutants or gunners or something…” He just stares at you, unimpressed. 

“What makes you think your sister survived then?” You hesitate, maybe you should have expanded your backstory a little before you got here…

“Well…she’s much more equipped at self defence…”

“If that was the case she probably wouldn’t be trapped in a building, now would she?” The unbearable silence is cut short by a machine turret firing at the ghoul. You step back, shocked.  He tilts his head, taking it out with a single shot, along with 4 men who had been aiming at him.

“You know, it’s not nice being interrupted.” He exclaims, storming into the building. You follow him, hiding behind a nearby counter. 

“Adam owed me chems…information….ammo…” The ghoul explains to some scared folk, slowly. 

“We had a good thing going, until he ran away with the caps. At least…he thought he could run away, but a little birdie told me he just had to stop by his hometown and visit his family before he left isn’t that sweet?” He asked, grabbing a woman and putting her into a headlock, aiming his shotgun at the other man. The woman lets out a frightened sound and he puts his hand over her mouth.

“Shh, it’s okay darlin, I’d never hurt an innocent woman.” 

The situation is so tense you’re not sure whether or not you’ve let out a breath since you first saw him.

“However, Adam is your son, and as his mother of course you’d never sell him out or…put him in harms way, but what situation does that put me in gorgeous? M’ I supposed to let an accomplice of a scammer go?”

“Please…I didn’t know, I promise-“ She muffles into his hand. He shakes his head.

“It’s no problem, really….” He mocks, letting her go. 

“Bring me Adam, or the next time you see him will be only his head. Or maybe an arm…or leg, some part of him anyway-“

“You’re sick!” The man besides him spits. The woman doesn’t say anything for a while and the man looks at her in shock.

“Honey, you’re not seriously gonna-“

“He’s upstairs.” She says. The ghoul smirks in a way that sends foreign feelings to areas of your body it probably shouldn’t be sending to, but you try to ignore it as you watch the rest of the situation unfold. 

When you head up there, Adam makes eye contact with you from your hiding spot, grabbing you and putting a gun to your head. You let out a sharp breath. The ghoul rolls his eyes.

“Oh jeez- you can’t just stay out of my way hm?” The ghoul asks you. Your hands are up and you feel helpless. In any other situation, you would have the element of surprise and could take him out with your knife, but you knew if you tried anything, either Adam or the ghoul himself would have your head. You open your mouth to say something. An apology, a plea, anything, but instead you close your eyes, accepting the very real reality that this could be the place you die, the shit hole where some boy too foolish not to know double crossing Cooper Howard was a death sentence, lived. He sighs.

“Let the girl go.” He says, nonchalantly. 

“If…if you leave my family alone, I will.” Adam begs, weakly. Cooper rolls his eyes.

“Your family did the commonwealth an injustice through trying to help your sorry ass. You think I’m going to give free passes to every bum I meet? I could put a bullet right between your eyes right now, and you wouldn’t even have the power to beg me not to.” The ghouls words make Adam sweat even more. 

“If you do that your girlfriend will be dead.” Adam says, and you let out a shaky breath. As if the ghoul would give two shits if you were alive or not. And why would he? Even if you weren’t lying to his face right now, and you actually did have a sister who did in fact need saving, why would that be any of his business. So when the words, “Fine, you have my word.” Leave his mouth, you’ve never been more shocked. 

“I- how can I trust you?” Adam questions. The ghoul groans. 

“Adam, Adam….you speakin of trust after stealing my caps? That’s brave. And real fuckin stupid.”

“D-drop your gun. And I’ll let her go.”

“You really think I care if this smooth skin girl I barely know lives or dies?” Cooper asks, and you sigh. There it is. The ghoul signing your inevitable death warrant. This is what you get for trying to help the commonwealth, you supposed. He shrugs, cocking the gun. This causes Cooper to drop his own, immediately. 

“I’m really starting to dislike you Adam. Give me the girl.” Demands the ghoul, and you can tell Adam was equally as surprised as you are. He hesitantly lets you go, not wanting to cause more bloodshed than needed either. You let out a breath, falling from Adams tight grasp and into the ghouls arms. You quickly push yourself off of him, straightening yourself up and apologising tremendously. He sighs. 

“Don’t fucking mention it. Let’s leave this prick. I believe we have a sister to save.”

“You’re just going to leave him here?” You ask him, softly. He rolls his eyes.

“Unlike some people, I keep my word when I give it.” He doesn’t say anything else before darting straight past you and to the exit of the house.

“Sorry for disturbing you, ma’am.” He tells Adams mum before leaving. 

He still hasn’t said anything, bolting towards the tall building where Mr flint and a room of explosives was awaiting him. You stop walking, partly because you believe if you do not, you would run out breath and surely die to a lack of oxygen, but also partly because you couldn’t stand anymore silence. He saved you, someone he didn’t know, and was now helping you further. He was a harsh being, you weren’t blind to that, but the thought of sending the ghoul to his death right now wasn’t a thought you found very welcoming. He notices you have stopped and gives you a confused and unimpressed glance. 

“You don’t seem to be in much of a rush to save your sister from these ‘giant mutants’ you’re so afraid of seeing.” He exclaims, not looking at you. You shrug, eyeing only the ground at this point.

“I guess I’m a little shaken. Never been held at gunpoint before. Had guns pointed at me, many a time but- well it isn’t quite the same. And then you saved me so I- well I guess my thoughts are elsewhere.” You admit in one clutter of words. He nods. 

“I…guess that’s understandable.” He replies, coldly. You nod, continuing to walk now but at a more reasonable pace.

“Why didn’t you shoot him?” Cooper glares at you, then back at the empty land ahead.

“I told you. I gave my word.” You sigh at his answer.

“Yes, but why…surely I ain’t worth saving. I’m nothing to you.” He laughs at your comment. 

“Spoken like someone who has lots to live for.” He remarks, sarcastically. You can’t help but smile at this.

“I suppose that was a little dull, I just meant….I’ve met ghouls before and they all tried to eat me.” You confess, and he laughs the most gorgeous laugh you’ve ever heard. 

“Well, we ghouls can be unpredictable. I still may eat you yet.” He teases, and you can’t help but put this into a different context in your own mind.

——————————————————————————————————

As you two get up to the building, your heart is racing. All of a sudden your mind is foggy, you feel nauseous. This whole thing is a bad idea. This man-ghoul….who knew at this point, had only been in your life a few hours and already saved you twice, spared an entire family and was now about to be sent to your death for what? 1000 caps? Flint could kill him if he must, you were not taking a part of it. The ghoul hadn’t just saved you either. He was attractive, kind enough, and brought a type of adventure and heat that you thought had turned to ash like the rest of the world. 

“Well, no ‘gunners or something’ yet.” The ghoul remarks. You nod. 

“Uh, wait here a moment, I’m gonna check this room.”

“Okay, but look out for traps.” He says. You smile at this.

“You worried about me?” He shakes his head.

“I’m worried you’re gonna do something dumb and set off a series of explosions that will get us both killed, but whatever floats your boat sweetheart.” Sweetheart. The nickname repeats itself in your head as you question why it makes your stomach churn in the best way possible. You hurry into the room and see Flint.

“Amazing work at getting him here, which room has the explosives?” He asks, eagerly. You bring your hand to the back of your neck anxiously. 

“About that…what if we just forgot the ghoul? I mean he didn’t harm that family even though they were the ones who had robbed him so-“ “I will NOT hear of this!” Flint exclaims. “He is a mutant, a terrible reminder of the fuckups people from his time have made. Bring him to me, I’ll kill him myself.” You’re stunned by Flint’s aggression to you, especially after it was your life on the line. He can walk away from this with an injured hand and you walk away knowing you were almost a corpse on Adams floor? This man was seriously starting to get to you. 

You couldn’t believe what you were about to do. It had never occurred to you that you would stoop this low, but after all the shit you had been through in your life, this was the one asshole to push you over the edge. To make you do and say shit past you wouldn’t have been able to fathom like….

“He’s in the room on the third floor. The passage on the right should take you there.” You explain. Only that room would have no ghoul, and rather all the explosives instead.

“Good. Are you coming?” He asks. You shake your head.

“Fine, but I’m keeping the caps then.” He declares. You nod. What a prick…. 

——————————————————————————————————

You quickly run to the ghoul, grabbing him by the hands.

“We need to go.” You exclaim, pulling him. He looks at you, confused.

“You found your sister?” He asks. 

“What? Oh- yeah…come on.” You say, and thankfully he follows. You hear a booming explosion behind you and you shut your eyes tight. Cooper looks at you, bewildered.

“Care to explain to me what the fuck that was?” He demands. You stare down at the ground. 

“How…about I tell you over a drink?"

#fallout #fallout tv series #fallout 4 #fallout 4 inspo #cooper howard #the ghoul #smut #the ghoul smut #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you

[rambleonwaywardson]

Sleepless

A Clegan (Buck x Bucky) one-shot

Summary: Buck and Bucky both struggle with nightmares after the war, but they help each other cope.

Word Count: 2380

Author's note: some hurt/comfort for you all with some fluff at the end. As before, I'm posting here for now, and if I manage to build up a small collection of Clegan drabbles I'll see about putting them on AO3.

--

Bucky can’t sleep. But he could sit and watch Gale sleep for hours. 

They’ve been doing okay, since the war. They’ve had good days and bad days. Good nights and worse nights. Over time, something in both of their minds is slowly, slowly beginning to heal, and the frequency of worse is steadily decreasing. Bucky is proud to say that he can, on average, probably sleep through the night almost every day of the week now. It’s taking time, but he’s getting there. He thinks to himself that he should start keeping track: “nights since last nightmare that made me afraid to close my eyes again…”

Zero.

Tonight, unfortunately, had fallen into the worse category. 

Sometimes, when he wakes up, he can’t even remember what he’d been dreaming about. Sometimes, he isn’t sure that he had a dream at all. Just a feeling, an unease, a fear. Something that grips his mind and soul and just refuses to let go, no matter how hard he tries to shake it off. Funny how in war, in a bomber plane under attack, in a POW camp, in a near-death experience, he didn’t notice the fear so much. It was there, sure; he felt it creeping around in the back of his brain almost every second. But it was rarely all-consuming, and he did his best to push it away. He had to keep going, after all. Had to survive, had to find Gale, had to look after his men, had to make it home. There wasn’t time to let the fear drown him. There wasn’t time to truly think about how terrible, how harrowing, his experiences were in the moment. For the most part, he just had to keep going.

Now, in the aftermath, the fear pops up seemingly out of nowhere and makes him feel sick. He finds that unfair. He’d made it. He beat all of the unbeatable odds and survived. He’d found his way home, made it back to Gale. He isn’t dead no matter how hard the world has tried to do him in. And this is what he gets: he gets to remember it all in clearer detail than he experienced it when it actually happened. He gets to be haunted by it.

He made it home, but part of him is still at war.

Sitting cross-legged on their bed in sweatpants and no shirt, Bucky rests his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand. He takes a deep breath. It’s fucking unfair, but at least it’s getting better. At least this is only his first sleepless night in about a week. We can’t win all the time, huh?

Exhausted but unable, unwilling, to close his eyes again, he watches Gale in the dim light of the bedside lamp. It’s fucking unfair, but at least he has this.

Gale is still fast asleep, peacefully laying on his side with his hands tucked up under his head. Bucky’s actual angel in disguise. He loves the way Gale’s messy hair falls down over his forehead and his lips part ever so slightly. The way he curls his legs up towards his chest just the littlest bit. Bucky wants to wrap him up in his arms and hold on forever. He focuses on watching Gale’s breathing, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. It reassures him that, no matter what his unconscious mind tries to tell him, Gale is here. He’s the picture of health. He’s alive, and he’s all Bucky’s. He’s not about to get taken away in the blink of an eye. Gently, Bucky reaches out and strokes Gale’s soft hair. Gale smiles in his sleep, and it makes Bucky smile, too. He thinks to himself that he’d do everything over again if it meant he’d end up here.

When he pulls his hand away, Gale scrunches his brow and frowns. Bucky blinks, hand hovering in the air, waiting to see if Gale’s face will soften again. It doesn’t. Instead, Gale starts nervously clenching and unclenching his jaw. Bucky’s heart sinks and he reaches back out, places his hand on the side of Gale’s head again, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Gale’s breathing picks up, faster, faster. He screws his eyes shut tight and makes a soft, wounded sort of grunting sound as one of his hands curls into a tight fist under his face. 

Bucky runs his hand reassuringly over his hair the way Gale likes when he’s awake, trying to calm him down. It takes a minute, but his breathing starts to slow again, and then his eyes flutter open, unfocused and glassy with worried sleep. He scrunches his nose unhappily.

“Hey,” Bucky says softly.

Gale’s eyes find his. He tries to smile, but it’s just not quite there. “Hey.” Slowly, he sits up, the sheets falling down away from his chest so they sit in his lap as he leans forward, hands on his knees. He’s wearing a thin light gray t-shirt, but under it Bucky can see the chain around his neck and the outline of dog tags swinging against the fabric. Bucky is wearing his, too. They still haven’t quite gotten out of the habit. Oddly enough, they both have found that they often sleep better with them on.

Gale scrubs at his face with one hand and brushes his hair back away from his eyes. He checks the clock on the bedside table. 3:30 AM. Looking over at Bucky, he frowns. His voice is low and gravelly from sleep and carries a sort of guilt that Bucky wants to whisk away. “Did I wake you?”

Bucky shakes his head as he picks at the fabric of his sweats. “Was already up.”

“Mmm.” Gale nods and looks down at his lap, takes a deep breath. “What was yours about?”

They’d started doing this recently. Talking about their bad dreams. For a long time, neither of them wanted to give voice to what was in their heads. They wanted to push it away, ignore it, move on. Didn’t want to bug each other with it, add more weight to the burdens they already carried. Lately, though, they’d found that at least briefly putting words to it, saying it out loud to someone who would understand, helped them move forward a little easier. Instead of weighing more heavily on each other, talking about it lifted some of the burden away.

Bucky scratches the back of his head and sighs. “I-” Shit. It never really got easier to talk about, though. “I jumped from the fort, you know? And they were shooting at me, but they didn’t get me. I was still there. But. I looked over.” He glances up at Gale, who is looking vaguely in the direction of Bucky’s dog tags. Bucky breathes. “I looked over, and you were there, too. And I saw you, and I called your name, but you wouldn’t answer me. You wouldn’t answer. And then, I saw that you were dead. Hanging from your chute. A bullet hole through your…”

Bucky trails off, like the breath was pushed all out of his lungs before he could say the last word. He shuts his eyes tight and smacks a fist against his knee. Then there’s gentle fingers on his hand. A thumb stroking over his knuckles. I’m here, the touch says. Bucky nods. He knows. He just wishes his brain would start believing it.

“Mine was about the kid Nazi in the woods,” Gale says. This was one of his more frequent dreams, about the kids who killed George, the kid who pointed a gun at Gale’s head. In the dream, Gale doesn’t give him the chance to run. Bucky knows it by now, but he lets Gale say it anyway. He squeezes Gale’s hand back. Neither of them are looking at each other. Sometimes it’s easier that way. “I shot him,” Gale breathes out. “A kid. Just a kid. And I shot him.”

When Bucky looks up again, Gale is looking right at him, his face a mess of sadness and resignation, searching for something, anything, to make it go away. Bucky leans forward and pulls him in close, wraps his arms around Gale’s shoulders. “You didn’t, though,” he whispers.

Gale nods. “And I’m here.”

“You wanna try to go back to sleep?” Bucky asks him. Gale just about scoffs, burying his face deeper in Bucky’s neck. Bucky laughs mirthlessly. “Yeah, me neither.” He pats Gale on the side and pulls away. “Come on.”

Hand in hand – a tether proving to each other that they’re there, they’re safe, they’re not alone – they walk out of the bedroom and to the kitchen, turning on the lights. Bucky makes a show of how painfully bright they are even as he eyes the liquor cabinet in the corner. Gale shakes his head wordlessly and guides him away from it. He’d been so nervous since they came home, since the nightmares started in earnest, that Bucky would turn to alcohol to numb the pain. Months later, Gale still makes every effort to make sure that doesn’t happen. He’s thankful every day that Bucky tries his best, and that he lets Gale step in as his moral compass when the nights get hard. Bucky has no idea where he’d be by now if Gale wasn’t here with him.

So instead, Bucky pushes himself up to sit on the kitchen counter, fingers tapping nervously on his thigh, while Gale goes about making tea. Bucky never used to like tea, but he isn’t allowed to have alcohol after a nightmare and Gale insisted that coffee wouldn’t help matters either. So he lets him make him tea, and eventually he had learned to like it simply because it came from Gale when he needed Gale most. 

They don’t always wake up on the same nights. Often now, it’s one or the other at a time. And not all the dreams make it impossible to fall back asleep either, thank God. But sometimes, when they’re bad, they’ll wake each other up because they just can’t be alone. It’s an unspoken agreement: it doesn’t matter what they have going on or what time of night it is; if one of them needs the other, they’ll stay awake together. No exceptions. Every once in a while, though, like now, the night turns on both of them. Often, they barely talk on nights like these. Words tend to feel empty; they’ve all already been said. They just need to be. To touch, to feel, to breathe. They just need the closeness and the care. They need each other, and that has to be enough.

Gale hands Bucky a mug full of tea, and Bucky spreads his legs open so Gale can stand between them. Gale tries not to look too intently at the tags dangling over Bucky’s bare chest, and he raises his own mug. “Cheers.”

Bucky half smiles and raises his mug to clink against Gale’s before taking a sip, letting the comforting warmth run through his body. He closes his eyes for a moment and feels the heat radiating from Gale standing in front of him, so close they’re almost touching. When he turns his head and looks out the kitchen window, he can see stars. So many stars, a constant the past few years no matter where on the Earth he’s been. Everything is quiet. He drinks his tea.

After a while, Gale sets his mug on the counter and leans his forehead against Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky sets his mug down, too, and places his hand on the back of Gale’s head, running his fingers soothingly through his hair. Then, carefully, he slides down off the counter so they’re face to face, and Gale wraps his arms up over Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky rests his head against Gale’s, cheek pressed to soft hair. Gale is not particularly small, but Bucky is still bigger than him, and he takes comfort in being wrapped securely in his arms. Like somehow, Bucky can be a shield, protecting him from all of the bad things in his own head.

When Bucky starts swaying, Gale raises an eyebrow even though his face is hidden in Bucky’s neck. “What are you doing?” he mumbles.

“Dancing,” Bucky says matter of factly. It’s somewhat less convincing because he yawns in the middle of the word and has to say it again.

“Why are we dancing?”

Bucky lifts his head up, kisses Gale’s forehead, and leans back as much as he can so he can look him in the eyes. “Why not?”

Gale rolls his eyes, but he smiles. It’s small, but it’s real, and Bucky smiles back.

They dance all around the kitchen, first just swaying, going in circles to the music in Bucky’s head. Then Gale slips away to put a record on in the living room – it starts on Blue Skies, Bucky’s comfort song – and when he comes back Bucky grabs him by the waist and spins him around. Gale laughs even as he nearly loses his balance and grabs onto Bucky’s arms again. Neither of them are very good, and they’re even worse together, but they do it anyway. And soon they’ve stepped and turned and spun their way into the living room. Bucky has tried to lift and spin Gale around in the air no fewer than three times. Gale has tried to twirl Bucky to no avail, to the point of stepping on each other’s feet and stumbling into each other’s arms. Until eventually, they collapse onto the couch, half laying on one another, and their eyes are still tired but they’re brighter again. 

Bucky crawls forward and kisses Gale softly, slowly, before laying his head on his chest. Gale rubs his hand up and down Bucky’s back, wondering how on Earth he isn’t cold. Gale hasn’t had much tolerance for cold since the Stalag. It feels bone-deep and he often finds himself shivering even when it’s warm, unless he has something covering his body. He takes comfort in the warmth of Bucky’s skin, though, lets it calm his senses as they match their breathing to one another.

The last thing Gale hears before he falls asleep is a whispered, “I love you,” and he smiles.

#someone give these boys a hug #please they deserve the world #masters of the air #mota #clegan #clegan fic #john egan #gale cleven #bucky egan #buck cleven #buck x bucky #gale buck cleven #john bucky egan #bucky x buck

[bridgertonbabe]

Signing off.

I never really thought I'd ever write a post like this and to be perfectly honest I feel a bit cringe for even making a thing out of this but I felt it necessary to address those of you who follow me and my writings.

In the last month I have been suffering severely from anxiety, waking up to what feels like a ball of dread clutching at my heart and being unable to shift it for the better part of the day. It's all come to a head as of late because I've reached a crossroads in my life where I've realised just how unhappy and unfulfilled I am. Truth to be told I really don't have any aspect in my life that I am happy with and for years I've dismissed myself and my own desires for the sake of others to the point where I have no self worth, no self confidence, and I just feel like a shell of a person. Realising that I can't go on like this, that I can't live the life I aspire to without sorting my mental health out, I've taken the first steps in getting counselling and in going to the doctors to be put on anti-depressants.

While I'm already starting to feel better, I've decided it's in my best interests to take some other steps going ahead; which is I'm logging off this account.

Don't get me wrong, this account has brought me fulfillment in the last two and a half years and I've had so much fun interacting with so many of you but as of late I've become very disengaged with Bridgerton. It's one of several of my hyperfixations which I have become anxious with in the last few weeks, in part because they are what I used to immerse myself in as a means to distract myself from a dissatisfying existence, but now I've decided to make a change in my life for the better, everything that I once used to bury my head in the sand has now essentially given me the ick. Bridgerton is just now one of several things that I feel the need to distance myself from in order to fully focus and concentrate on bettering my mental health as well as getting what I want out of life.

As much as I've taken pride in writing because of Bridgerton, my dream has always to one day publish a book of my own and I need to refocus my energies on writing my own original stories to have the chance of maybe being able to make that dream a reality. I would have so dearly loved to have been able to complete a whole host of WIPs (would have also loved to have been able to just focus on one story at a time but c'est la vie) and I can only apologise to anyone who's been hoping for an update from any of them.

You will still be able to read all of my works on AO3 (plus I've restored a couple I had previously hidden from view), and I won't be deleting this tumblr so all of my drabbles and various posts will still be here for you to browse and read at your leisure.

Though I'm stepping away from this account, I don't necessarily know if this will be forever. I might well end up in a better place mentally at some point and return with a healthier state of mind where I can enjoy Bridgerton again, and I would never rule out contributing writings again - however as it stands, I don't want to promise anything and taking care of my mental health is my main priority for now and the foreseeable future.

I also just wanted to take the opportunity to thank every single person who has ever liked, reblogged, and interacted with me since I joined. I had never previously shared any of my creative writing online and thought it would be nice if even a single person somewhere vaguely liked anything I had to share - but over the last two and a half years I've been given such a boost from the amount of people who have reached out and commented on any one of my silly writings. I don't think you'll ever understand just how much it has meant to me and the love and appreciation will stay with me forever.

That about does it, so thank you all for everything. I wish you all a lifetime of health and happiness.

Signing off,

Shinnie

xxx

[countrymusiclover]

1 - Professor Reid

Part 2

Detective Stabler’s Daughter

Here's the first chapter and as always if you have anything you'd like to see. I always leave my stories open for suggestions.

“Are you sure you have your pepper spray?” My father Elliot asked me like the tenth question in the car driving me from our house to my college where my younger sister Kathleen was going to be attending this year.

Sending my dad a glance he was panicking far too much about this, especially since it was my senior year there and nothing bad has ever happened. “Dad, please calm down.”

“You know if anything goes wrong, call 911.” He added another point not hearing me.

I sighed, slumping my shoulders. “Dad! It’s my senior year. I will be perfectly fine.”

“I deal with the worst people in the city, honey. I just don’t want something to happen to you when I’m not there to protect you.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel waiting for the light to change green.

We finally pulled up in the parking lot outside the building of my first class. We had already moved my stuff in my dorm but my parents also said if I wanted to come home for a while I could. Getting out of the car I went around and hugged my father when he got out of the car. “Don't worry so much. Besides I'll have my sister here to have my back.”

“Y/n. Dad!” We turned our heads seeing my sister running towards us across the parking lot.

I broke the embrace from him, engulfing her in a tight hug. “Kathleen!”

“I've missed you.” I squeezed her tightly back even though we had only been apart a week since she moved in a week earlier being a freshman.

We finally broke our hug turning to face our father. He was standing in front of us simply just staring at us. He was always overprotective of every single one of his children. “You two need to stay in constant contact with each other. If you can’t reach the other, tell me or your mother immediately.”

“We know dad.” I grumbled loving him but this was a tad much.

Kathleen walked up to him, hugging him. “Dad, stop being such a worrier. Y/n and I will be fine without you breathing down our necks.”

“I love you both - uh I better get to work.” His phone vibrated in his pocket when he broke the hug with her. He began walking away from us pointing his index finger at us rounding the corner out of our sights. “Be responsible. Both of you.”

Kathleen and I said in unison, looping arms with each other heading off in the direction of our first class of the school year. “Love you dad.”

My sister and I entered the building seeing that the room was shaped like theater seating that were slightly surrounding the professor desk and large white board. We decided to sit in the second row seating in the middle for the best view, but where we didn't come off as so eager to learn. Reaching inside my backpack I drew out a light green notebook. “So do you have your sights on getting a boyfriend before you leave here?”

“What no.” I whipped my head around at my sisters question.

She huffed. “Why not?”

“Because I have been perfectly happy doing my college years without a boyfriend and I'm quite sure I can finish out my last one without one.” I explained to her sitting some pencils beside my notebook.

My sister clicked her tongue. “That's my goal for you this year. To get you a boyfriend.”

“How about you focus on your studies.” I reminded her.

The rest of the classroom began filling up with people before a different door was opened and closed behind the person who walked in. The guy that I assumed could only be our professor sat down on a satchel on the long desk. “Good afternoon class. My name is Dr. Spencer Reid. You can call me Professor Reid.”

“He’s cute.” I heard one of the girls in front of us.

I picked up my pencil marking notes for myself across the syllabus we had to have printed out before the first day of class and already read over it. “Awe.” Another girl rested her chin in the palm of her hands.

“I assume you all have read the syllabus but if you have any questions feel free to ask.” The professor explained brushing his hands over his clothes. He was wearing a gray shirt underneath a black suit jacket and some brown dress shoes.

Kathleen tapped my shoulder trying to talk to me. “They are right. He is rather cute.”

“Sssh Kath.” I warned her wanting to pay attention instead of gossiping.

“Okay let’s take a moment now to discuss the difference between a trigger and a stressor.” Professor Reid began the lecture for our first day of class. “A trigger is a sensory event experienced by an offender that precipitates subsequent behavior whereas a stressor is a longer term pattern of behavior or circumstances which pushes a person into behaving differently than they normally would.”

Some of the other girls in the class began twirling their hair and giving him the doe eyes, clearly not paying attention to what he was saying. “You’re probably gonna wanna write this down. I shouldn’t be telling you this but I’m definitely putting this on the final.”

“I’m only auditioning this class.” My pencil moved across the page taking down detailed notes until a girl with long black hair raised her hand in the air.

Our professor raised a brow. “Is anyone else auditioning this class?”

“Oh man. He’s definitely cute.” Kathleen mumbled under my breath.

I rolled my eyes at her statement seeing most of the girls in the class raise their hands answering his question. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Okay - unfortunately that is all the time we have for today. Thank you guys, class dismissed.” He paused, eyeing his wrist watch and dismissing the class earlier than the end time that was listed.

Kathleen began putting her stuff away getting to her feet to leave like most people were. “Cool. Out of class early on the first day. Can you show me around the campus?”

“Yeah sure.” I answered her.

I heard our professor’s voice call out to me suddenly. “Excuse me, miss. Can I talk with you for a second?”

“Uh me?” I turned my body around, eyeing him standing down by his desk.

He nodded yes to me. “Yes.”

“Oooh already in trouble on day one.” Kathleen teased.

I glared at her, waving her off and gathering my stuff to go meet him down at his desk. My sister slipped out the double doors into the hallway. “I’ll find you later. Hi Professor Reid, you wanted to speak with me.”

“I noticed you and your friend were the only ones really paying attention in my lecture today.”

I made a simple noise at his point. “Oh.”

“I just wanted to say thank you. It was kinda embarrassing to learn that the majority of girls in here are auditing my class.”

Hugging my notebook closer to my chest I sent him a kind smile not expecting him to admit that it affected him. “Well uh - thank you for saying that, Professor.”

“Call me Spencer - um only if you want to - if we’re talking like this. Never mind, I shouldn't have said that. That was very unprofessional of me Ms.-“ He stuttered on his words, shifting from foot to foot.

I felt my face turn red at what he had just said until I shook my head pushing whatever I was feeling away since I was a student and he was a professor. “Stabler, Y/n Stabler. I’ll - uh see you tomorrow Professor Reid.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms. Stabler.” He replied watching me exit the classroom while I peaked over my shoulder sparing him one glance before I was out of sight.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

Tag list - send an ask to be added @hiireadstuff

#detective stabler's daughter #elliot stabler #olivia benson #law and order special victims unit #law and order svu #law and order fic #svu fanfiction #svu fic #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #maureen stabler #kathleen stabler #christopher meloni #crossover fic #wattpad fanfiction #ask box is open for feedback #comments really appreciated #love story #svu x cm crossover #professor #college student #mathew gray gubler #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x stabler reader #spencer reid fandom

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

🍃🍃🍃

so I can find this later)

AITA for how I handle this certain friendship?

my friend (lets call them A), we used to text them all the time, almost every day, we are good friends and we helped each other many ways.

After a few months, A needed space due to handling a few personal things which included severe depression on top, so it was understandable A was slow to reply, so I'd wait until A is free again or until they text me back. So sometimes this can vary from days to weeks.

I tell A every time no rush and they can reply whenever they can, so I don't make them feel bad or anything and I don't mind waiting for them to reply.

Sometimes, if there is something that happened in between I text A again, just to let them know something I thought they'd like to know.

I thought I was doing the right, but then, I sorta just stopped texting A again and again, I thought they needed their own headspace and I didn't want to annoy them. The last time I had texted A was last year, they never never replied so I simply waited, but now the thing is, it's been almost 5 to 6 months now.

Now, I simply didn't text A these months thinking they needed space and seeing they were active on tumblr, I didn't worry too much but I was also inactive dealing with my problems, I went on unexcepted hiatus every so often. But I did check in, to make sure all my friends including A was ok.

A still hadn't responded to me, even though they were active online posting, I chose to be understanding, they probably didn't want to personally talk and just speak in general to everyone at once.

I won't lie, I did feel suddenly distant in these occurrences, especially seeing A was ok with tagging others or responding to others publicly after A was tagged by someone else, I felt as if I was left a little forgotten, but still I tried to be understanding, even if it hurt.

But now suddenly I see they left on a completely unexpected and indefinite hiatus after subtly stating about broken and failed friendships, part of me feels like A is referring to me and now I'm too afraid to reach out to them again, I really don't want to hurt them. I thought I was giving them the time and headspace but now it seems like I made it all go downhill because I let it drag into months.

I almost feel as if they hate me now, because we did promise to tell each other if ever made the other feel anything negatively we would say so, I didn't say I felt distant because I didn't want to add on top of A's already ongoing problems.

so AITA for how I handle this certain friendship?

#aita #am i the asshole

[arian-velikan]

Monster AU

(After 2 weeks of working on it)

Introduction: in this documentary we will discuss the abilities, corporal builds and downsides of these hybrids.

IMPORTANT NOTE: YOU DON'T LIKE THIS BLOG? BLOCK AND DON'T SPREAD SHIT AS I DON'T HAVE TO WASTE MY TIME OVER UN-NECESSARY COMMENTS!!

- You want a story with them and Male!Reader? Let me know by leaving a question in my inbox

The speciments we will talk about are:

- John "Bravo 6" Price

- Simon "Ghost" Riley

- Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

- John "Soap" Mactavish

Soap is coming soon!!!

John "Bravo 6" Price

Physical attributes and role

Roc and Amhuluk hybrid

The fierce and brave Captain of Task Force 141 is a Drake and Amhulak hybrid.

His stocky build made him perfect for breaching through metal doors and thic walls.

He is 6' 0" or 1.83 m tall with a long tail that can reach around 1.60 m in horizontal lengh.

On his hard skull, thiker than normal, two straight horns grow facing the back.

On his shoulders, back of the neck, spine 'till the base of all the tail and the tail, thic golden mudded scales grow giving him a protection that can resist bullets fired from Desert Eagle distant 3 meters.

He can breath out toxic green gas that can disorient the victim and, if exposed to it for a long period of time, it can cause atrocious pain and lack of oxigen that then cause death.

He considers his Task Force his own family and pack and he can go to pretty bad extent to protect it.

Other than these he is pretty much our 2022 captain.

He is the captain of 141.

During mating season

From the last days of september to the first days of October the draconic species enters mating season.

These 7 days of pure want can be painfull for those who don't have a mate.

For him it's exactly what happens but given the fact that he has been in the military and on suppressants for years, it's effects are 60% less...though his brain does, nontheless, crave for a mate that he has yet to find.

Pack bond

(ITS NOT POLY JUST FOUND FAMILY!!!)

He considers his Task Force his own family and they consider him a sort of father figure. Giving advices in almost all kinds of fields, he earned the title or callsign (between all of them) of "Father-6".

Abilities

He is capable of breathing toxic mist

He uses his horns like goats do, for fighting, if needed, with his head.

he has an enchanced bone structure so he is thicker and with that he has an additional 110% strenght in his overall body (mostly his arms)

His scales funtion as a bullet proof vets

His tail serves as balance

He has clawed hands perfect for slashing through meat

Since he is part Amhuluk, he can hold his breath naturally for 5 minutes underwater (in the mith, Amhuluk lived under water in lakes

Drawbacks

Since he can emit a toxic mist from his mouth he has to be extra carefull with his pack so they don't end up poisoned.

agility it's not for him given the fact that he as a stocky build

Amhuluks prefer to be alone while Drakes are social species, this creates a conflict in his personality where he needs to be alone while wanting to stay with the others. His 141 learned to live with it since they know it's not his fault and they don't mind.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Black dog of Newgate

Black Dog of Newgate category of supernatural manifestations, featuring a spectral hound of ill-omen or malicious intent.

Physical Attributes

He doesn't show any particular features while not using his powers, that means he is shown as a regular human, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have them. Based on his 2022 model, he has his tatoo sleeve and skull mask but under his shirt he has this kind of tattoo:

Symbol of the curse he bares.

Power...how does it work?

He can enter people dreams or nightmares, exausting them with hallucinations bringing them into insanity and feeding off their fears.

He can blend into darkness shapeshifting into a black wolf covered in fur with a build so skinny that shows his ribs (unlike his human body which is well built since it's based on his 2022 in-game model) with a perpetual smile plastered on his face.

His skeletric his chaned to a bloody metal collar with 3 pieces of chains.

(He has the Dire wolf dimentions)

During that season

Given the fact that he has a dog spirit in his body he is no immune to that season but he only expierences it at the end of may and the start of december (3 days each).

(Our Johnny boy gives him a hand most of the time hehe)

Drawbacks

He has a spirit encased in his body and when he uses it it hurts his organs, expecially his heart making it prone to heart deseases.

The Black Dog of Newgate is a malevolent ghost and thus, when it takes over his body and mind, there is a high chance of losing control and hurting his beloved ones. But that spirit recognises the ones who didn't hurt him so.... maybe the chances of that happening are low...but there are always.

His transformation requires lots of mental and physical energy and he has to always have a supply energy always with him.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Physical attributes and role

Roc hybrid

The roc species is made of gigantic legendary birds, said to carry off elephants and other large beasts for food. It is mentioned in the famous collection of Arabic tales, The Thousand and One Nights, and by the Venetian traveler Marco Polo, who encountered them for the first time.

It was like an eagle, but one indeed of enormous size; so big in fact that its quills were twelve paces long and thick in proportion. And it is so strong that it will seize an elephant in its talons and carry him high into the air and drop him so that he is smashed to pieces; having so killed him, the bird swoops down on him and eats him at leisure.

The rocs do know how powerfull and strong they are and Gaz is no exeption.

From dark brown featers to cream ones covering his arms and collarbone as well as the sides of his eyes, he is the upper eyes of 141 taking the roll of the drone. He also has a long tail of featers and Rocs don't have any type of armor and they have more fragile and hallow bones given the fact that they need to fly.

This is his color scheme and that is how his tail looks like but bigger and proportioned to his body. His role in the 141 is the same as the reboot version but, in my AU he is even the upper eyes as stated before.

During mating season

The partners present themselves to their mates but not in that way! They sometimes show off their feathers and show their upper back (the most sensitive and delicate part of their body) to their partner when they completely trust them.

Pack Bond

(ITS NOT POLY!!!)

He considers them his family and friends, expecially Price when he first recruited him.

#cod mw2 #tf 141 #call of duty #cod x male reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare #simon riley #ghost cod #cod soap #john soap mactavish #soap cod #kyle gaz garrick #cod gaz #john price #captain price #call of duty modern warfare 2 #konig call of duty #konig cod #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick x male reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #male reader #john soap mctavish x male reader #price x male reader #cod monster au

[ffive-by-fivee]

what about m?

I can't believe someone on tumblr.com is still invested in this story in the year 2023 aasfdjklgjdf

We haven't spoken in almost a year. I tried so hard for almost a decade to make things work but I think the reality is that neither one of us was what the other person needed. We're just very different people and love in very different ways and the fact of the matter is that I was growing and she was staying in the same place. I still sometimes get sad or mad that we weren't able to salvage a friendship out of so much history, maybe one day. I have a lot of feelings about everything, some bad some good, and I'm still in the process of sorting through it all and healing. The way things turned out really fucking sucks but I wish her nothing but the best

#been thinking on things and what I want a LOT lately #and v much torn #im an entirely different person than who I was a year ago #I don't think she'd recognize me #but if I'm being honest my fear is that she's still the same #there's been a part of me that's wanted to reach out this last week #and I haven't felt that once in the last year #im not sure where its coming from #idk if its me wanting some sort of closure that I don't think ill ever get #or me being in a place mentally where im able to have her back in my life and be fine #but also like she just wasnt a v good friend to me so idk why id even want that #ive realized that consistency and safety is something I need in any kind of relationship in my life #and I never felt that #idk #she might hate me now after everything and want nothing to do w me #not that she'd really have a reason to hate me but I wouldn't blame her for being done entirely at this point #idk what I want #I think it'd be nice to have a conversation at some point if she were open to it but idk how to even go about making that happen rn #my point is this: I'll always love her and the things she brought into my life but idk if we're meant to know each other anymore #I want to see the good in everyone and have faith that they'll grow but sometimes it shoots me in the foot #I think I've finally learned to curb my expectations of others and just let things be how they will be #life lessons: fall in love w yourself first #go to therapy #take accountability #don't get back w your ex #and prioritize your own wants and needs #I hope she's well #it makes me sad that you can love someone with so much of yourself and still lose them #sometimes you're just meant to love from afar #maybe one day

[dredshirtroberts]

it is not slacking off to write or create it is not slacking off to do things that are fun i am not slacking off or procrastinating right now i'm allowed to do things i enjoy doing for fun including playing games and writing and such

#if i say it enough i will remember it's true #can you guess which aspect of capitalism i'm struggling with today? #it does not help my bones are somehow WORSE than yesterday even after all of the rest i took so that's Super Fun:tm: #so i've got that on in the back of my head #ugh #i... am putting off calling my grandma - i meant to do it last week but i got too in my head about it #and uno reversed myself into forgetting to do it at all until the Worst Times Possible #(generally around Normal Fuckin Meal Times) #i want to call to wish her a belated mother's day and check in re: grandpa but also... #also i don't want to have to do a phone call i don't want to talk to them about anything at all #they stress me out to talk to and it makes me super uncomfortable to be on the phone in general let alone with a Heavy Topic over our heads #like.... i'm comfortable with where i'm at acceptance-wise with Grandpa's whole situation #and i know i am late for a better relationship with the pair of them in general #like i'm not going to repair a relationship that wasn't built to collapse down to this point this is as far as it got built up to #i'm not building more relationship between me and someone who i know is passing soon when they didn't take the opportunity either #like they had just as much chance as me to improve our relationship after i became an adult and they chose to use my mother as #an intermediary which has stunted their connection to me and that's not my fault #i admittedly did not reach out but i was not taught i could safely do that to anyone #because my parents badmouth literally any person they know for one reason or another #i regularly fuck up in conversations with my grandparents because i'll say somethign that is a holdover from my understanding of them #through my parents and it's like. kind of really insulting! and i've been doing it my whole life and i know as soon as i get their reaction #and i can't recover because i don't actually know them at all #so i can't be like ''oh my god i know that's inaccurate i have no idea why i said that'' because i *don't* know until after i've done it #every goddamn time it happened the last time i got a call from them too #like... my bio fam/family of origin is just not good at keeping in touch and i know i'm a product of that #and i know theoretically how to adjust for it but it does require work on the other end of the line too #and unfortunately i know my bio family too well and know they won't do their part #i grew up in the group project everyone hates #and i'm on my way to deciding they can show up to the presentation day without me #i've started a new family project over here with blackjack and hookers

[izzy-b-hands]

I know it's probably just a part of restarting the lamotrigine, but. holy fuck does it have me short on spoons and patience and. Everything mentally today lmao

#text post #worst case scenario I find out this med no longer helps me and i stop it #but it's been less than a week so I know this is just. Part Of It All lmao #that said every decision I've had to make today has immediately paralysed me and/or immediately made me angry/upset so. That's something #that usually only happens when I'm already overwhelmed and/or overstimulated but it's EVERYTHING today as if im stuck in a state of that #like. I had to choose if i wanted to work upstairs or downstairs today (surveys and writing) and i had tears in my eyes trying to choose #im upstairs rn and considering going down but. yeah. Having An Moment #and I hope this effect doesn't last more than a few weeks to a month at longest lmao #on that note apologies if u reach out and i don't reply right away i absolutely will be reaching back out!! #I just need a bit today to try and chill my brain out before I'm talking to anyone for an extended period of time #hoping if i wrangle the spoons for that now I can use them all and feel better by this evening which has worked in the past so!!!

[sugume]

r/ATIA for WHAT!? w/Jujutsu Kaisen  

More: Fem!Reader, dark & explicit content, dubcon, piss kink, necrophilia, manhandling, choking, coercion, teacher x student, power dynamics, blackmail, threesome, Cuck!Gojo, drinking. unedited

Featuring: Nanami Kento, Choso Kamo, Ryomen Sukuna, Gojo Satoru

PART 2

r/fuckingmystudent posted by u/Nanami_Kento 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you try to recall the events that lead you to get your brains fucked by your professor. He caught you filming a video for your Onlyfans in his class. So, he took your phone and asked you to meet him in his office after class. There, he forced you to unlock your phone and show him what exactly you were recording. It was utterly humiliating and watching him, watch you, finger yourself with a pen underneath the desk. After, he’d told you that he’d tell the dean you were getting off on his voice lecturing you unless you did something for him.  Which led you ass up on his desk, trying your hardest not to make a peep as his fat cock slammed in and out of you. “Now, what I'm going to do is take out my cell,” He grunts, rolling his hips deep into you. “And record you slamming your ass onto my cock so if you decide to open that sweet mouth of yours, I'll have no choice but to send this video to mommy and daddy back at home, understand?” You nod, tears forming in your eyes from the threat or incoming orgasm, probably both. “Say ‘Yes, Professor!’ and maybe I'll send you the video so you can post it and feed yourself this week.” 

r/peeinginher posted by u/choso_Kamo 

Ankles beside your head, Choso had you folded in half as he pounded into your swollen cunt. He’d been going for what felt like hours and you were about to reach another peak when he abruptly stopped. “Choso?” you rasp, voice raw from screaming. “What’s wrong, baby?” You ask, staring up at him as he stares down at your glistening cunt. He just tilts his head and continues to stare. You’re about to ask again when he blinks from whatever trance he is in and starts thrusting in and out, slower this time. “Nothin’ baby, jus’ gotta piss.” “T-then stop and go, hm–” you gasp when he pushes your legs down further. “Stop and go to the bathroom Cho.” you try to pull his hands off your calves. Choso tightens his hold and grins down at you. “C-Choso?” “Why would I get up when I have a perfectly capable toilet right here.” Is all you hear before you suddenly feel a foreign warmth in your cunt followed by wetness trickling out your pussy.  

r/askinghertoplaydead posted by u/Ryomen_Sukuna 

“You wan’ me to do what?” You ask, staring up at him from your position between his legs. “I asked you to stop suckin’ my cock and hang off the bed like a drugged-up bitch on her last life.” He stares at you with a look that tells you he isn’t truly asking. “B-but ‘Kuna—” He grabs your throat. “Don’t you wanna make me happy, hm?” You grab the hand around your neck. “Mhm.” “This ‘ll make me happy, little girl,” He plants a firm kiss on your lips. “Now do as I told you, actually I’ll do it, I know you aren’t the best at following orders.” He says before pushing you back like a ragdoll. “Yes, now lay there, don’t move, don’t speak.” Sukuna reiterates, finally satisfied with your position, naked on your stomach with your head hanging off the bed. He wastes no time shoving his big cock into your cunt. You groan from the sudden intrusion “Kuna!” “Shut up, dead bitches don’t fuckin’ make sounds.”  

r/forcinga3some posted by u/Gojo_Satoru 

“Sit on his cock love,” Gojo demands, grabbing you by the waist and throwing you onto Suguru’s lap. “S-Satoru!” “’ Toru!” You and Geto screech at the same time. “C’mon guys, it’s fine I don’t mind, Loosen up!” Gojo looks at you on his best friend's lap and his cock twitching underneath his pants. He palms it. Don’t worry, we’ll have our turn. “I know you two want to fuck, c'mon! Do I really have to pull it out and shove it up your tight cunt?” Goji grits out, increasingly frustrated when the two of you stare at him like a pair of deer in headlights. “Baby, I-it was just a truth or dare question!” Your head aches and you put both of your hands on Suguru’s broad shoulders to stable yourself, trying and failing to ignore his hard under your panty-covered pussy. “Was it? So, you aren’t wet right now? And you Suguru? You aren't rock fucking hard at the thought of fucking the same pussy I cum in every night?” Gojo raises his eyebrow holding eye contact with you until you look away, face flushed. Suguru sighs, throwing his head back with murmured ‘fuck this.’ before grabbing your waist. “Yes! That’s what I thought. Ha!” Gojo laughs, watching as Suguru starts grinding you down on his bulge.  

#𐙚 ࣪ ˖ sugume writes #𐙚 ࣪ ˖ smut journal #jjk #smut #x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #nanami kento #nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami x you #kento nanami #jjk nanami #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna scenarios #sukuna smut #choso kamo #choso smut #jjk choso #choso x reader #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso x you #choso x y/n

[buckaroosboogara]

Hi! Just wanna raise some awareness here because South America is on fucking fire and I need to see more people talking about this.

Source: RSOE EDIS x

Im just going to talk about the ones i'm closest to, but if you know about these fires, feel free to add in the reblogs!

Chile

In Chile there's (up to Feb 5) 160 wild fires, of which 40 are still trying to be controlled by authorities. The president, Gabriel Boric, has declared State of Emergency in the whole country, and theres a Red Alert Code in most part of the country.

Isla de Chiloé, Southern Chile (900 km away from Santiago de Chile)

This is a (recently controlled) fire that lasted a week, but many neighborhoods were burnt to the ground.

The whole South is in red alert for constant sudden fires that spread quickly due to the lack of rain and the elevated temperatues in the zone. Just today, two fires had to be controlled in the main land next to this island, and more are being reported in the Los Lagos region. This is added to the "controlled" intentional fires that farmers make to clean their fields of old crops along the Central-South parts of the country, mostly surrunding the main route, Ruta 5, that connects the whole country, thus making it hard to see and breathe because of the smoke. (flashnews, most of them get out of control quickly.)

Valparaiso/Viña del Mar, Central Chile (100 km away from Santiago de Chile)

A fire that started on Friday 2nd and grew exponentially because of the wind and the dry, hot climate. More than 100 people are dead, with 70 unrecognized bodies and other 400 that have dissapeared. At least 30000 people that have lost everything to the fire.

There's massive evacuations from this and the neighboring city, Viña Del Mar.

This is said to be the second most deadly fire in the century, surpased by Australia in 2009.

45000+ hectares that include land and neighborhoods have been burnt down.

I could go on about this one, so more info here and here

Argentina

Parque Los Alerces (Esquel), Chubut

The fire strarted on the 25th January, and the climate has made it hard to contain. 3000 hectares of native forest have been burnt to teh ground. It is now growing in the direction of the nearest city, Esquel. Theres been evacuations between yesterday and today (4 and 5th Febuary)

Parque Nahuel Huapi (Bariloche), Río Negro

The reason why im writing this. The city woke up today covered in smoke after a wildfire developed yesterday during the night. The reason? A fireplace that was not turned off in a place where people cannot disembark and can only be reached via boats.

As of now, there's not much information about the fire but hopefully the firefighters will be able to contain it before it reaches Tronador Mountain, where an ancient glaciar is.

...which leads me to the other point i wanted to talk about.

Firefighters

They volunteer to do this job.

In Argentina and Chile, firefighting is not rewarded with a salary, and most of the times they dont even have full firehouses to stay in. These people are at their houses, ready to jump into action and run to the station the second the alarm goes off.

They are neighbors, people that risk their lives and run into danger willingly, just because they want to help the community.

I felt the need to give a shout-out to these people and say:

Don't be a fucking dick, don't start fires in the woods unless it's an approved place, and if you do, TURN IT OFF.

Pour abundant water on it, and do not stop when you don't see any more flames.

Keep pouring water until the ashes don't burn/feel like room temperature in your hand if you put it 10 cm away from it, and even then, pour some more just to be sure.

No heat and no smoke mean a safely extinguished fire.

Save lives and forests.

#dont even get me started on the denial of climate change from my president #didnt wanna get political here #argentina #chile #argieposting #argieblr #soff speaks #wildfires

[a-b-riddle]

Part Four

Can't stop thinking about reader losing her cool.

"So we're closed, John." You said, trying to be cordial.

"Is that all you have to fucking say?" He practically growled before huffing. A humorless chuckle rumbling out of his chest. "I suppose not since you won't respond to any of us."

"Don't do that." You said taking a step back. Trying to create some distance between you and him. John would never physically hurt you. That much you knew.

"What?" He asked. His voice rising as he stepped closer to you. "Be angry that you pulled that shit and then left? Stopped talking to us. Changed your fucking locks. Last thing we even knew about you was that you got on a fucking plane and left. Even your friends wouldn't tell us anything besides that you were okay." "Which considering this came out of bloody nowhere, I find it highly unlikely that you are in any way 'okay'."

You took a deep breath. You wouldn't be intimidated. You wouldn't clam up. You wouldn't cry. You won't go back on your decision. You will be cordial and polite and not unleash everything you want to.

"I understand you might be upset, but it's for the best. It wasn't working out and I wanted to end on somewhat good terms. I would appreciate it if you lowered your voice and stopped speaking to me in that way." You could barely recognize your voice. It sounded so scripted. So robotic. But it was something you had been telling yourself. Excuses you had been telling yourself.

Because if you told yourself the truth. The picture you would paint would tell a different story. It wouldn't highlight the fact that John spoke to you like he was one of your men or that Johnny had the emotional capacity of a teaspoon. It wouldn't show what a flake Kyle was or that Simon was well and truly a mean-spirited person.

It would show how you weren't worth it. Four possible men. Four possibilities of happily ever after and none of them chose you. That no one ever did and no one ever would. You weren't worth it. You weren't loveable.

It wasn't right, but it was what the voices had been telling you late in the night. When you would crawl into your cold bed. The silence of the room not filled with John's steady breathing or the sound of Kyle's heartbeat as you laid you head on his chest. The absence of Johnny's occasional snoring or whatever Simon was watching playing in the background of your dreams.

In the void, all your dark thoughts came back at you.

"Upset?" He asked, his voice still louder than you would have liked. "An understatement considering the stunt you pulled."

"You think it was a stunt?"

"So Johnny thought with his dick and didn't plan things out. You should have told him instead of crying to Simon and then pulling this shit." "Christ, I knew you were still young, but I didn't take you for that immature."

"You know what?" "I'm done." "I am so fucking sick of making excuses for you all." "You want to act like I'm the immature one, John?" "You are 35-year-old man who cannot separate his work from his work like. You have continuously talked to and down to me like I am one of your men, only to turn around and always blame your shitty fucking attitude on work. I get that your job is stressful, but I did not sign up to be your verbal fucking punching bag."

"And this come and fucking go incident with Johnny. It has been a consistent issue with him coming over just to fuck. I've asked him for that last six months that 'hey, we've been seeing each other for a year and a half, I would love to meet your family' and suddenly the dates stop. He doesn't ask to see me until after 7 PM. He brings food occasionally, fucks me and leaves. Sometimes before I even wake up."

"And the only reason Kyle is the person I am the least pissed off with is because I haven't even seen him." You took a step closer, not noticing how the anger in John's eyes had softened. "I have not seen Kyle in weeks, to no fault of my own. I stopped reaching out to make dinner plans after the third time he canceled on a date night when I was either on my way or already at the restaurant."

"And Simon?" You scoffed. "Well, it doesn't really matter. After all, as he said I get mine. You all make me cum which is supposed to magically erase how shitty you've all been as partners. It's supposed to erase the nights I've cried myself to sleep debating on whether or not there was something wrong with me. How I'm not good enough to meet anyone else in your lives like some dirty fucking secret. How none of you can even bother to pencil me for a group dinner so I can tell you a publishing house picked up my book. How at some point you all stopped caring or maybe never did."

You took a breath. Blinking quickly to keep the tears at bay.

You wouldn't cry. You wouldn't cry.

"As Simon said it best, I should have known that spreading my legs wouldn’t end with one of you putting a ring on your finger.”

For once, John was silent. Unsure of what to say. An apology starting to form at the tip of his tongue before realizing 'sorry' wouldn't cut it. Not this time.

Had he really been that sharp with you? He knew that there were times he had gotten short, but he almost always apologized immediately after. If not at the very moment he took in your crest-fallen face, then definitely later. But he almost always told you he was sorry. Didn't he?

"So as I said," you swallowed down the lump in your throat. "I'm closed. We're done. Now get out." Your face held no sadness. Even though your eyes were nearly full to the brim with unshed tears, you weren't sad.

You were finally angry.

#captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #call of duty #john soap mactavish #angst #angst with a happy ending