#Or would they have wanted you to stop deliberately making tensions worse??

[wild-at-mind]

Seeing some posts on my dash that are kind of in the wheelhouse of the stuff I was just posting about. I really like their posts normally and I don't want to unfollow but :/.

#it's a certian kind of rhetoric #like honestly i don't talk about this but i got kind of a bit...radicalised into some antisemitic beliefs at one point in about 2016 #because i didn't know what i was talking about or understand how antisemitism works #a lot of this makes me think of a horrible murder case in the uk that caused an outpourting of right wing radicalisation #lee rigby was a white soldier who was off-duty when he was attacked and killed by two British Nigerians who claimed #to be avenging Muslims kill by the British army. #i mention this because it's long enough ago to not be super fresh and raw in people's minds #and because it makes me think many things at once and none of them contradict each other. #1. this murder was from day 1 basically tailor-made to incite far right hatred and that is terrifying to all Muslims in Britain #and all black Brits too. #2. Lee was a human being and did not deserve to die #3. a lot of the valorising of Lee as a person focuses on his position in the army fighting for queen and country and help for our heroes #and as someone who does not like the armed forces and is anti-war i find this rhetoric troubling and likely to become very jingoistic #4. Lee's mother had to go to the press MULTIPLE TIMES asking people to please please PLEASE not taint the memory of her beloved son #by using what happened to him to incite hatred of Muslims even more than what was already happening in the UK at that time #Ok list over now with all of that do you think that anyone at all who claimed that Lee's attack was some kind of justified revenge #would have been helping the cause of Muslims at all? ESPECIALLY if it came from a white British non-Muslim lefty type?? #If you said this do you think a Muslim terrified of being attacked in 'revenge' for Lee would have cheered you on? #Or would they have wanted you to stop deliberately making tensions worse?? #ETA i realised i never returned to the point about me being radicalised- i had to do better and i hope i have fully moved away from that. #the thing is saying that it's wrong for you to be asked to mourn for the terrorism victims in Israel is kinda right #for the same reason no one should have been forced to perform grief for lee rigby to seem virtuous #but also it's your duty especially if you are someone without any ties to Israel or Palestine #to not make tensions worse at a time when they are incredibly inflamed already

[jameyannefuller]

Authors, revealing a character has a disability during a pivotal moment in the climax of your book is not the brilliant twist you think it is.

It's a cheap trick, and it reveals that you either haven't actually done your research on the disability you're representing or you think the shock value is more important.

Let's break this down.

Having a disability is a fundamental part of your life. It affects everything you do and every choice you make, even if you would describe yourself as fully independent, you're still living with a disability.

For example, I have a prosthetic eye. The lack of vision on that side affects where I sit or stand and how I look at things, even which hands I use for visual tasks (I started drawing with my left hand after I lost my right eye and it was not a deliberate choice). But I also have to take the eye out and clean it regularly, and it's horrific during allergy season let me tell you. Having a prosthetic eye doesn't stop me from living my best life, and neither does my limited vision in my left eye, but it's still something I have to accommodate.

Taking that part of a character's life and withholding it from the reader for a cool plot twist is essentially lying about a fundamental part of a character's life which has surely shaped who the character is and how they view the world, and I can think of no good reason to do that. You want to withhold the truth from other characters? Be my guest. But this isn't something you can withhold from the reader without feeling like you're lying to deliver a gut punch later, or worse, erasing the character's disability except when it's plot important. And consider the nuance and tension you could add to the story by showing this part of their character from the beginning.

If the story and craft reasons haven't convinced you, consider the good that can come of positive representations of characters with disabilities being the heroes of their own stories, with their disability. And consider how it feels to have your disability used as a plot twist with no thought to what that disability means for the rest of the character's life.

#writing advice #writing tips #books #disability in fiction #representation matters

[cows-wearing-my-sweater]

acolyte

"what could be worse than having nothing to depend on? / we used to be friends"

word count: 1272 warnings: lots of angst lol notes: i have written a fic in months but !! hi again !! missed posting these a lot <3

There’s something inexplicable about him.

Matty’s hands move up and down the frets of his guitar easily. You curse the fact that your eyes are drawn to him with the same level of ease. Two dark curls droop over Matty’s forehead as he plays, eyes nearly shut and lips parted almost imperceptibly. You see it, though. The song he’s playing isn’t one you can name, but you recognize it. It feels like a song you heard last summer, like maybe if you could drink his melody you would remember it again. 

You hate the label “friends with benefits,” mostly because it feels far too simple for the situation you’re in. “Friends with benefits” makes you feel like you’re just a quick fuck for someone who can tolerate you – surely that’s not what you are to Matty. No, this is different. It’s slow with him. There’s purpose and contemplation behind every deliberate kiss he places on your body, he takes his time coaxing noises out of you when you’re straddling his lap and hungry for everything you know he’s capable of. You want — rather, need — this to be something more. 

Typically, you can deal with Matty on bad days. “Bad” meaning days where he incessantly (albeit accidentally) reminds you of the nature of your relationship: fleeting moments of passion and a lack of commitment. You received a text earlier in the morning asking you to come over. Not for sex, not for the aforementioned passion, but just to exist near each other for a while. Ever since the beginning of your hookups with him, normal platonic hangouts had come less frequently; they always held a sort of tension, at least in your mind. Should I tell him or should I speak through our touch? But the request today had given you a glimmer of hope, a flutter in your heart.

And it really had gone quite well at first. The moments you spend with Matty with no strings attached, no sexual undertones, are some of your most cherished. You could let yourself fall for him like this without hesitation, and occasionally you let yourself believe he could do the same for you. 

Something in the air shifted over the course of the day, though. It’s a festering frustration, one that spreads its tendrils further and further despite how little you want it. Just like Matty himself, it’s inexplicable. You look at him, your heart breaks. This could be mine; why isn’t this mine? Because of it, everything Matty does in your presence seems to send a pang of annoyance through your entire body. His words sound pretentious, his actions too big and too loud, the looks he gives you feel calculated and judgmental.

Which is why you’re here, idly lying on the sofa, trying very hard to be mad at him. Trying very hard to hold a grudge against him for more than five minutes. You’re sure it’s all in your head, but you consider for a moment that maybe this is good. It’s either anger or infatuation, and the latter doesn’t seem to be an option. Besides, how else are you supposed to cope with the purgatory of being somewhere between a lover and a one-night stand? If anything, maybe I’ll get a good hate-fuck out of this. It’s a crude thought, but it crosses your mind. 

The movement of Matty’s fingers on his guitar strings evokes memories of previous nights with him, with his hands. His kisses in those moments feel larger than the universe, whisking you away from the side of reality in which he’s not yours. His lips are a prayer that you say every night, over and over, waiting for it to be heard. Agile fingers strum across the guitar. You could swallow him whole, you could tear him to pieces, you could have a life together, you could—

“You’re awfully quiet today.” The music stops.

You hesitate. “Am I?”

Matty just looks at you for a moment, eyebrows raised, big brown eyes boring into yours. His lips part, then close as he chooses his words. “You can tell me if you don’t want to hang out like this. Or if I did something.” He doesn’t say it like an accusation, or like he blames you; he just sounds sad, and you can hear the silent question: Is this how things have to be between us? 

That’s all it takes for your eyes to begin welling up. “You didn’t do something,” you tell him, and really, you mean it. “It’s just…” The words weigh heavy on your tongue. “Matty, I don’t want to do this anymore.” You quickly flick your eyes back to his to gauge his reaction. “I can’t just blur the lines of whatever the fuck we are together and feel totally okay.” 

He stands up and moves to sit next to you. Matty takes your hand in his, calloused fingers swallowing you. You’re small here, and his touch makes you want to cry out for him. He could kiss away the hell he brought. Any other day and he would be making his way down your neck, soft touches to ease your aches. “How could I not want you?” he would tell you. His love would wash over you like an orgasm; it’s the only way he would ever say it.

None of that happens today, though. All of a sudden you realize the hand that’s holding yours is trembling. The words don’t come to Matty’s lips. The deafening silence plagues you with guilt. What the fuck am I doing? you ask yourself. And then Matty says it. “You know we can’t be together.”

It was a long time coming. “I know.” But you don’t really know, you were never given an explanation. It’s okay to be friends, to fuck, to give yourselves to each other, but for some unspoken reason a relationship was off the table.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he says. “But I don’t know how to be with you right now. I want to be good to you.”

You are good to me, you almost scream. You are so good to me. “We could just try,” you say. You hear the weakness in your voice. You want to wretch.

“I would hurt you.”

“I don’t care.”

“You do. You will.”

Matty is right and you so desperately wish he wasn’t. How easy it would be to hate him rather than let go of him. He could ruin you and you could despise him and there would be satisfaction. But all you have left now are questions. “Are we still friends?” The question sounds small and childish as you say it.

“I think so, yeah.” His voice shakes, but refuses to give. It makes you want to hold his head in your hands and press kisses to his cheeks until all is well. Remind him of love and how simple it can be.

You don’t know where to go from here. Matty’s guitar lays forgotten on the other side of the room as you sit together, silent. The next words uttered may be the last ones – what are you supposed to do with that?

Something inside you vows to never speak again.

Matty’s hand still holds yours, resting together atop his leg. Despite it all, you remain intertwined. You pray that this means something. Somewhere in the room, you find the courage to ask Matty what your heart has been aching to know. “Do you think we could fall in love again? Later, I mean.”

He gives you a soft smile, a sad one. “I like to think we could.”

#matty healy fic #matty healy x reader #matty healy angst #matty healy #angst #naomi’s writing !

[pieridae-art]

Special Lan Xichen analysis post

As I’ve previously said, Lan Xichen is a very flawed person and that’s okay! I want to examine him at several parts of the story and pick apart some of the criticism he gets. So let’s talk Lan Xichen!

Siege of the Burial Mounds: I really like this one shot from the donghua where the Sect Leaders of each sect (NMJ, JGS, and JC) are shown at the siege and beside them representing the Lan sect is… Lan Qiren. Not LXC. Setting aside the perfect storm JGS set up for the siege to occur (I don’t care who led it; JGS is the problem post-Sunshot Campaign about 99% of the time), I think this is because LXC stayed back in the Cloud Recesses with LWJ tending to his wounds post-whipping. Not assuming LXC’s absence, however, the siege was led by JC and orchestrated (because separating the twin prides of Yunmeng and artificially creating tension within the jianghu was a deliberate action) by JGS. Not saying LXC’s participation is okay just because he wasn’t the driving force behind it but imagine if the Lan sect stood against the other sect’s wishes. Standing up for WWX would have been the right thing to do but were the Lans in any position to oppose the siege with their sect in the process of rebuilding? Going along with the siege, to me, is an act of cowardice, not malice. Extra note: we see his capability of defending the Wen remnants when JGS is talking shit about them and WWX but he is shut down immediately and does not speak up any further. This is not a matter of hypocrisy; it’s a matter of fearing the consequences.

NMJ’s death: this is rocky territory. It was a bad idea full stop to force proximity between them hoping everything would sort itself out. But you simply cannot blame him for NMJ’s death because he couldn’t have known. One could argue that he endangered JGY by forcing him to be near someone who tried to kill him several times. I think that’s an oversimplification of the situation. To me, this was a gesture of trust. Trust that NMJ will make an attempt to restrain himself/get better and trust that JGY will aid him in doing so. As we know, this trust is misguided. He’s rather naive to think this would work. But he is humored anyway by two people with bad intentions toward each other. LXC is not at fault for this going south when it was at a certain point inevitable. But he did enable it.

That one line about WWX being LWJ’s only mistake: I get so defensive because honestly I’d have said much worse in his position! Think about what he knows about Wangxian’s relationship leading up to it. He saw his brother devastated that the man he loved was being corrupted and harmed by his cultivation, watched as LWJ despaired over him and fought the elders and got whipped for him. He’s only seen his brother suffer due to his love for WWX. Was saying this okay? No. Consider the circumstances surrounding this line, however. Also criticizing him for this is just plain nit-picky to me lol there’s plenty this man has actually done wrong to criticize him for.

And another thing: stop saying he favored JGY over LWJ!! The entire point of his denial surrounding JGY is that there was no solid, tangible proof that was damning enough for him to outright condemn JGY without some level of unfair assumption! He was trying to be fair about the investigation! Might I add: WWX was the only one who saw NMJ’s head in Jinlintai. Had it been LWJ to see it and approach him I think the story would’ve gone differently! But it wasn’t. And he wanted to have faith in his friend from an underprivileged background constantly facing slander and mistreatment despite doing good things for the world against the jianghu’s wishes because isn’t that what LWJ did with WWX? LXC learned his lesson from WWX’s death, he just practiced it on the wrong person.

What have we learned? Lan Xichen was complicit in and enabled a lot of Bad Things if he was not an active participant, most of it willingly and some of it unknowingly. He’s unfair sometimes. He’s weak willed and lacks the strength to actually stand up for anyone in a meaningful way. He’s naive. In my opinion, he was in denial for a large portion of his story about the harmful effects of his actions.

And I adore him! He’s got the capacity for so much good and he fails to live up to it! He wants to be righteous and he doesn’t know how without putting the people he is responsible for at risk! He thinks he can do conflict resolution and he just can’t! By the end of the story, he is painfully aware of all of this and he lives knowing he did the wrong thing over and over and over again. He got the only outcome he could ever have. I don’t think he deserved his ending but I do think he might have earned it.

#mo dao zu shi #mdzs lan xichen #lan xichen #lan huan #mdzs meta #mdzs #mxtx #I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM #he makes me autistically insane

[anime-owo-kage-san]

We’re Both On A Leash (Part 2)

Part 1

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Alastor returns to the Hazbin Hotel with an uncharacteristically eerie silence. The Radio Demon did not have his usual chipper attitude, or his golden smile.

In fact….

His entire face was bandaged, a stark reminder of the events that had transpired.

Every step, he exuded an aura of quiet intensity, with only a single eye piercing through the layers of cloth that concealed the rest of his face.

Without a word, Alastor made his way through the doors.

Just as he expected, there were stares. And some whose hands went to cover their mouths, to prevent themselves from gasping, as they saw the red cladded demon’s bundled face.

Charlie was the first to speak, “Alastor—“

But, she was stopped by Vaggie putting a hand on her shoulder, before she could approach him.

Alastor held the princess in a short, meaningless staring contest, before breaking his gaze.

Then fixed his eye on Husk, who was wiping down the bar counter, until the cat sensed his staring and looked up at him. The tension in the air was palpable as Alastor approached, his silent demeanor sending a chill down Husk's spine.

Husk glanced up, his eyes widening in surprise as he took in Alastor's appearance. Concern mingled with confusion as he watched Alastor lift his hand and motion for him to follow, his movements stiff and deliberate as he started walking ahead, towards his room.

Assuming that Alastor's silence was due to the tightness of his bandages, Husk walked out of the bar, following suit.

.•.•.

The journey to Alastor's room was fraught with tension, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words. Husk couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at him. He knows this is definitely about what he did yesterday. The bandages are enough proof, that the scratch he made was still there.

His mind was racing, wondering what the Radio Demon was going to do to him.

.•.•.

They entered the dimly lit confines of Alastor's room, and Husk shut the door behind him.

With a snap of the deer demon’s fingers, two single sofa chairs facing each other appeared, followed by a mini table with a tea set on top in between.

Alastor sat down on one chair and motioned for Husk, to sit down on the other.

Knowing there was no point of bolting for the door, Husk sat down and prepared himself for whatever confrontation lay ahead.

But to his surprise, Alastor remained silent, his lone eye fixed on Husk.

Unable to bear the silence any longer, Husk spoke up, his voice trembling slightly. “Hey, uh… boss... if it’s about the incident yesterday, I—“

Alastor held his hand up, as if to tell him ‘hold on’. But, he offered no other response.

Husk's confusion deepened as he watched Alastor, his mind racing to make sense of the situation.

Before he could voice his thoughts again, Alastor snapped his fingers once more, a notepad and pen appeared in hand.

His hand moved with deliberate precision as he penned his words, the scratch of his pen against paper was the only sound in the room.

When he finished, he held the paper up for Husk to read.

[Why did you interfere?]

Husk's eyes scanned the note, his brows furrowing in thought before he offered his reply. “Well... duh... You were about to fuck yourself over. You could've died, or worse, trying to argue with someone who owns you."

Alastor's expression remained impassive as he carefully wrote another note, and held it up for Husk again.

[But, I own you. If I died, you would have been free from my contract. Why stop the possibility of me getting killed?]

Husk fell silent, his gaze drifting to the floor as he grappled with Alastor's question. After a moment of contemplation, he looked back up. “I mean... you make a good point. But…. I wouldn't want to free myself that way.”

“It would feel... kinda un-achieving... To hope that someday, somebody else offs you, when it's my own fault that my soul is yours would be... pathetic." he spoke up once more, his voice tinged with sincerity.

Alastor regarded him with surprise, his single eye fixed on Husk as he listened to his words.

"And I guess... In the end... even if you don't see it the same way... I kinda consider you as both a boss I hate and a good —morally mixed, yet— good friend.” The cat looked off to the side. “There are worse Overlords out there, to be owned by. I'm better off dealing with your bullshit," Husk concluded, his voice carrying a hint of resignation.

Alastor's silence spoke volumes as he absorbed Husk's words, a flicker of something akin to understanding passing through his gaze.

The room fell quiet once more, as Husk waited for Alastor to do or say something.

Eventually, he does do something.

Alastor brought his hands up to his face and slowly unwrapped the bandages shrouding his face.

Husk watched with a mixture of anticipation and confusion. He wasn’t sure why almost the entirety of the deer demon’s face was bandaged. He was sure his claws had only scratched his eye.

As the last of the bandages fell away, revealing the true extent of Alastor's injuries, Husk's shock was palpable. His eye, once vibrant and alive, was now stitched wide open, a permanent reminder of their altercation.

And his mouth….

It was sewn shut with the obvious intention to mock the very idea of speech. Though, the stitches seemed loose enough, that Alastor could still wear a smile behind them; a strained smile that only served to deepen Husk's sense of guilt, his own facade crumbling in the face of his…. friend's(?) suffering.

"Ah shit...!" Husk muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "This... is my fault, isn't it...? I’m sorry…”

Alastor offered a shrug, his eyes betraying the pain he sought to conceal as he wrote and handed Husk another note.

[Logically, yes. The injury you gave me must've sparked a twisted idea of some sort of punishment. But let's be honest... If you hadn't interfered, she definitely would have done worse. So, thank you. For doing what you could only think would help, at least...]

Husk's heart sank as he read Alastor's words, the weight of his actions pressing down upon him with crushing force. In his attempt to protect the man, he had unwittingly become the catalyst for his suffering.

But even as guilt gnawed at his conscience, Husk found a bit of solace in Alastor's gratitude.

Until he had the stupidest idea to open his mouth again. “Uh… Hold on. How are you gonna host your radio shows now? Radio broadcasting is your thing. But, uh..…”

Husk's question hung in the air, the weight of it settling heavily upon Alastor's shoulders, and his functional eye widened, as he stares at the table. For the first time since his injury, he found himself grappling with the harsh reality of his newfound silence.

His mind raced with possibilities, each one more dismaying than the last.

How could he continue to host his radio shows without the ability to speak?

The realization hit him…. The woman who had inflicted this punishment upon him knew all too well the significance of his voice. It was his most potent weapon, his greatest asset, for the medium he specialized in. And by robbing him of it, she had struck at the very core of his being.

A bitter taste filled Alastor's mouth as he imagined the headlines —‘Radio Is Officially Dead!’, the mockery that would surely follow. Vox, that insufferable flat faced attention seeker, would undoubtedly revel in his downfall, broadcasting to the world the demise of the Radio Demon.

"I volunteer," Husk said straightforwardly, his offer hung in the air, the weight of his words echoing in the silence of the room.

Alastor looked up, his eye narrowing in confusion as he hummed through the stitches. “Hm?"

"I'll be your voice," Husk clarified. "Give me a script, and I'll speak for you. Be your radio's new voice. Hell! I'll even tell stupid old-timey jokes, you say if that's what you want. It's the least I could do, since you can't talk anymore. That is... if you want me to...?"

Alastor considered Husk's offer for a moment, the gears turning in his mind as he weighed the possibilities.

With a nod, he hummed in response. “Mhmm!" A glimmer of gratitude shining in his eye.

And in that moment, amidst the silence that enveloped them, a new partnership was forged.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #husk #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel husk #silenced alastor #overlord husk #overlord husk au #business partners au

[toastingpencils37]

Pillow Mint Cake

This fic has been over on Ao3 since September 3rd, but I am posting it here so that whenever I eventually make a fic masterpost, I can just plop it right there.

Summary:

Cole and Lloyd get into an argument, and Zane is just watching it go down.

This was my first fic, so it is not as great as my second. But it is important to note that I deliberately chose to do this as my first fic, so that if I messed up, it was on a fic that was less important to me.

322 words

Inside the Monastery Relaxation Room, Zane is on one of the couches scrolling through social media looking at cake recipes for inspiration. Along with him, he has two of the other ninja looking on & commenting on the recipes they come across.

A few minutes, or maybe a few hours, who knows how long they had been sitting there looking at recipes, Cole, sitting on Zane’s right, punts out an idea.

“What if we made Pillow Mint cake?”

Lloyd, to Zane’s left, asks incredulously, “Pillow Mint cake?”

“Of course. You like Pillow Mint.”

“Yeah! As a mint, not as a cake!”

Confused, Cole asks, “Why not? You love Pillow Mints. And it’d taste good.”

Lloyd exclaims, “Pillow Mints are good as mints , not cake ! You can’t just make it a cake flavor and get away with it! That’d be a Pillow Mint overload! Also, what frosting flavor would you even use with it that would mix well?”

As tensions rise between the two, Zane sits still in the middle of the couch, tensely watching their argument go down.

Still engaged in the argument, Cole says, “Well, maybe I’ll bake a Pillow Mint cake and prove you wrong.”

“No! Not happening! You’re a horrible cook, and an even worse one when you’re experimenting with flavors!” Lloyd shouts.

“Okay. Maybe you are right about that , kind of. Buuut, what if Zane baked it instead, and proved you wrong?”

Both turning to Zane, he straightens in surprise, realizing what Cole just proposed. However, he states, “Nope. I am not getting involved with this heated exchange. However, maybe you two could cease this argument and apologize? Because this is getting nowhere and serves no purpose whatsoever.”

The two look at Zane for a minute, then go back to arguing a few seconds later. About five minutes after the fact (Zane was counting), Zane finally decides to get up and leave. Lloyd and Cole will stop eventually. Maybe.

End Notes (Exactly as they are on Ao3):

Dunno, I just feel like Lloyd would very much be against making his favorite mint a flavor. Because he knows full well if that happens, it'll probably be botched up.

And Zane tried to intervene mainly because he just wanted them to stop arguing, because let's be honest, it's really awkward to see two of your friends or family member fight with you just sitting in the middle having to watch it go down. And then of course he leaves because he's just done with their bullshit.

Also, I was originally going to have one of the other ninja (probably Kai) come in from training and just watch the argument go down, not understanding what going on. And I was going to end it a different way, but the thing was, I didn't know how. So I just ended it the way it is now.

#ninjago #ninjago lloyd #cole ninjago #zane ninjago #toasty's fics #pillow mint cake #pillow mint ninjago

[wolves-in-the-world]

[original security knife ficlet here, qwat au inspiration here]

Featuring injuries, angst, casual discussion of violence, and a much-needed nap.

[1.8k, also on Ao3]

—

"I'm not expecting you to sleep," Quinn says, like the very idea is laughable. Like they didn't just almost kill each other on their first meeting. Like he's having the time of his life getting his ribs kicked in, losing a molar (temporarily), cosying up to Eliot Spencer (remains to be seen), and betraying the most dangerous man he's likely to ever meet (potentially very permanently).

There's something very wrong with him, Eliot's almost sure. But he's hardly in a place to throw stones.

"Just saying you can lie down and rest while I listen out for trouble," Quinn continues, easy as anything. "You've been on the road for weeks now. You've got to be exhausted."

Eliot grits his teeth as he zips the duffel shut, using the motion to get a sense for how badly he's wrenched his shoulder. It'll have to do. He doesn't exactly have the option to rest it. Doesn't exactly have the option to rest at all. "I'll pass."

"C'mon, Spencer." Eliot isn't sure if the thickening of Quinn's accent is a deliberate ploy or something more unconscious. "If you're accepting my help, you're gonna have to close your eyes in front of me sooner or later."

Eliot's already made his calls. He got one old contact talking at length about the smart-mouthed young hitter who ruined her operation, another telling him that Mister Quinn still owes them thirteen dollars and forty-seven cents after losing a bet, and a solid letter of recommendation from someone Eliot would trust with his life.

Used to, at least. He's got more to risk these days.

He's beyond exhausted. He can't deny that. He's been all sharp edges and hollow adrenaline since the fight, was running on fumes before that, had a catnap in some public toilets yesterday because he needed it, almost couldn't help it, figured it was unlikely anyone would expect it of him. He stopped after the third time he jerked awake at the sound of footsteps, dizzy and queasy from the interruptions and the smells.

He needs to rest. And this guy is worse off than Eliot is—he can count the broken ribs by the way Quinn's holding himself—and Eliot would know if Moreau had him under his thumb. A one-off job, then. It's a messy form of suicide to accept a job from Moreau then refuse to complete it, but Eliot's not going to be the one to stop him.

Letting his guard down around him, though...

"You want to take down the next guy he sends, be my guest." Eliot's voice sounds hoarse to his ears, like he's coming down with a cold. Shit, he'd better not be. "But I'm not letting you keep watch while I rest."

Quinn seems to consider that, consider him. If Quinn weren't so visibly hurt from their earlier confrontation, he'd bristle under that even more. As it is, he still feels the urge to show his teeth and make sure Quinn respects him. Respect is the only thing a hitter has.

Then Quinn lets out a sigh and reaches for the back of his waistband, and Eliot's on his feet in a second because Quinn said he'd left all his weapons in the pile in the corner but Eliot's not a fool, and he's fully ready to slam his head against the bedframe and leave the mess for someone else to find when Quinn says, as calm as before, "Here."

He's flipping the knife around, offering Eliot the hilt. His eyes are steady on Eliot's but from the tension in his posture that's a little more than residual, Eliot's guessing he felt the stress of the moment too.

He keeps his voice level. "You got any more of those hidden away?"

"It's my favourite knife," Quinn says, with a shrug that isn't an apology. "I don't part with it."

Exactly why it would be his favourite, Eliot can't be sure. People get sentimental about their weapons. Superstitious, too. Eliot had a gun he favoured, before... he left. He can't be sure Quinn's telling the truth.

Except it's not the first gesture of trust he's offered. Even calling a halt like he did, slumped back against the wall with an arm wrapped around himself and glaring at Eliot without much fire to it, and Eliot had been a fool to ease back too, to think that it might be anything but a trap, but Quinn had been asking—had been listening—and Eliot hadn't wanted to kill him. That was what this entire mess had been about.

At least, he thinks so. That decision isn't one he can examine just yet. But he's sure he has to do better. Sure he has to be better.

He accepts the knife just to get a closer look at it. There's wear on the hilt like it's been handled a lot, wear on the blade like it's been sharpened often. It's very clean. It's not new. And when he glances back up to the other man's face he sees a wariness quickly tucked away in those brown eyes, like Quinn's offered more than he wanted to.

Huh.

"You gonna keep watch without any weapons?" He twirls the knife in his hand to show that he can, catches the blade between thumb and forefinger and flips it again, the hilt a reassuring thwack against his palm.

"I'll shout if trouble finds us. Don't want you missing out on the fun." There's just a hint of playfulness to his expression now, but enough that Eliot has to check himself. Quinn looks even younger when he smiles, and he has to know that. Useful skill for someone like them to have.

"If you try anything," Eliot says, pulling the blanket from the bed and dumping it on the floor in front of their shared weapons stash, "I'm finishing the job."

"I'd expect nothing less," says Quinn, because—as Eliot is quickly figuring out—he's one cheeky bastard.

Eliot doesn't intend to sleep. He can get enough rest to recharge a bit for now, and there'll be other opportunities once he's—they've—moved to a safehouse that's less easily compromised. He settles himself down, just enough composure left to keep from vocalising the pain, though Quinn must know he broke Eliot's rib too. One last glance through cracked eyelids shows Quinn's still sitting where he was before, gingerly walking his fingers over his side to check for damage. There's a boot-shaped bruise there that's going to be black in a few hours.

Eliot closes his eyes, and the spinning in his head quickly fades to nothing.

~

When he wakes his body is a scream, his head throbbing, and the quality of light in the room suggests it's been at least six hours. It's far longer than he meant to rest, and he could kick himself for it. Might, when he's feeling better.

More sleep would honestly be ideal—but even if that were an option, he has to see to himself first.

It takes a moment to register a soft, irregular sound and track it to the chair he left Quinn in. He cracks his eyes open and sees the hitter tired but still aware: cheek swollen, one eye bruised, bandages peeking out from his sleeve. He's tapping a rhythm against his knee with two fingers.

Morse, Eliot realises, after another embarrassingly long moment. (Fuck, he really needed that sleep.) He dutifully matches patterns to letters, which even more slowly shape themselves into words.

Hamlet?

If he's reached the 'translating plays to stay focused' portion of his watch, he must be getting desperate.

Eliot uncurls his fingers from the knife first, realising he's held it so tight that they've gone numb. Then he shifts his weight to lever himself up, head still swimming—but more manageable than before—and the tapping stops.

"Eliot Spencer," Quinn greets, not moving from his chair.

"Quinn," he grunts out, because a promise kept needs some acknowledgement. Not enough for a 'Mister' though. He's had enough of performative superiority for a lifetime. "You gonna be fit to travel?"

"I'm a professional." He sounds genuinely offended. Eliot allows himself a little satisfaction at that. "You need a hand with your injuries?"

Letting him keep watch while he sleeps is one thing. That's another. "I've got it," he says, picking up his duffel on the way to what barely passes for a bathroom. He'll be leaving the weapons unattended, but it's a calculated risk. He's pretty sure he'll hear if Quinn goes after them. And he has to give Quinn a chance to betray him sooner or later.

He has to stop at the door, suddenly finding himself one hand short. He's still holding Quinn's knife. He flips it around, offers it back. "Here."

It's not a thank you. It's nothing as soft as that. From the way Quinn's eyebrows shift, his face softening—the uninjured parts of it, at least—it might as well have been. He doesn't comment. At least he has some self-preservation.

Eliot undresses bit by bit to see to himself in the bathroom, not wanting to be caught entirely naked if he has to spring into action. (He learned that one the hard way.) As he takes stock of his physical hurts, he grudgingly assesses his situation.

Just one month, and his whole world changed. Some of it— he can never take back. Never even try to. Some of it, his decision, his fleeing, he's committed to now. Not for Toby, who deserved a better friend after what he did for Eliot, and not for Aimee, who's living her life without him. Not even for himself. Not the time to dwell on that now.

Just one day, and his whole situation is different. Maybe it's the actual sleep getting to him. Maybe it's someone else looking out for him in a way Eliot hasn't had, not properly, since he was in the military. Maybe he's clutching at anything that can keep him afloat and what he's apparently found is this curly-haired, soft-faced killer who seemed absurdly happy to get into a fight with him, and absurdly willing to turn around and lend a hand when Eliot told him why he wasn't going back.

Maybe it's just nice to spend a little time with someone like him. Someone who knows at least a bit of what that means.

Truth be told, he's not much better off than he was yesterday. His safehouse isn't as safe as he hoped, Quinn's handiwork is on his ribs, his abdomen, his arms, his thighs. He has another person to keep an eye on until they show their true colours—or simply get bored and leave. Eliot isn't counting anything out.

Today, though. He can plan for today, and stay as cautious as he knows how to, and accept the help that's offered him.

For today, at least, Eliot has an ally.

#quinn leverage #quinn's lucky knife #qwat au #fics #leverage angst #quinn here is very much ''I'm going to get a good grade in helping eliot spencer! #something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve :)'' #I THINK eliot gets less paranoid about quinn pretty quickly and quinn also becomes more of a bastard very quickly #a few more decent naps and eliot cooking for quinn and quinn eating eliot's food and things will be Very Different between them #but right now eliot is a wary animal and quinn is a friendly but careful cat determined to adopt him #very surprised I wrote this I have no solid ideas on early qwat au #but trivalentlinks' recent art made my brain go brrr and here we are <3

[jessybarnes]

Golden Lines - Chapter Two - Fate

Pairings: Chris Evans x OFC Jessica Anderson, Chris Evans x OFC Lily Stan, Sebastian Stan x OFC Jessica Anderson, Tom Hiddleston x OFC Ang DiLorenza 

Chapter Two Characters: Chris Evans, Sebastian Stan (mentioned) Tom Hiddleston, OFC Jessica Anderson, OFC Lily Stan, OFC Ang DiLorenza, OFC Amanda Evans (mentioned)

Chapter Two Rating: Mature 

Chapter Two Tags: Angst, fluff, panic attacks, comfort, crying, kissing, stress, mentions of keeping secrets, pet names, sarcasm, deliberate flirting, MAJOR sexual tension, establishing a new secret relationship, mentions of drinking, anxiety, math (yeah fuck math. I hate math lmao), mentions of a war, implied past verbal abuse, mentions of homework (Idk if that's a trigger but I'm not taking any chances lol), and explicit language. 

Chapter Two Word Count: 4,308

Chapter Two Betas: T. Thompson and @madashatters18

Chapter Two Mini Title Card: Yours Truly

Jessica stares down at the bold words scratched on the tiny slip of paper. Her hands begin to tingle and her throat starts to tighten. 

Breathe. Get control. Don't let it take hold. 

A shaky breath falls from her lips and she squints her eyes shut. 

Not here. Anywhere but here. Please, calm down. 

She glances at the clock and notes that there are still ten minutes left of class. Jessica rests her forehead on top of her hands and tries to control her breathing. 

Angie touches her arm softly making her jump. "Jessy?" She whispers. "You don't look so good. I promise it'll be okay. It's not like you did anything wrong. You didn't know he was gonna be your teacher." 

Tears prick the corner of her eyes, "I need to leave. I-I…," her hands begin to shake, "I can't...breathe." 

Angie recognizes what's happening and quickly glances at her phone. Two minutes left of class. "Hey, breathe for me, okay? We only have a couple of minutes left and then we can go outside for a minute." 

Jessica clenches her fists to try and stop her hands from shaking. "I...can't...he s-said to stay." 

Angie looks confused but then notices the piece of paper inside her book. She glances up at Mr. Evans. He's looking at Jessica, clearly concerned at how upset she is. He moves his gaze to her and mouths 'is she okay?' Angie shakes her head no and gives Jessica's hand a squeeze just as the bell rings. 

"Okay, class. Go ahead and take both books with you. Tomorrow I'd like a table of contents page stating what war you picked and what topics you plan to cover." 

Angie gathers her things and spares a final glance at Jessica. "I'll save you a spot in Math, okay?" 

She nods and soon there's no one in the room but her and Chris. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her head buried in her hands as she tries desperately to control her breathing. 

Please don't let this happen. Not in front of him. Anyone but him. 

Chris feels awful. He didn't mean to make her so anxious, and he sure as hell didn't want her to cry. He isn't sure how he plans to approach this. Never in his eight years of teaching did he think this would happen to him. When he first laid eyes on her in the park he thought she was beautiful. Her striking red curls and hazel eyes captivated him. Sure she's young, okay, really young, but she is technically legal. 

He tested the waters a little, flirted with her, and called her pretty. He never expected her to reciprocate, but when she called him handsome, he felt a warmth in his chest. Something he hadn't felt in a long time. 

Now she's here, right in front of him, and he has to do something. He can't continue to pursue her. Not when he's her teacher. Chris stands and slowly makes his way to where she's sitting. She's shaking and it only makes him feel worse. 

"Jessica? Hey, can we talk?" 

She doesn't move. He can hear how fast she's breathing and he sees how white her knuckles are. He knows these symptoms. They're all too familiar for him. He kneels down beside her, knees popping as they bend, and tries to soothe her the best he can. 

"Hey, shh… you gotta breathe slower for me, okay? I'm not mad at you, Jessica. You're not in any trouble. I just want to talk to you about our…unique situation. Will you look at me?" 

Jessica can hear his voice, but he sounds far away. It's like she's stuck underwater and listening to voices above the surface. 

No control. There's no control. Nowhere is safe. You have to leave. Leave! He's just going to scream at you. Just like your Dad always did. 

The voice in her head is unrelenting and her heartbeat becomes the only thing she can hear. 

Chris realizes he's going to have to change tactics. He gets up and closes his door, thankful that this happens to be his free period, and locks it. He takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over his desk chair before resuming his earlier spot on the floor. 

"C'mon, sweetheart. Come here." 

The moment he pulls her to the floor and cradles her to his chest, she starts sobbing. 

"Shh, it's alright. I've got you, Jessica. Just breathe, okay? Feel the way my chest rises and falls and try to match it for me." 

He threads his fingers through her curly locks and rests his lips on the top of her head. She's breathing slower now, her cries slowly becoming little whimpers. 

"That's it. There we go. You're doin' so well, sweetheart." 

Jessica feels him pull her into his chest and hears him talking to her. It's helping. The voice in her head is being drowned out by his comfort and it's the first time someone is able to pull her out of a panic attack. She grasps his dress shirt tightly between her small fingers and inhales his scent. His heartbeat thumps rhythmically against her temple and soon she can feel her body relax under his touch. 

Jessica sniffles and pulls away to look at him. "'M sorry," she rasps. She's ashamed of herself for getting so upset. Her hands sit in her lap and her gaze is fixed on a loose string at the hem of her dress. 

Chris lifts her chin with his index finger so she's looking at him. Her eyes are wide, sparkling with unshed tears, and it breaks his heart to see all the pain in them. "Sweetheart, why on Earth are you sorry?" He watches her try and look back down, but he doesn't let her. "It's okay to look at me, Jessica. Just because I'm your teacher and much older than you doesn't make you beneath me. I'm human too. We all are." 

"I'm sorry cause I…cause I made you uncomfortable a-and for messing up your shirt...I-I'm just…I'm just sorry, Ch-Mr. Evans." She sees the way he's looking at her. His bluish-green eyes are searching hers, trying to figure her out. 

Chris doesn't know why, but he cups her face with his free hand. He knows it's wildly inappropriate, he knows they could possibly be seen, and he knows all of the risks, but all he cares about is making sure she's okay. 

"Jessica, you didn't make me uncomfortable. I was more worried about you. I didn't want you to be weirded out having me as a teacher. I love the thought of having you as one of my students and getting to see how deep your passion is for our country's history goes. All of that excites me. As far as my shirt goes," he looks down at the black smudges from her mascara, "I could give a shit less, honestly. It's just a shirt. I'm more concerned about you and your well-being, sweetheart." 

"I don't think it's weird," she whispers. 

Her eyes dance over the features of his face. They're so close now, only a few inches apart. Ang was right, Chris is something else. She can see the small specs of green scattered across the blue in his eyes, his ridiculously long eyelashes, and his smooth pink lips. 

The negligible space between them crackles with a new kind of intensity. Jessica can't take her eyes off Chris. His large hand splays across her back making her skin feel hot. She wets her lips and watches his eyes hone in on the movement of her tongue. God, she would give anything to feel his pillowy, pink lips on hers. 

Chris slots his fingers behind Jessica's ear and wipes a stray tear from her cheek. The foreign feeling is back again. The one he had yesterday when she said he was handsome, and it scares him. It's been five years since he felt like this about another person, the last one being his late wife, Amanda. 

Alarm bells are going off in his mind, telling him he shouldn't do this, that he should stand them up and send Jessica on her way. His body, on the other hand, acts on its own volition. Chris is drawn to her, like a moth to a flame. 

"Jessica," he whispers, "I…I meant what I said yesterday. You're so pretty - no, you're beautiful. You're so damn beautiful, sweetheart," he breathes. "I just… I don't know how to explain it, but I can't deny that I feel something for you." 

His lips are so close to hers that he can feel her warm breath on his skin. 

"I know the consequences I'd face if we got caught exploring our feelings, but the insane part is, I don't care...and that...that terrifies me." 

Chris rubs the pad of his thumb against her cheek gently. "I understand if you don't want to do this. I won't treat you any differently from the other students if you say no, but I have to know, do you…do you wanna see where this goes?" 

Jessica's pulse quickens at his confession. He searches her eyes for an answer, and she can see how nervous he is. Chris is absolutely gorgeous, there’s no question about it, but does she want to risk everything just to see if they could make this work? She will have to pretend he's just her teacher when there are others around. Even Ang and Lily couldn't know. Especially Lily since her brother is a teacher here too, but none of that matters. Jessica swallows thickly and lets out a breath. 

"Yes."

Her answer is so quiet that Chris almost misses it. He probably would have if he wasn't staring at her mouth right now. That one tiny word lights a flame inside him that's been dormant for so long, and it almost overwhelms him. 

"Can I kiss you?" 

Chris doesn't want to assume she's ready for anything without asking first. He's putting the ball in her court for everything. Her innocent hazel eyes turn dark with lust and her pupils dilate almost immediately. She nods, and the last shred of his self-control breaks. 

Jessica watches Chris as his eyes move over every part of her face. It's like he's trying to memorize her. The heat in her belly returns tenfold, and when he asks to kiss her, she doesn't hesitate. She closes her eyes as he leans in and when his lips brush hers the world seems to stop. 

Chris is so gentle with her almost as if she'll break if he's too rough. He moves his mouth against hers slow and sensual, taking his time to savor the moment. Jessica tastes like berry chapstick and salty tears and it intoxicates him. He needs more. It's been forever since he's allowed himself to get close to a woman and he forgot how exhilarating it was. 

Jessica parts her lips for him and he slides his tongue against hers, hot and luscious, pulling a moan from her throat. He growls and feels himself getting hard in his slacks. If he doesn't stop now, he's not sure he'll be able to hold himself back much longer. Reluctantly, Chris pulls away and rests his forehead against hers. She's smiling and it makes his heart stutter. 

"Wow," she breathes. "That was...wow." 

Chris chuckles and swipes his thumb along her bottom lip. "You have no idea, sweetheart." He glances at his watch and sighs. "C'mon, let's get you a pass to Math, yeah? Tom's cool, he won't mind. I'll just write that I had to go over the material with you a little more thoroughly. 

Jessica raises an eyebrow, "Tom?" 

Chris shakes his head, "Sorry, Mr. Hiddleston. He's a friend of mine and I'm used to calling him, Tom." 

Chris takes out a pass and writes a little note before ripping off another piece of scrap paper. He scribbles something quickly and hands it to her. "Here's your pass, and this," he gives her the other one, "is my number. I um…just please don't put me in your phone as Chris. How about handsome? I'll put you in mine as sweetheart whenever you text me. Is that okay?" 

Jessica nods, "yeah, that's fine. Thank you...for um...well, for making me feel better and also...I'm happy we're trying this." 

Chris softens and presses a kiss to her forehead. "Anytime, sweetheart. I'm happy too. Now, get to class, you're already fifteen minutes late!" He winks and unlocks the door for her. "His room is at the end of the hall on your right." 

Chris watches her go for a moment before closing his door again. "Fuck! What did I just agree to?!" He doesn't regret it, but he can't deny the fear he feels. He paces for a moment before pulling his phone from his pocket. He types in his passcode and opens his text conversation with Sebastian. 

Chris’s thumbs hover over the keyboard as he thinks of what to say. He sighs and closes his eyes. Sebastian has been his friend for over ten years. He can trust him. He knows he can, but this is big. Chris decides to be vague for now and types a quick message. 

Jessica takes a moment to compose herself before opening the door to her Math class. She tries to ignore all the pairs of eyes on her while she hands her pass to Mr. Hiddleston. He smiles warmly and motions for her to sit down. Jessica finds her saved seat behind Lily and next to Ang, and whispers a soft hi to them. 

"Alright, let's continue from where we left off. This course will give you all the tools you need to prepare for Calculus, hence the name Pre-Calculus. I will be passing out two things. The first will be your book, and the second will be an assessment worksheet." 

Jessica tries to distract her mind and pay attention, but it's hard. All she can think about is the way Chris’s lips felt and the way time seemed to stop when his tongue danced with hers. 

She hears Angie make a small noise beside her and glances in her direction. Jessica watches her friend's eyes follow Mr. Hiddleston around the room and grins as she worries her lip between her teeth. 

Lily notices too and turns to whisper to Jessica. "I think our bestie over here's got a crush." 

The two of them nod in unison and Angie blushes. "Shh! Not so loud! I can't help it, guys. I mean, did you see his eyes? Oh, and his accent...sweet god." 

Mr. Hiddleston starts to walk down the row all three of them are seated between and hands each of them a book. He spares a quick glance at Lily and Jessica, but when his baby blues turn to Angie, he freezes. They lock eyes and he swallows hard before setting a book and paper on her desk with a shaky hand. 

Jessica smirks at Lily, "looks like Romeo found his Juliet." 

The blonde snickers and Angie rolls her eyes playfully. "Yeah, right. Like that beautiful specimen of a man would ever want me." 

Jessica frowns and Lily shakes her head. "Seriously, Ang?" Lily whispers. "You're fucking gorgeous!" 

Jessica nods, "for real though! Did you see the way he looked at you? I've seen my fair share of romantic movies, and I'll be damned if he didn't look at you like Noah looks at Allie in the Notebook." 

Angie blushes, "okay let's save the rest of this talk for after school. You guys can come to my house for dinner if you want." 

Jessica shrugs, "I don't see why not. I'll text my Mom and let her know. Lily, you comin'?" 

She shakes her head. "As much as I want to, I can't. Seb and I have our weekly movie night. It's the one thing our therapist said for us to do since everything happened with our Dads." 

Ang nods and Jessica gives her a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry to hear about that." 

"It's alright. He left when I was little, so I don't really have many memories of him. Seb took it the hardest, he was five when his Dad left." 

Jessica tilts her head. "Is Seb short for something?" 

Lily chuckles. "Yeah, his actual name is Sebastian, and mine is Lilliana. Our Mom likes unique names." 

Mr. Hiddleston clears his throat, "Okay, there's about twenty minutes of class left. Please complete the worksheet and bring it to me when you're done." 

Angie groans, "Fuck, I hate Math." Lily and Jessica agree and begin working along with the rest of the class. 

Angie stares down at the paper and grumbles. "Who even invented this shit anyway? I'd like to give them a swift kick in the ass," she whispers to herself before scribbling her name and date at the top of the page. Her eyes look up to see Mr. Hiddleston with the cap of his pen between his teeth. God, she could stare at him all day. His tall, toned body looks so good in that suit. She's willing to bet money he's got a six-pack. Not to mention those thighs. The man's got legs for days, and his voice is sexy as hell. 

His accent. 

Dear God, he could read the manual of a fucking fax machine and she'd hang on every word. Ang watches his tongue flick along the side of the pen and bites her lip to hold back a moan. Her mind immediately thinks of all the different ways that tongue could take her apart. 

She tears her eyes away and looks back up to meet his curious ones. 

Shit! How long has he been watching me watch him?! Play it cool…smile and just write some bullshit on this paper. 

She smirks and stares at the first question. Find the equation of a line in a slope. Yeah, fuck that. Suddenly, an idea pops into her head and she chuckles mischievously. Oh, Mr. Hiddleston is in for a real treat when he sees her attempt at this nonsense. 

She's one of the last ones to finish and purposely waits to be the last person to hand in the worksheet. Angie approaches his desk and holds out the paper. "Here ya go, Mr. H., I tried my best." 

There's a hint of sarcasm in her tone that he instantly picks up on. His eyes flick down to the paper and frowns, "Ms. DiLorenza, could you stay after class, please? I think we should talk about these answers, don't you agree?" 

Angie shrugs, "if you say so, Teach." 

Tom watches her walk back to her seat and sighs. This one's a real spitfire, he thinks to himself. A few minutes later the bell rings and the other students start filing out of the room. 

"Hey, Ang, you comin'? It's lunchtime." Jessica stares at her quizzically while Lily pops her gum. 

"I can't guys, Mr. H says he wants to talk to me." 

Lily smirks, "uh huh...we'll save ya a seat in the cafeteria." 

Jessica winks and follows Lily out of the room leaving just her and the British dreamboat.

"Ms. DiLorenza, would you please come and have a seat?" Mr. Hiddleston nods to a chair he's pulled up next to his desk. 

She saunters up and plops down, her wavy hair bouncing with the motion. "What's the damage, Mr. H? How much trouble am I in?" 

He looks incredulously at her, "Why would you be in trouble, Angie? I'm here to teach you how to solve these equations, not get angry with you. Although, you could have left out the sarcasm," he grins. 

"It's Ang." 

Tom tilts his head slightly, "I'm sorry?" 

She meets his gaze and licks her lips. "Call me Ang, please." 

Tom can feel his heart racing in his chest. A woman with confidence has always been his weakness, and boy, did she have it. He knows he shouldn't, but he can't stop his attraction to Angie from unfurling. Her beauty hit him like a ton of bricks when he was passing out books earlier, and he's been stealing glances at her ever since. Her dark, shiny hair that cascades over her shoulders in loose waves, the way her chocolate brown eyes are looking at him right now, with so much innocence and interest, and those pink, bowtie lips shining from where she wet them just moments ago. If anything, he's the one that's in trouble. 

"Y-Yes, of course, Ang it is then." He clears his throat and places his index finger under the first problem. "Alright, so for this first one, it's asking for the equation of a line in both slope-intercept form and general form. Do you know how to break down both formulas?" 

Angie shakes her head, "not even the slightest idea, Mr. H." 

He stands and motions to the whiteboard. "Come here. I'll break it down for you." 

They stand and he grabs a blue marker. "Alright, the standard equation for calculating the slope-intercept form of a line is y=mx+b. Do you know what each of the letters means?" 

Ang looks up into his eyes, "nope." She pops the p. "If you ask me, the alphabet should have stayed in its own lane. As soon as letters were added I was a lost cause. I'm afraid you're probably wasting your time doing this Mr. Hiddleston. I'm never gonna grasp this. I'll always be terrible at math." 

Tom knits his eyebrows together. Okay, so maybe she lacks confidence in some areas, but she's still absolutely stunning. He blinks and turns towards her. "Ang, you're selling yourself short. Let me try and tutor you on this, hm? We could meet for a half hour after school say...every Wednesday?" He looks hopeful, maybe a little too hopeful, as he waits for her answer. 

She smiles, "sure, Teach. It's a date." Angie's eyes go wide when she realizes what she said. 

What the fuck?! Great now he's gonna think you're weird. 

"I-I… I didn't mean… shit, that wasn’t…that came out wrong." She looks down at her shoes. 

Tom's heart skips. He can see right through her. He knew the moment he caught her staring at him chewing on his pen cap that she felt an attraction to him just as he did her. He just isn't sure if she's on the same level as him. 

He doesn't want her to feel humiliated, so he does the first thing he can think of. Two of his long fingers tilt her chin back up so he can see her eyes. "Ang, darling, it's okay. You don't need to worry." 

He smiles softly and turns back to the board. "Okay, so here," he draws a vertical line and a horizontal line that meet in the middle, sort of like the letter T, "is the graph we will use to show our slope intercept form. The vertical line represents the y-axis and the horizontal is the x-axis. So, the x and y in the equation are referring to their corresponding axis. The letter m is the slope and the letter b means the y-intercept point. Does that make sense?" 

Angie nods, but she's hardly paying attention. She's still processing the fact he called her darling like it was second nature. The way it rolled off of his tongue made her squeeze her thighs together. They're standing so close to one another. His cologne makes her knees weak. The characteristic woody note blends perfectly with the underlying leather and smokey tones. She also picks up on a smidge of a floral accent. 

Her eyes move to his wrist, and she takes notice of the simple, yet sleek, silver watch with a black band. She wants to touch it, well really she just wants to touch him, but that's no easy feat right now. Without thinking twice about it, she reaches for his hand and smoothes her small fingers across the face of the watch. It's got the word Tissot near the top with the year 1853 right below it. There are no numbers, just tick marks. Bold silver ones represent the standard one through twelve number sequence and the smaller ones are the minutes in between. 

It's only then that she realizes he’s not talking anymore. She looks up, his light eyes searching hers. His mouth is slightly open and it may be the lighting, but it looks like he's blushing. 

"I like your watch, Mr. H," she whispers. 

Tom is so focused on explaining the formula that he doesn't see Angie reaching for his hand. He's rendered speechless when he feels her soft fingers curl around his palm, and when he looks down at her, he's surprised to find her studying his watch. She's curiously looking it over, holding his hand like it's no big deal, and it's the confidence part of it that makes him forget to breathe. 

"Thank you. It uh…Christmas gift from ah…Sebastian." 

It takes all of his willpower to keep from pushing her against his desk and kissing her until they need to come up for air. He swallows hard and slowly slips his hand from hers. "Um…w-we should…you need some lunch. Your friends… they… they saved you a seat, right?" 

He can't believe this petite woman has made him into this blushing, stuttering mess from her touch alone. No one has ever done this to him before. She is looking at him like he's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen and it makes his heart nearly stop. He isn’t prepared for this, but there’s a part of him that doesn’t want it to go away either. 

"Okay, Mr. H. See you tomorrow?" 

He nods, "Yeah. Tomorrow."

#j snow writes #golden lines chapter two #golden lines #chris evans #chris evans fic #chris evans x ofc #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fic #sebastian stan x ofc #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic #tom hiddleston x ofc #real person fiction #rpf

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Merlin Scar Reveal Part 2(final part)

Merlin tries to pretend nothing happened, Arthur says “that’s stupid.”

Part 1

Merlin’s nightmares last for the rest of the afternoon and extend well into the night. 

The heat certainly doesn’t help, and it takes all of Gaius’ effort to keep his temperature low enough to not boil him from the inside out, but he manages with help from the knights. Mordred and Lancelot refuse to leave the servant’s side of course, but the others loiter in the corridor the entire time, and take turns sprinting to the cold store and kitchens for ice water and cloths.

It was difficult to stand there waiting, being given scraps of information on Merlin’s condition, especially when most of the scraps consist of something along the lines of “Hopefully he’ll snap out of it by the morning.”, which was certainly not helped when the occasional whimper floated out to them from the young servant’s room.

After a few hours, Leon was the one to draw the short straw to go and talk to Arthur. Whilst all of them were mildly miffed that Arthur had pushed Merlin so far, they knew that ultimately, it was all of their faults. All of them had pushed him, and none of them had protected him from being injured in the first place. None of them knew how much he had suffered, was still suffering. Considering Arthur’s... extra feelings for his servant, it was no wonder he’d reacted even worse than the others.

The First Knight agrees to go, knowing he had the best chance of talking some sense into The King, though he refuses to leave until he sees each of the others settle in their beds; it had been a long day, and would likely be an even longer day tomorrow. They all need as much sleep as they can get.

Arthur doesn’t answer when Leon knocks on his door, but the knight lets himself in after a few moment regardless, doing so quietly so as not to startle the man if he was asleep or, more likely, deep in thought.

The King was sat at his desk, chin resting on his hands, and Leon has to stamp down the surge of protective adrenaline in his lungs when he sees the dry tear tracks on the younger man’s face. He doesn’t notice Leon’s presence, not even when he very deliberately clears his throat, so the knight walks over to him slowly, rapping his knuckles harshly on the desk. That finally catches Arthur’s attention, and he looks up with a start, hands reaching for the sword that Leon knows he has hidden under the desk.

The King lets out a deep breath and relaxes back in his seat when he sees that it’s just Leon, hastily wiping his eyes before clearing his throat and looking up with a fake confidence:

“Sir Leon, what can I do for you?”

Leon just raises an eyebrow, but when Arthur holds strong and doesn’t react he lets out a deep sigh and collapses into the seat on the other side of the desk:

“Come on, Arthur. We need to talk about this.”

Arthur gulps, trying to keep his unaffected façade up, but failing and dropping it after only a few moments; something about the soft, overly concerned look Leon was giving him made him want to wrap himself in blankets and sob himself to sleep. He frowns and just about manages to keep the tears in:

“Why wouldn’t he tell me? If not about the physical scars, then about all the times he’s been hurt. Does he not think I would’ve given him time to recover? Or, God forbid, helped him?”

Leon purses his lips slightly in thought, still having to make a concerted effort not to gather The King up in a tight hug as he considers his questions:

“I don’t think it’s about you, Arthur. Merlin is... a private person by nature, and he doesn’t like worrying people. You heard Mordred, he and Lance found out by accident, and even then Merlin tried to keep them away from it as long as possible.”

Arthur stands, the guilt and sadness in his gut now frothing with anger as well. He paces around to the centre of the room and Leon stands to watch him carefully:

“He can say it’s not about me as much as he wants, but I’m The King, Leon,-”

He whirls on the knight, and Leon clenches his jaw, resisting the urge to raise a mocking eyebrow. He knew to expect anger at some point, but that doesn’t mean Arthur was entitled to it:

“-I have a right to know what’s going on in my Kingdom. I should’ve been informed of Nimueh and Morgause’s deaths, I should’ve been informed that Cenred was torturing people for information. How many other countless adventures has Merlin had that have put himself, Me, the Kingdom in danger, simply because he didn’t want people to know much about him?? None of that was his call to make.”

Leon does raise an eyebrow at that, but Arthur was too busy furiously pacing to feel scolded quite yet. The older man crosses his arms and huffs slightly, waiting for The King to calm before responding:

“Be that as it may, that’s not why you’re angry. You can lie to yourself, Arthur, but you can’t lie to me, and you certainly shouldn’t lie to Merlin. If you go to him pretending that you’re angry because he put the Kingdom at risk, and not because you’re heartbroken at him having suffered so much, then he’ll never forgive you. And when you realise that, you’ll never forgive yourself.”

Arthur looks to Leon sharply, but the anger drains from his face within seconds and his whole body sags slightly, the exhaustion of the day having caught up to him. A glance to the now dark window tells him that it’s well into the evening, but he can’t find it in himself to be annoyed at the unfinished paperwork on his desk or the hunger in his stomach from not having eaten since before noon, not when he knows Merlin is being tortured by nightmares and injuries that have long since healed. Injuries that he should never have had in the first place. Leon waits patiently for Arthur to respond:

“I don’t want him to be in pain. I just want to help him.”

His cracking admission has Leon give up on holding himself back, and he strides towards The King to pull him into a tight embrace. Arthur tenses at first, but quickly falls into the older man’s affection, accepting a hug for the first time since he was a child. Leon responds softly, aware that he only had a short time before Arthur pulled away and put his walls back up:

“Merlin’s already in pain, Arthur, but that doesn’t mean we can’t now help him.-”

He feels Arthur nod into his shoulder and squeezes the man tighter for a moment before pulling back, keeping a tight grip on The King’s shoulders:

“Come on, you need to get some sleep.”

Arthur’s tired, longing gaze moves to the paperwork spread haphazardly over his desk, and Leon shakes his head, tugging Arthur’s shoulders so he looks back at him:

“No, work isn’t an option, your mind is not in any sort of state to be productive right now. You’re exhausted, Arthur, a few hours of sleep will do you some good; I hate to say it but The Kingdom won’t stop needing attention whilst we... sort through this, and you’ll need the energy tomorrow.”

Arthur shakes his head, stepping back and rubbing his eyes tiredly as he takes a deep breath and straightens his back. Leon steps back as well, re-introducing the respectful distance that should be between a King and his Knight, waiting for Arthur’s no doubt stoic response:

“The councilmen will survive without me for a day or two, if not then that really should be something I’m made aware of so I can get to replacing them. Merlin and I need to...-”

He cuts himself off and clears his throat:

“-has there been any news? Any change?”

Leon shakes his head, but catches Arthur’s wrist when he begins walking towards the door:

“Arthur. I just about managed to convince everyone else to get some sleep and you need it more than them.-”

Arthur looks back indignantly, failing to portray his Kingly Anger in his exhaustion and looking more like a scolded child:

“-You know I’m right. Get some sleep, Gaius will inform you if anything changes.”

For a moment, it looks like Arthur wants to argue, but he quickly lets out a deep, bone weary sigh, nodding before moving sluggishly towards his bed. Leon nods approvingly, muttering a soft “Goodnight, My Lord” and smiling slightly at Arthur’s hummed response before quietly exiting the chambers.

~

Arthur can convince himself, for a few blissful seconds, that it was all a bad dream when he wakes up the next morning.

His curtains are thrown wide open; the sunlight streams in and forces The young King to groan and roll over, attempting to shield his eyes from the brightness. Merlin’s cheery voice echoes throughout the various chambers:

“Come on, Sire, up and at ‘em!”

Arthur just grumbles a slurred “Fuck off.” before his brain wakes up and he throws himself from the bed, thankfully wearing sleep clothes but only just managing to catch himself on the bedside table before he falls over:

“Merlin!! What the hell are you- are you ok?! Did Gaius say you could get up?!”

Merlin looks back at him with the same disapproving, mocking glare he usually uses in the morning; Arthur is taken aback at the darkness in his eyes. He can’t quite decide if it made it’s first appearance this morning, or if it had always been there and he just hadn’t noticed. He doesn’t know which idea he hates more:

“I’m fine, Arthur, no need to worry about me. And for your information, I’m a fully trained physician, I don’t need Gaius telling me what I can and can’t do.-”

He rolls his eyes and turns to The King’s desk with a huff, gesturing at the mess:

“-It’s flattering that you rely on me so much Arthur, but really, this is ridiculous.”

Arthur is finally broken out of his shocked stupor, shaking his head disbelievingly and taking a few short steps towards his manservant. He goes to yell but quickly backtracks, snapping his mouth shut and taking a deep breath before trying again, softly this time:

“Merlin... we have to talk about yesterday.”

Merlin’s reaction is immediate and harsh. The quill that he had picked up from Arthur’s desk snaps in his sudden tight grip and the tension in his shoulders is painful looking. He freezes for just a moment before forcing himself to relax, casually throwing the broken quill into a waste basket before continuing to organise the desk, refusing to look up at The King:

“No, we really don’t. I’m fine, My Lord.”

The lack of sarcasm or sass in Arthur’s title worries The King greatly, but the way Merlin regains more and more of the tension in his shoulders the closer Arthur walks to him is even more worrying:

“Merlin... look at me.-”

The servant gulps, biting his lip at he stares at the desk for a few more moments before forcing himself to look up. He recoils slightly at the tears in Arthur’s eyes, but doesn’t allow himself to look away. Arthur opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by the door to his chambers opening with a bang as Mordred and Lancelot rush in. They’re both red-faced and panting, speaking at the same time:

“I swear to the Gods if he snuck out of bed to work, I’ll-”

“I apologise My Lord, I don’t suppose you’ve seen-”

They both freeze as they see Merlin stood behind Arthur’s desk, paperwork crumpled in his tight grip and face fallen into a annoyed frown. Arthur throws his hands up, frustrated as he paces and mumbles:

"Just... come in why don’t you. No, don’t worry about knocking just run on in like you own the damn place.”

Lancelot spares him a quick glance but locks the door behind him and crosses his arms like an angry mother as he looks to the irate servant:

“Merlin, we’ve talked about this, you’re meant to take the morning off after a bad night, Gaius says-”

Merlin just rolls his eyes and turns away, interrupting Lancelot’s scolding as he continues to tidy around the room, his annoyance evident in his harsh tone and hurried movements:

“I’m a physician too, and I say I’m fine. I would like to just... get on with things, please.”

Arthur has to stop himself from recoiling at the way Lance and Mordred’s faces fall, the pain and grief sadder than anything he’s ever seen in their expressions before. He takes a moment to think before giving the two of them a pointed look and quietly asking:

“Can you give us a minute?”

Lancelot looks doubtful, but willing. Mordred plants his feet and crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow. He doesn’t say anything, but it’s obvious he has no intention of leaving Merlin’s side; as much as Arthur finds that admirable on a personal level, as King it’s unacceptable. He’s normally not a fan of pulling rank among friends, but maybe that’s because he normally doesn’t need to. Perhaps this whole mess was his fault, Mordred obviously felt so, but Arthur could hardly fix it with them glaring over his shoulder. He raises himself to his full height, a good few inches above Mordred, and uses the tone of voice he normally reserves for particularly difficult councilmen:

“You forget whose presence you are in, Sir Mordred, you’d do well to remember again. You are both dismissed.”

Mordred’s eyes go wide and he takes in a sharp breath, but after a quick glance to Merlin’s turned back he dutifully bows and walks from the room stiffly. Lancelot’s postures straightens as well, and he follows Mordred after a confident:

“We’ll be in Gaius’ chambers should you require anything, My Lord.”

Merlin was oblivious to the conversation, though Arthur reckons he was deliberately ignoring it as opposed to being actually unaware, especially with the way the servant’s shoulders relax when the door shuts behind the second knight.

Arthur sighs as Merlin continues to putter around the room, refusing to look him in the eye; he leans against the edge of the desk and crosses his arms:

“Merlin,-”

His voice is soft, but the servant still doesn’t look at him, giving a non-committal hum as he clears out the hearth with shaking hands:

“-come here, please.”

Merlin freezes for just a moment, and if the problem wasn’t so glaringly the context of the situation, Arthur may have been able to fool himself into believing that Merlin was just shocked he said please. The younger man stands slowly, turning to walk towards Arthur with his gaze stuck to the floor. He stops with about five feet of space between them and Arthur sighs again, closing the gap until only a few inches separates them. The King ignores the tears gathering in both of their eyes as he lifts a hesitating hand, dropping it softly on Merlin’s shoulder only when the servant doesn’t flinch away:

“Merlin, I... you mean a great deal to me, and I know I don’t say that often enough, or at all, really. You... look after me, keep me alive and unhurt, evidently more than I had originally thought. You make me a good King, and a better man.-”

Merlin looks up at him sharply and Arthur can tell that he’s about to argue, so he squeezes his shoulder and quickly hurries on:

“-You’ve been hurt, you’ve suffered in your service to me, and that’s unacceptable but it’s also my fault; I should’ve made it clear that I would protect you from anything. These scars prove your strength, but I understand not wanting to acknowledge them, so I promise I will never ask again. You tell me when you’re ready, and if that’s never, then that’s completely fine.-”

Merlin seems surprised by the promise, and the tears slowly dripping from his wide eyes just make Arthur regret yesterday even more. After a second or two of shock, Merlin visibly relaxes, relieved with the knowledge that he doesn’t have to expect the conversation that he really doesn’t want to have. Arthur gives him a weak smile before continuing:

“-I’m sorry, but I’m also grateful. Thank you, Merlin. But...-”

Merlin re-tenses at the “but” and Arthur squeezes his shoulder again, giving him what he hopes is a reassuring smile:

“-please don’t keep doing this alone. I... I don’t expect you to ask me for help, though I would drop anything in a heartbeat to keep you safe. Even... even if it’s Gwaine, just... I don’t want you disappearing off to save the Kingdom only to never come back again because no one knows where you are.”

Merlin smiles weakly at the disdain in Arthur’s voice when he mentions Gwaine, but quickly frowns again and looks at the floor. He gaze stays lowered when he asks his one word question, his voice quiet and ragged:

“Anything?”

Arthur frowns for a second, confused about what Merlin was asking, but quickly realises, lifting the other man’s chin with his hand, his voice a whisper:

“Merlin, I would give up the Kingdom to rid you of the burden you’ve place upon yourself. I just want you safe and happy and by my side.”

Merlin once again looks like he wants to argue, but a quiet sob falls from his mouth instead and Arthur, damning the consequences and his stupid reputation, pulls the younger man into a tight hug, cradling his head into his shoulder and running a soft hand up and down his back. A few tears of his own slip free but he finds he doesn’t care that much as Merlin shakes in his arms; he presses a barely-there kiss to Merlin’s temple and begins swaying slightly on the spot, wanting more than anything to take away his servant’s pain.

Merlin’s cries slow to a stop after what feels like hours, but Arthur doesn’t let go quite yet, eyeing the unmade bed over Merlin’s shoulder with eagerness, knowing that neither he nor Merlin had slept well last night. He feels Merlin stifle yawn against his shoulder and that just strengthens his resolve; he squeezes the younger man to get his attention and then speaks quietly:

“Reckon the council can survive without me later?”

Merlin clears his throat and responds, but still doesn’t let go:

“Doubtful, but Leon and Morgana could probably whip them into shape. Why?”

Arthur nods and pulls back, frowning at the slight panic in Merlin’s eyes when he steps away but doesn’t mention it, letting his hand slide down from the servant’s shoulder to grip his hand. Merlin visibly relaxes, but still looks confused as Arthur tugs him towards the bed gently; he allows himself to be pushed to sit on the edge and looks up at Arthur questioningly. The blond stops himself from grinning widely at the trust in his expression, instead turning away to shut the curtains and lock the door as he says:

“Shoes and belt off, I fancy a nap, how about you?”

He was expecting an argument, so he's surprised when he turns back to the bed to see Merlin softly smiling as he sets his shoes and belt on the bedside table neatly. They both climb under the covers wordlessly, and Merlin doesn’t hesitate to curl into Arthur’s side when he holds his arms out to him. 

The King holds his servant close, tucking his head against his chest and burying his chin in his soft hair, his arms wound around Merlin tightly. Merlin closes his eyes without issue, finding himself unafraid of the darkness or the nightmares or the firm touch against his back for the first time since his collection of scars began.

The warrior sleeps, plagued by nothing but pleasant dreams and the warmth of a protection he knows he can trust.

~

THE END!!

That took me FOREVER to write, writer’s block really does suck, but I’m glad I finally got it finished. I feel like it’s a little underwhelming, but I hope y‘all like it :)

@1stbonesfan asked to be tagged! <3

#merthur #merthur fluff #bbc merlin #merlin #good mordred #sir leon #leon #protective lancelot #protective leon #protective mordred #mordred #sir mordred #lancelot #sir lancelot #gwaine #sir gwaine #percival #sir percival #tw ptsd #tw nightmares #ptsd #nightmares #haooy ending #angst with a happy ending #elyan #sir elyan #gaius #morgana #good morgana #king arthur

[bloodycassian]

Tender - Azriel x reader - Pregnancy fic. Fem! reader. LONG!!! 

Prompt -  Hi! I just read most of your imagines, and i loved them!  You have me as your faithful follower, I don't comment much because English is not my first language. Could you write one where az manages to perceive that reader is pregnant right in the middle of the war?

You woke to yelling. Not screaming. Not fear or pain, but battle cries that you'd grown to love. They made your blood sing in harmony with the Illyrian voices. It made your heart hammer in your chest, and your muscles tense - ready to fight. Azriel groaned beside you, curling around your waist like a vise. You managed to break free from his muscled arms. Pale light shining through the tent tinted his shadows a light gray. They wrapped around you, drawing a chill down your spine. The war cries grew louder. "Get up. It's time." You shook him, pulling on your light armor. He covered his face with his hands, and did not leave the cot. He groaned again when you pulled the blanket off his mostly naked body. He was never a morning person.  Cassian rushed in when you were putting the last of your gear on, and Az froze. His grip on his pants went white knuckled. Cassian's face was pale, and before he could say anything Azriel was hurriedly pulling on the rest of his clothes. Your stomach dropped at the sight of the Warlord. "It's a diversion." You said, voice hollow. Cassian's slight nod was enough to make the breath leave you. "It's going to be fine." Azriel grunted, pulling his tunic over his head. "We just need to move the troops. Get Rhys here." He waved a hand at his brother dismissively.  Cassian grabbed Az's wrist.  He forced the male to look at him, to see his worried eyes. You tensed, ready to defend your mate even against Cassian's might. "Rhys is on the battlefield already. We're on our own." His voice was low, and the warning in his eyes was enough to make the hair on your arms raise. Azriel pulled away from him, slowly.  He began strapping his weapons belts on, pushed his hair back and sighed. "Where do you need us?"   The air was cold, and the howls of battle echoed across the hills. Azriel's shadows curled around your legs, comforting. Then they slithered their way across the valley where the battle was beginning.  + You could barely raise your sword by the end of it. The mud had been the most challenging part of the entire fight. The enemy horses had done a good job of making obstacles when they fell in the mud, lame with broken ankles and necks. You wished to put them out of their misery, but there was no time. The forces seemed to come in waves. Like a test against your small unit.  Few were lost from your side. The dewey grass steamed in the morning light, carrying up the reek of enemy blood with it. You wiped your face, trying to get the taste of dirt and blood out of your mouth. Sharp stinging pain seared your ribs under your arm. You hissed. Then, you felt the warmth of your own blood. You swore, and looked for a medic that wasn't tending to wounded on the ground.  Some Illyrian bodies were being lifted away, high into the air for burial at their homes. You dared not take a healer away from more critically injured soldiers. You nodded grimly to the ones that you passed. They were covered in blood, and yet still gave you fierce grins when you went by. They respected you. More than any other Illyrian Female before you. It was sad, but you hoped to forge a new path for other females of Illyria. You held an arm under your side and limped your way out of the mud. The packed mess inside your boots made moving your feet hard. You couldn't wait to shower.  You spotted Cassian far down the field, and watched as he raised his sword high over his head. Your stomach twisted in pity for the suffering animal under him. You looked away before you could see the lifeblood drain from the horse's neck. He sent a blessing to the Mother for the animal, and continued on to the next suffering soul that would meet its end via his blade.  + You hadn't seen her in a long while. Too long for a friend, but she gave you that same look she always did when she saw you hobbling up to her for help. Jeva was your favorite healer, and one you knew could keep a secret. She was round, and her voice was light and comforting. She smelled of nutmeg and berries. Something you had appreciated about her since you had met. "What is it this time?" She waved you inside, holding the tent flap open for you while you dumped your battle stained gear on the wood hutch beside the entrance.  The tent was light and airy, filled with small plants of different varieties and cluttered with boxes and books everywhere. Her desk and bed were shoved to the corner, and a long wood table took up the majority of her area. As if she had known you were coming, she already had potions of different types laid out on the end of the table. "Probably nothing." You said, pulling off your armor as gingerly as you could manage. The soft light flickered and changed to a harsh beam when she laid you down on her exam table. "I'm not supposed to be healing anymore you know. I'm retired." She clicked her tongue at you, earning a pained grin. It was hard for you to bother a healer for any amount of time for something that you were sure was so small. But something about it stung too much for it to be just a scrape. And you knew Cassian would lecture you about it being infected if he saw through your mask to the pain. Az would force you to see one anyway as soon as he learned of it.  "You know I wouldnt be here unless I had to be, Jeva." You said through your teeth as she cut away your muddied undershirt.  "Oh, I know. That's why I have my best potions ready." She laughed, then paused. Your shirt lay limp on the table. Her eyebrows knitted together at the sight of your open wound. "Is it bad?" You asked, craning to try to look for yourself. She held you down.  "Metal. Fragments are still in here, likely why it hasn't healed yet." You relaxed at that, grateful that it wasn't worse. "Thank the Mother. Az would have yelled all night." You rolled your eyes, and sighed as she started working on you. The first part was always the worst. The stinging hot potion that made the nerves around the wound numb.  "One-" She began her countdown, then poured. You growled at her, gripping the end of the stained table hard enough to crack. "Easy..." She warned, and smoothed down your hair. She knew how to take care of her patients, that was certain. You relaxed as the stinging eased. The dull ache that it left behind turned into a bad memory.  "I'm going to extract the blade then we can close you up. Simple and easy." She picked up her tools and began tugging away at your side. You could have fallen asleep with the relief the numbing potion brought. And with her humming in the air around you, it was a struggle not to. The time seemed to pass quickly, but when the clank of the metal tools jolted you from your dozing, the tent was lit in orange from the sunset outside. "Relax, we're going to close it up now. Once the potion wears off you will still be sensitive." She placed her hands over you, and the familiar warm vibrations of her healing magic set in. Then it stopped abruptly. You cracked open an eye, then narrowed your brows at her. "What is it?" You said gently, then again when she didnt reply. She stared at you, mouth agape. Her eyes locked to yours, even when you sat up to demand she tell you what the problem was. "Am I dying?!" you took her hand gently, in case she was going to push you away.  Then she started laughing, her hand gripping yours back. The warmth glowed in your palm, the light radiating out from it was starkly contrasting the tent walls bedecked in orange. The light she emitted shot through you, and you felt the wound tingle, and seal. You stared at her in shock. That amount of healing power was incredible. Especially for field medics.  "Youre not dying, no..." She waved a hand, fanning herself. Her eyes were glassy with tears. She sniffed and clutched your hand tighter. "Quite the opposite, darling." She pulled you in for a warm hug.  + You spent the rest of the evening with Jeva. Until she got a hurried message about student healers needing help on the battlefield. You stayed in her tent as long as you could manage with the ringing in your ears. You stared and stared at the mirror across from you, showing you the bloodied warrior that you wanted to be. That you wanted to stay.  The warrior that carried the Shadowsinger's child.  The thought made tears sting your eyes. You refused to let them fall. You had been ignoring his tugs down the bond for well over an hour. You knew he was concerned, but you couldn't bring yourself to shout back down. The only thing that echoed in your mind were Jeva's words "You're pregnant..."  Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant.  You nearly punched her when she told you she wasn't joking. The only reason you even believed her was because of that powerful zap of healing she sent to you. That she sent to scan your body and make sure the fetus was okay before you even knew about it. You could barely hear half the words she said as she told you your options.  You roiled with the thought now. The Mugwart she left on the table was daunting. You desperately wanted her back. Jeva would be able to deliberate with you. You knew she would tell you to do whatever makes you happy. You knew that. But you wondered how ethical the choice that made you happy was. Bringing a child into a world of war seemed cruel. Even if it made you happy. You distantly noticed Azriel as you passed him, walking to the forest edge just passed your tent. Worry laced the bond between you. You tried not to show anything back. But you knew he felt the tension, the void there. "Where the hell have you been?!" Azriel's eyes were furious when you passed him, his wings flared out slightly. You couldnt even look at him with anger back. Your emotions ran wild. You were frozen, and as numb as the potion Jeva had given you when she began removing the blade.  "Do you know how worried I have been?! I sent Cassian to-" He tried to grab for your hand to stop you, but you flicked him away. He stopped for a moment, stunned. Then returned with more energy than before. That yawning abyss in your bond was growing darker with shame, worry and anxiety. His shadows roiled around him as he caught up. "You dont get to-" "Azriel..." You stopped in the edge of the clearing. The small meadow was silent in the darkness, not even the monsters of Prythian dared roar tonight. Your mind did all the roaring you could handle, anyway. You tried to focus on the swaying grass, on the soft smell of wet bark and pine hanging in the air.  "Dont try to excuse this I need to know you're okay and-" He stormed in front of you, ready to burst with rage. His fear always made him angry. And for good reason after losing so many close to him.  A tear ran down your cheek, your face burned hot with hundreds of feelings at once. Fear, pain, shock, joy, hope.... elation. You wanted his children. You wanted to help raise his child. You wanted to see Azriel be a father. You knew he would be the best damn Illyrian father there had ever been.  The thought hit you like a well placed punch.  He saw your paleness, your tears and stopped his yelling. You fell to your knees, the mud splattering all around you. You wanted to lay down. Lay down and think about the implications of carrying his child. Would it be good for the baby to be born at all? Just because you wanted it didnt mean it needed to happen. You knew that Jeva would give you a potion to extract it without hesitation if it was what you wished. "I'm-" You choked out, fighting the panic that flooded you. Your mind roiled with the conflict of your mind and heart. It turned you into a muddied, dark ocean on the bond. A turmoil that he couldn't see past. If you were an ocean, he was your lighthouse on the cliffside. Signaling you home.   His eyes darted to your body, to your hands and how they wrung together in front of you. "I'm sorry. I just-" He sighed and took one of your hands. "I'm sorry." He kissed the back of it and brought his forehead to yours. He normally needed a lot longer to cool down after a fight, but seeing you in tears shocked him out of his pride. "I shouldn't have said that... I know you can take care of yourself." his voice was low, and he ran a hand comfortingly down your back. A hysteric laugh bubbled from your throat. It sounded like a sob. You didn't know exactly which it was. He sat back and pulled you into his lap, despite the grass being dewey and damp. He rocked you there for a few seconds before you had to tell him. Before he could be too close if he didnt want you anymore. The doubt crept into your head, and the nerves ate at you. Your heart raced, you could feel it in your neck. "Azriel..stop." You pushed away from him, to catch his beautiful dark eyes. They were painted in a silver hue by the moon above. You took in his face, the curve of his cheeks and lips for possibly the last time. You had to consider the worst possible outcome. You braced yourself for the rejection, for the pain of his reaction. You knew it had to come out. You knew you had to say it now or you never would. Your stomach flipped over and over.  You opened your mouth, a soft sob wracking out of you before you began. He froze. Went utterly still, his shadows even stopping for a second before whirling faster than before. Your eyes went wide. His nose flared, eyes narrowed. He held you closer, sniffing at your neck. He pulled back and his eyes were even wider than before. His mouth fell open when you nodded. "I'm-" "Youre-" his face went through a whirlwind of different emotion. Then, he broke out into a small laugh. He couldn't stop. You felt the tears running down your cheeks and didnt bother to wipe them away. "Honey... I'm sorry." He stopped laughing suddenly. "What do you want to do?" His eyes were masked, his expression the most serious you'd ever seen him. His aura on your bond seemed to go completely gray and still, as if he didn't want you to see him. He masked everything. In preparation for whatever you decide. The gesture made your heart squeeze in appreciation. You stammered, resting your forehead on his. "I dont know." You muttered, voice cracking. Then, he was wrapping his arms around you in a smothering hug. When he pulled away, he cradled your face in his hands. The hands that had seen so much cruelty in his life. The possibilities of the same thing happening to your child made your heart race. "I'm here for whatever decision you make." He brushed your cheek with a thumb. You nodded and let him hold you like that for a while. Quietly rocking back and forth with you in his lap. + You were near falling asleep when the war cries rang out again. Illyrians howling for their leaders to join them. Another onslaught of death coming their way. The calls were distant, but Azriel tensed the second he heard them. Your blood went cold. He buried his face to your chest, as if he wished he could hide there. "I'm not going." He said when you tried pushing him away. "I wont leave you." He promised, locking his muscled forearms around you. The echoes of battle cries faded. He stroked your hair, and traced his fingers along your back. Then he swore. "Let me take care of this." He said, voice edged with anger. Nerves pricked at your stomach, but you stood, wobbling on your feet slightly. He took off into the night sky painted in silvers and blues by the full moon. Then came racing back down right behind Rhys. the high lord took one breath and then he was hugging his brother. Azriel shoved him off, and they shot into the night sky. Well, Azriel did. He dragged Rhys with him. Grunts of pain and fleshy sounds of punching rang out.  You followed them high into the air where they had their conversation. Your wings led you around them with ease. "Stop fighting and use your words, boys." You warned. You recognized Azriels growl and smiled to yourself as they broke apart. Rhys adjusted his tunic and cleared his throat. "I need you there. Cassian is handling the Western front, the others need a leader."  Azriel began protesting against the high lord. "I cant with my mate-" "I know it feels impossible right now but-" "I will not, Rhys-" You set your jaw. If they wanted to fight over if you needed protection or not, you would take the option off the table all together. "I'll go." you said, voice strong since hearing Jeva announce what grew inside you. Pregnant, pregnant, pregnant. You shoved the thoughts away as far as you could. They both turned to you, horror striking Azriels features. "Absolutely not. No." Heat and rage flared down the bond. It made you want to defy everything he said. You locked eyes with him and glared. Rhys glanced between you with tense shoulders. He cleared his throat. "It would be a good compromise, Azriel. You can go together to the Eastern front. Think about it." He placed a hand on his brother's shoulder and gave him a grim smile.  "I wont say a word." He said, summoning the darkness around him then winnowing away. Azriel's cold eyes made him look like a statue. "Let's go." He said, and started circling lower. Back to the meadow.  "I'm going, you cant stop me from following you." You said, expecting a fight. He said nothing. You were met with that silence that drove others crazy tryin to find out what he wanted from them. The bond seemed to snap taut, then go into a relaxed state. He was hiding. You knew it, but would rather have silence and peace than him trying to fight you again.  He walked you back to the tent, and exhaustion took you under before you could remember him laying down with you. You hoped it it was exhaustion, and not whatever the baby was doing to you. Despite your best efforts, you couldn't resist the urge to cradle your belly while you slept. There was no bump, but it felt like the most natural thing to do now that you were aware of the being inside you. You slept hard, and awoke to the breakfast bell chiming. The sounds of slow footsteps marching through the mud kept you awake. Azriel was gone, but the candle on the table was lit. A note lay there waiting for you. His messy scrawl made you smile, the familiarity of his writing reminded you of the notes he would leave you when he had to leave early for meetings with Rhys. "Back by nightfall, lover. A guard is at the tent, ask her to bring you anything you need. -A" You peeked outside the tent to see Jeva there, her long fur coat shimmering in the morning light. Her breath clouded in front of her when she gave you a soft smile. "Good morning." She pulled a muffin from her coat. "Your favorite." She winked, and you pulled her inside. She had a fire roaring by the time you finished your food. "How are you not freezing?" She complained, blowing into her hands to keep them warm. You brushed the crumbs from your shirt and really took into account the changes you'd noticed lately. How hungry you'd been, how tired after the easiest days.  "Do you know... How um..." You gestured to your stomach. She gave a small smile and nodded. "Only a month or so." She said quietly. You stared at your stomach, as if waiting for something to answer you. To give some sort of affirmation that Jeva was right. She continued warming herself by the fire, and soon the tent was filled with her warm chestnut smell. Cassian entered the tent when you were starting to doze off again. The wool blanket on your lap reminded you of a time when you first met Az. Your heart squeezed at the memory of those long nights shared together by a fire. Taking your turns on watch duty. You shook yourself from the memory. Cassian froze. His face scrunched up at the sight of you. The scent, you realised. You swore to yourself, and Jeva only nodded when he looked to her. "Youre pregnant?" He asked breathlessly, and you could smell the fear and excitement coming from him. In fact, you could smell the smoked meat on his breath. And the cold air that clung to him from outside. It was refreshing, like a cool drink on a hot day amid the dry heat inside the tent. "I'm sorry, I shouldnt have.." He ran a hand through his hair, trying to remain focused.  "Its okay, Cass. What's going on? Az left me this note." You handed it to him. His lips moved as he read it. He went white as bone. Your stomach dropped.  + Azriel had gone in the night to take out the entire eastern flank with a small group of Illyrians. You felt your world skittering away as Cassian told you. Your vision went blurry, and tears fell, dripping on your hands that clenched the wool blanket.  "He's on his way here now. He had to answer to Rhys first."  Cassian waited for you to say anything. But your lips just couldnt form the words. The hurt, anger... the betrayal you felt for him going to battle without you. And defying a direct order from his high lord like a fool. "I suggest you leave before Azriel comes back. It may get messy." Jeva spoke for you, and you were grateful. You gave Cassian a nod of thanks before he turned and left. The cold wind that blew in from the door gave you goosebumps.  "Take it easy, you dont want to be too stressed." Jeva handed you a mug of tea and gave you a small squeeze. You could smell Azriel before he entered. Jeva shot him a glare, but said nothing. "I'll be in my tent if you need me." She promised, gave you a look that said 'find me after' and left. Azriel took off his armor plates one by one. A bit too slowly to be considered normal. Stalling. You said nothing. You let the tension roil out of you, let it hit him down the bond. Like a wave getting ready to break. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his wings.  The mask he wore cracked when he saw your fists balled in the blanket. "I couldnt risk you... or the babe." He tried to hide the fear that shone through. The fear of his mate or child being hurt in battle. He wouldnt be able to stand it. The fight was needed, anyway. He needed to get out his instincts to protect protect protect.  You said nothing. You let that looming wave grow larger. He sighed, and sat at the end of the cot beside you. "I'm sorry. I needed....I needed to get my head straight. I should have told you. I'm sorry." That wave crashed, not on him though. Internally, guilt and fear melting in on yourself. "I cant lose you, we... We cant." You said through your teeth, trying to hold back the tears that begged to spill over. He tried his best to hold back his surprise. "We?" He asked, a small smile playing on his full lips.  You gave him a grim smile. "If you're...ready to be a father. I like imagining you, with my child."  "Our child." He said with a bubbling laugh. You laughed with him, and it turned to hysterics.  He wiped tears from the corner of your eyes. "We're going to have a baby?" He cradled your face, looking into your eyes. You took one of his hands, and placed it on your flat belly. "Yes. We are." You said, voice quivering.  He wrapped you into a hug, and you cried together in the cot. 

#acotar #acotar fic #reader x azriel #azriel x reader #azriel

[forever-rogue]

Douse the Lights

A/N: I have no excuse for this, except I love one (1) Din Djarin and he deserves this and so do we. Enjoy! A little Happy New Year gift from me to you! As always, comments and feedback are welcomed! xx

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: SMUT (18+ only) - oral (m and f receiving), unprotected PiV, choking, degradation, creampie...filth. This is just filth. 

STUTTER SOMETHING PROFOUND (PART 2)

THE MANDALORIAN MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Then stop kriffing staring at me.”

“I wasn’t even looking in your direction.”

“You,” with a sharp turn of your head you saw that he wasn’t even near you. Nope. Not at all. 

Kriff. Awkward.

“Lothcat got your tongue, Princess?” you’d never seen his face, but Maker, you just knew there was a wicked smirk on it.

“Just mind your own business,” stowing away your clean blasters with a huff, you prayed with all your might that he couldn’t see the flush of warmth on your face or hear the crack in your voice. You hated him. Everything about him.

At least you wanted to; you would have given anything in the galaxy to. It would make constantly being around the Mandalorian that you called your employer a lot easier. 

Maybe if you kept repeating it yourself, you would manifest it to become true. That you could hate that annoying, half-witted, tin can. 

“Thought that’s what I was doing,” there was the most minute inkling of amusement in his voice as he came over, lithe and silent - ever the hunter. He was at your side in an instant, the warmth of his body contrasting sharply with the cool metal of the beskar as he sent shivers up and down your spine. Along with the low pooling of heat and desire settling in your belly, but you were going to ignore that for now.

Almost as if he knew the effect he had on you, he made it a point to brush a gloved hand over yours as he nudged you to the side to inspect some of the weapons he’d tasked you with cleaning. You had to be quick in order to shut your mouth and keep a small whimper from escaping your lips. 

How long had it been since someone last touched you? Maker, it had been….dank farrik. It had been way too long. A simple hand brush - there wasn’t even skin to skin contact - and you felt like a lothcat in heat. You really needed to get...some company and have your frustrations taken out or surely you would explode. There was no way you were to give Mando the satisfaction of knowing the type of hold he seemed to possess over you. 

Perhaps once you were out of this more than awkward conversation you could slip out for a few hours and seek some pleasure. The little one had just gone down for a nap a short bit ago, and he was likely to be out for some time. Surely he wouldn’t have a problem for a few hours. Then you could -

“These are still dirty,” was his voice always that rough and low? He had to be doing it on purpose, surely. Before you could contemplate it too much, he took one of the blasters and shoved it back into your hands. Not rough or gentle, but with enough firmness to remind that he was in charge. You looked it over and raised your eyebrows as you inspected it yourself - it was polished to an almost pristine shine, “clean them again. All of them.”

“What the fuck, Mando,” you scoffed with indignation as you rolled your eyes at him, shoving the blaster right into of the black T of his visor. You waved it almost as if to prove your point, “this is clean. I dare you to find a cleaner blaster in this Maker forsaken galaxy.”

He was quick to your grab your wrist, his grip was firm as he kept your hand from moving. You didn’t normally argue with your stoic and mysterious employer, but this was apparently new and uncharted territory. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but there was a shift between the two of you, something had changed. The tension in the air was palpable, so thick you could cut it with the dullest of knives as you stared back at him. 

“Clean it again,” it was a growl that went straight to your cunt as you subconsciously clenched your thighs at the sound. Either this was a one time deal that you would commit to memory or you were going to make it a point to annoy him more often. As he stared you down, he slowly let go of your wrist and pointed at the discarded cleaning rag, “and make sure its actually clean this time.”

“You are the worst,” you tried to retain the little bit of composure that you had remaining as you swiped the blaster back.

“And you are a brat,” brat. Brat. Brat. Brat. Of all the words available in all of the galaxy, he had to choose that one. This was absolutely on purpose. The Mandalorian never did anything without careful planning and calculating the risks. The same could be said with his words; this was all carefully and deliberately chosen. He cocked his head to the side, almost as if trying to gauge your reaction, “but here we are. Get them clean.”

“Or what?” it was a mere pathetic squeak as found yourself almost unable to meet his face.

“Just get it done.”

Without another word he strode away, as silent and dangerous as he was when he first came in. If you were stronger, if you weren’t a weak little fool, you would have looked away and focused on your work. 

But no. Not today.

Instead you watched him go, staring shamelessly at his imposing figure as he moved to disappear back into the cockpit to do whatever it was that he did. 

Was his ass always that nice? Were those thighs always so strong and sturdy? Was he always so damn broad and wide? 

Shit. 

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” you hissed at yourself as you picked the rag back up and slammed yourself back down on the bench in order to re-clean all the weapons that you had just done. He wanted clean weapons? You’d give him the cleanest blasters he’d ever seen. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

Almost an hour had crept by when you’d finished your second round of cleaning. At this point you honestly didn’t care if the Mandalorian deemed the job satisfactory or not. The longer you had ruminated on his words, the more frustrated you became. 

Each word, each touch seemed burned into your mind as you let your imagination take over. You’d be lying if you said you’d never thought about him before. There had been a number of sleepless nights when you imagined it had been his hand between your thighs, his fingers running through your slick folds before they slipped inside of you. On nights when you really couldn't help yourself, you even imagined it was his cock, how he would feel buried to the hilt inside of you. You wondered what he would be like, but something - this day in particular - told that he was big. And he would get the job done.

But it wasn’t going to happen. 

Nope. No. Nah. You were just his sidekick little employee that most definitely was not going to act on any impulsive or rash decisions. You might have been a lot of things, including a huge fool in that moment, but you weren’t that stupid. You didn’t need to create some unnecessary strain in your relationship with the stoic warrior or even worse, lose your job and home and be left stranded in a forgotten corner of the galaxy. 

Even as you tried to rationalize all the ways in which acting on your impulses was a horrible idea, the frustration and the throbbing between your legs didn't wane. You were getting so desperate and pathetically needy that you sat on the edge of your small bench just at the angle so you could get a little bit of friction on your clit. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.

As you rocked back and forth, trying to keep the little mewls and whines from slipping past your lips, you realized you couldn't do this.

You couldn't risk getting caught by the Mandalorian. Oh yes, everything's fine, just getting myself off. Don't worry, I'm super horny because of you. Yeah of course I'd love your cock.

Yeah. Cool, cool, cool. This would never happen. 

Just when you before you reached your breaking point and had your hands halfway to your soaked core, you stopped. 

"Kriff," you sighed to yourself as you pulled your hand back out and stood up. What the actual fuck had gotten into you? A few commanding words you were completely losing your control. Either you were desperate for a release from something other than your own hand or you craved the mysterious Mandalorian. 

Hastily stashing the impeccably clean blasters back into the weapons cache, you discarded the rag as you quickly came up with a plan. 

Tiptoeing quietly back to where the little one was sleeping, you sneaked a peek and saw that he was still fast asleep. He wouldn't even notice you were gone - that's what you tried to convince yourself as you delicately touched his soft ears and button nose. 

You weren't sure if you were speaking of the Mandalorian or the baby. At this point you really didn't care. 

You glanced back at the ladder towards the cockpit, watching almost as if you expected him to come down and catch you sneaking out. Hells, technically he'd know as soon as you left the ship. You scrawled a quick note telling him that you needed a cleaner or something, in your haste you couldn't even remember what you put, and would need to go to the market.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. That was totally plausible, you insisted to calm your own nerves as you slipped on your boots and a cloak before making your final decision to leave. Attempting to be as quiet and subtle as possible, you slowly made your way off the Crest and started scurrying towards the nearby desolate town of Mos Eisley. In reality you looked more like a scrap rat scurrying away from the light than a woman heading into town to find something. 

Whatever.

Mos Eisley wasn’t exactly known for its sparkling reputation, and you were sure you could get exactly what you wanted quickly enough. In and out, you thought to yourself as a flush rose in your check, well precisely that. For at least you were hoping. 

But the Mandalorian, a seasoned hunter with a reputation for a reason, and didn’t miss a single trick. He was aware of what you were doing before you even left the cargo hold. If he was this frustrated and turned on you by you, his cock hard and straining against the confines of his pants, he was sure you must have been in the same position. 

Oh, but he had been close to breaking, just like you. How easy it would have been to seal the hatch to the cockpit and relieve himself of the desire and ache. But no - just like you he had limits and wasn’t about to give in and stroke his hard cock while you were within earshot. No matter times he had imagined it - fucking your mouth or burying himself deep between your luscious heat before pounding you into oblivion, he wasn’t going to give in this easily. 

He wasn’t a virgin by any means, but with your little backtalk and the way you had looked at him with those wide doe eyes and pretty pouted lips sure had him feeling like one. The thought of burying himself inside you, to watch as you bounced on his cock with your tits in his face was enough to make up his mind. 

One time couldn’t hurt, right? People had casual encounters all the time.Why should this one be any different? If you were willing of course, although judging by how your pupils had dilated with each word from his mouth, had little doubt you felt the same way; but consent of course was key. 

And tomorrow? You’d be back to being the same way you had always been.

Hopefully. Maybe. Probably.

Fuck.

This was a bad idea, and the small, sensible part remaining in his brain told him so. But he was too far in, too deep and lost in his own desires to stop himself. 

He was watched as you ran away, deciding to wait until you were halfway to Mos Eisley before going after you. He’d take the kid to Pelli, sure she’d more than happy to watch him for the night. The rest? That was to be all consumed by you. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

The old cantina was dirty, dingy, and smelly. There was no doubt in your mind it must have been at least a decade since it was cleaned, and yet it still remained a hot spot; granted not for those of politer society, but enough to get the job down.  You pushed that to the back of your mind as you clambered through the crowd and to the bar, sitting down next to a handsome Zabrak you had spied when you’d walked in. You’d never been with one his kind before, but you’d heard rumors of them, especially when it came to their prowess behind closed doors, and something within you was piqued. 

He must have sensed something was up - as soon as you sat down, he motioned for the bartender to come back and bring the two of you a new round. 

“You’re new here,” he said gruffly, a dangerous edge to his voice, sharp like a knife as he took one of the luminescent drinks and shoved the other towards you.

Before you could even move to grab your drink or utter so much as a word in response, a hand darted and quickly grabbed your wrist, the grip biting and firm. 

“She’s mine,” the words washed over you before you could even turn to look at the Mandalorian. His chest was rising and falling heavy as his visor was trained on your would be companion for the night. A shudder ran up your spine as he pulled you off the stool, the two men glaring at each wordlessly. 

He pulled you behind him, storming out of the cantina as the crowds parted at the sight of the gleaming silver beskar. They knew better than to stand in the way of the Mandalorian. You felt like a child being scolded as he refused to acknowledge you, keeping his gaze trained straight as you struggled to keep up with his long strides. 

“What the hell, Mando?” your question was an indignant shout as your voice climbed an octave. His grip didn’t waver for a moment as he grunted in his response. Oh, he was mad. Yup. Definitely. You had fucked up. 

Any thought of talking back or prodding him further were estopped as you could see him fuming as he dragged your ass back to the Crest. 

This was it, you realized. This was the end where he would fire you and send you packing. Of all the places in the galaxy to be stranded, Tatooine was not one of your top destinations. No one to blame but yourself, you reckoned. 

Instead you hung your head as he refused to look back, making quick work of opening the cargo hold and shoving you inside. There was something about his touch that was rough, almost sending you falling to your ass, but there was still an odd gentleness.

You stared back at the blank visor in challenge, attempting to figure out what was going on. His chest was rising and falling rapidly as he stared back at you. Neither of you were about to get a good read on each other. 

“Did you really think it was a good idea to just walk away without saying anything?” his voice was dangerously low as he crossed his arms over his chest and glared at you. You opened and closed your mouth a few times as you tried to come up with either a smart response or an excuse but instead of anything coherent, it was a mixture of the two. Great. Now he's going to think you were an idiot on top of everything else. 

“I didn’t...just um...doesn’t matter what you...I needed something from the market?” you swallowed the lump on your throat as you dropped your gaze to the floor. He sighed for a moment - heavily - as you’d come to know was his penchant to do. 

“You needed something from the market?” it wasn’t a question so much as an accusation.

“Mhmm.”

“What was it?”

“C-cleaner,” you lied. Somehow it sounded better than saying yeah, I really just wanted a quick fuck because you have me feeling some type of way. 

“There's a new cleaner right in the cabinet,” he said as you internally groaned. He was right - there was a brand new gleaming bottle on the top shelf. He’d gotten some last week, “or did you conveniently forget that?”

“Umm,” you couldn’t get anything else out as he took a step closer and left minimal distance between your bodies. He reached up and put a hand under your chin, turning your face up to meet his, “uh huh.”

“Uh huh, honey,” his voice warmed you up from inside out as you gave him an innocent look. If he hadn’t known what he was doing earlier, he certainly did now. And he was going to milk every second of it, to push this as far as it would go. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, a subconscious gesture, but not unnoticed by the Mandalorian. His hand slipped from your chin and jaw and slid until he was gently holding your throat. His grip was light, and he was barely squeezing, but Maker, you wished he was, “is that really what you were going to do?”

“Y-yeah,” how much longer were you going to keep up this little facade? You had no clue. But the feel of his hand around your airway, pushing slightly, ever so slightly, had your mind positively reeling.

“Then why did you go to that filthy old cantina?” he leaned closer, his helmet mere inches from your face as you closed your eyes, the blood rushing to your ears as you the heat pooled in your belly, “why were you talking to Zabrak? Did you really think he was going to fuck you? To make you feel good?”

“Mhmm,” you managed to murmur after a few beats of silence as you realized what was happening. This was new, uncharted territory - for the both of you - and if you went any further, there would be no going back. And you - fuck it. Your eyes snapped open as you turned to look into the visor, right where his eyes would be, “needed someone to do it, since you never would.” 

And there it was - finally out in the open and hanging thickly between the two of you. All you could ever was a small huff from under the helmet and you were positive he was smirking like a victorious predator.

“Is that what you want, honey?” he asked and you nodded. Give and take and then...it all broke, “get on your knees. Now.”

And you wasted no time sinking onto the cool metal floor, now level with his cock, where you could see the hardness straining against his rough fabric. Shaky fingers worked to hastily pop the button and pull the zipper, but just before you could get to what you wanted, Din roughly grabbed jaw, turning your face up to his, “you take what I give. Yeah?”

“Yes,” you promised, feeling yourself grow wetter and wetter with each word. But then, with another gentle tap to your chin, he seemed almost...gentle, “Mando?”

“If you don’t want this, just say stop,” he waited for you to nod as you a sense of warmth fluttered over you at his desire for consent, “I will not be gentle, I will not-”

“Give it to me then,” you beamed at him before turning back to his cock and pulling out of his underwear. You almost moaned at the sight of his cock, hard and leaking already; and just as your little fantasies had led you to believe, he was more than adequate. 

Spitting into your palm, you took him in your hand, pumping him a few times before licking the head, just small light licks, just enough to tease. Licking a stripe up his shaft, you played with his balls for a moment, earning what you were sure was a small groan from under the helmet. Making it a point to draw it out, you shouldn’t have been surprised when his hand went to the back of your head as he pushed you onto his cock. 

A sound of surprise was muffled by his cock as you took all of him into your mouth, doing your best not to gag as he hit the back of your throat and your nose brushed against the soft curls of hair at his base. Your hands slid up his thighs and found purchase on his hips as he began to fuck your mouth. He started slowly at first, almost as if he was afraid to give too much. When you grew accustomed to him, making it a point to hollow your cheeks and suck him as best as you could, he picked up the pace. And it was brutal in all the best ways, spit was starting to run down your chin along with a few tears that had spilled over, but if nothing else, it worked to spur him on. 

“Look at you,” he grunted between thrusts as he took in the sight in front of him, “take me so well. Knew your big mouth had to be good for something. Always wanted to fuck that pretty face.”

You hummed in delight as you raked your nails over the exposed slivers of his skin on his hips, golden and delicious and you wanted it all. His thrusts slowly become more erratic and sloppy as he twitched in your mouth. His hand dropped from the back of your head as you took over and put a hand back on his shaft as you worked to finish him off. 

Soon enough he did, followed by an almost primal growl as he came, his hot, thick, cum coating your mouth and you eagerly swallowed all that he offered, which unsurprisingly, was a lot. As his breathing slowed down and he slowly came down from the rush of his high, you pulled back from him, looking up at him with innocent eyes and a wicked smile. You cleaned him off, but just as you went to wipe at your mouth, his gloved hand was faster and he collected the spit and cum that had spilled out and pushed it back into your mouth with two fingers. You grabbed his wrist and made a show of sucking his fingers clean, tasting him along with the worn leather of his gloves. 

“Good girl,” he praised before hoisting you to your feet, “strip.”

“What about you?” you turned your head to the side, but he shook his head in response. He paused for a moment, almost as if he was having second thoughts, but just quickly, he whipped off his gloves and tossed them onto the floor before putting a hand on your cheek and stroking it tenderly. You swallowed thickly before nodding and working to pull off your clothes. 

First was your shirt, tugging slowly over your chest and tossed down to join the gloves. Your arm went to your back as you tugged off your bra, letting the straps fall down your shoulders as an almost nervous breath escaped your lips. 

“Keep going,” he commanded, eyes trained slowly on you as he drank in the sight of you. You undid your own zipper and pulled your pants and panties down in one fluid motion before kicking them off along with your boots and socks. You’d never felt more vulnerable or exposed in that moment, wanting to cover up but also relishing in the fact that you seemed to have rendered the Mandalorian speechless. He looked you up down, not bothering to hide the fact as he looked at your form, glancing at your soft mound before your breasts and then landing back on your face.

Beckoning for you to come closer with a simple crook of his fingers, you did so, standing directly in front of him. His hand flitted from your cheek and down your body before resting at the apex of your thighs. You gasped lightly in surprise as he dragged his fingers through your soaked folds, coating them in your copious arousal, before chuckling darkly. A hand immediately went to his shoulder as you steadied yourself and tried not to completely lose it at the simple touch, “all of this for me, honey?”

“Mhmm,” you admitted as he gently rubbed over your clit, teasingly in the slowest, most tantalizing way possible. Before you could stop yourself you blurted out, “always think about you. Always get so wet.”

He made a small, noncommittal sound as he pulled his fingers away from your wetness and brought them to your lips. He tapped your bottom lip and you opened your mouth, sucked his fingers clean from your own arousal, “I’ve thought about fucking you too. That mouth, that pussy. You’re such a brat, but you drive me crazy.”

“I like when you get mad,” you said as he pulled his fingers out of your mouth, “‘s sexy.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice deeper and lower than ever before, and you felt your knees start to buckle at the sheer sex it exuded, He brought his large, warm hands to your tits, touching over your pebbled nipples as you bit back a moan. While you wished it his mouth on them instead, this touch was just as well, as he massaged them, trying to get a good feel of them and seeing what drew out those sweet mewls from you. But before you could enjoy it too much, one hand gripped your waist like a vice and the other went between your legs. He ran his thick fingers through your folds, before slowly inserting one into your wet heat. You moaned as he slowly inserted another and then a third, stuffing you full and already having you seeing stars in no time, “make yourself cum.”

“What?” your eyes snapped open as he stilled his actions, “you’re joking, right?”

“Nope,” he popped the p loudly as he lightly teased your clit, eyes boring into yours, “you act like a brat and you want to cum? You have to work for it.”

“You can’t be serious,” you groaned as he moved to pull his hand away, as if to show you just how serious he was. This time, you caught his wrist and held him in place. He chuckled lightly in triumph as one of your hands returned to his shoulder for balance and the other went to play with your sensitive bundle of nerves. He held completely still, a practiced and patient man, as he made you work for it. He wasn’t kidding by any means when he said he would not be gentle. 

He remained quiet, watching your pretty face shift through a range of expressions as you worked to reach your own high. He was glad for the helmet, for if you had been watching him, you’d have seen the tinge of pink rising in his cheeks as the sight of you fucking yourself on his fingers. He’d envisioned this many times, no doubt about that, but he’d never thought it would become a reality. Maker, you were gorgeous as you thrust onto his hand using him for your own pleasure a string of gentle filth spilled from your lips as you rubbed slow circles onto your clit.

“Mandooo,” it was soft as you felt that familiar blinding haze start to take over you, and your toes involuntarily curled and your cunt started to clench around his fingers. Your eyes fluttered closed in pleasure as your vision turned blurry and that familiar warmth started to spread all over your limbs. He felt his cock twitch from where he had tucked himself back in after you’d pleasured him. Before you could finish though, something different met your ears.

“Din,” he said as bit your lip in order to keep from crying out completely, “my name is Din.”

And there it was. Completely unexpected and out of the blue. It wasn’t just a name - no it was so much more than it. It was a sign of trust, of closeness, of the fact that whatever this little situation was, it was neither the first or only time something like this would happen. No, your story with Mando may have come to an abrupt end, but your relationship with Din was just beginning.

It was almost as his name, uttered softly and almost unsurely, was exactly what you needed to push you over the edge as you came around his fingers. A soft moan left your lips along with the sweetest sound he was sure he’d ever heard, “Din.”

A merciful man when he chose to be, he took over for you and worked you through your orgasm as you almost collapsed into his arms, “there you are pretty girl. You did so well, fucking yourself on my fingers.”

“Not enough,” you rested your against the soft cowl of his neck as he pulled his hand from you, but not before slapping your ass a few times, almost as if testing to see how far he could push you. You made a few sounds of delight at the sting, only spurring him on as he slapped and then gently needed the ample flesh of your backside, “please, need you to fuck me.”

“Is that what you need, pretty girl?” he purred in your ear as he pulled back and grabbed your face in his hands, taking in the already blissed out expression on your features, “you want me to fuck you? Think you’re ready for my cock?”

“Yes,” you were practically ready to beg at this point, “I’ve been wanting it for so long.”

At your words, he almost dragged you to the small bed that was reserved for you in the corner and motioned for you to sit. You watched with eager eyes as he scrambled for the waistband of his pants and hastily pulled them down and kicked them off, letting them join your discarded clothes. He practically ripped off the rest of the beskar until he was bared in front of you, save for the helmet. His cock was already painfully hard again, standing at attention and leaking fat drops of precum.

“Can I trust you?” he asked as you nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. You’d never questioned the fact that you’d never seen his face or that he apparently just never showed it to anyone. You respected him and his decisions, and you’d never dare to push the envelope or destroy his trust. 

“Always,” you promised as he walked over to the wall and hit the switch for lights, cloaking the room in darkness. You sucked in a breath before you heard him shuffling about and the beskar helmet clanged against the metal floor. He stood in front of you, you could feel his breathing as he touched your cheek before wrapping a hand around your throat.

“Hands and knees,” he instructed with a delicious rasp, made even better by the lack of filtering from the vocoder of his helmet, “now.”

The singular word was enough to send a fresh rush of arousal through your veins, as you laid on your belly on the small cot before positioning yourself so your ass was in the air. He shuffled behind you, his large hands grazing over the soft flesh of your ass. He spread your cheeks apart before dragging a thick finger through your soaked folds. A small sound of pleasure rippled through your throat as you clutched onto the thin, scratchy blanket of the bed, “please.”

“Quiet,” it was harsh and biting as  the palm of his hand slapped your ass, the sting delicious and leaving you wanting more, “you like that, don’t you? You like being spanked, pretty girl.”

“Only by y-y-you,” before you could say anything, he slapped your ass a few more times before kneading the soft flesh to make sure the sting wasn’t too painful. 

Mando - no, Din - shifted his weight and you could feel him line himself up at your entrance. He ran the tip of his cock through your folds. A moan escaped your lips - and his - as he slowly pushed into you, giving you a brief moment to adjust to his considerable size. The stretch was amazing, the slight burn quickly turned into pleasure and you felt full, so completely full. He groaned as he bottomed out, already feeling pussy dumb by the way your velvet walls hugged him, “this - kriff - this pussy is perfect. Just like it was made for me.”

“Din,” you buried your face in your pillow as he pulled out, slowly, before thrusting sharply back into you. He was not lying when he said that he would not be gentle. His large, warm hands went to your hips as he held them in a bruising grip. You were sure you’d bear his marks for days. 

He set a bruising pace, thrusting into you with no mercy as he slammed his hips into yours. There was nothing gentle or intimate about, no - this was months and months of pent up frustration and desire coming out all at once. Din was not a talkative man, but as he fucked you into oblivion, he was whispering strings of filth and praise into your ears. All you could do was lie there as he pounded into you, so lost in your own pleasure as you became a whining mess under him.

Before he came, his arms snaked around your waist as he pulled you flush against his chest. One large hand went to play with your breasts as the other went to your clit as he rubbed and circled at the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your mouth hung open in a blissful haze as he kept going, pressing kisses into the soft skin of your skin and shoulder, alternating between nipping and sucking and making sure to leave plenty of marks so everyone knew you were his. 

“Look at you, pretty girl,” he grunted in your ear, “taking my cock so well. You love this don’t you? Getting used like this.”

“Mhmm,” you bit your lip as he kept going, kept abusing your spent pussy as he started to stutter in his thrusts, “‘m so close, please, wanna come.”

“You’re going to come on my cock,” he commanded as you nodded, “and I’m going to fill you up and make sure you know who you belong to.”

“I’m yours,” you insisted as you felt your walls clench around him and his cock start to twitch, “only yours.”

“Good girl,” he praised as he turned your head to place a rough kiss on your lips. It was the sheer act of the moment and feel of his stubble that sent you over the edge and cumming all over him. You were like jello in his arms as he held you up, giving you a few more thrusts before spilling inside and coating your walls with his cum, “ahh - fuck - so fucking good. Maker, you feel like no other. Perfect pussy - just for me.”

He held you tightly against his body as he caught his breath, the two of you breathing in sync. You thought he might pull away immediately, but instead, he pressed more kisses, chaste compared to your previous actions, down your back as he slowly lowered you onto the bed. You couldn’t even form words as you laid there, cockdumb and already feeling his arousal along with your own dripping onto your thigh. 

“You did good,” he praised gently before reaching between your legs and scooping up some of his cum that had started dripping out. You whimpered at the touch, still sensitive, and listened as he brought his fingers to his lips and sucked them clean, “but I’m not done with you yet.”

Din gently flipped you onto your back so you were lying face up and exposed to him. He sat between your legs and slowly spread them apart, admiring his handy work. He leaned back before climbing off the small and getting on his knees, pulling you towards his face. Just as you had gotten on your knees for him, he kneeled only for you. 

“Din,” you sighed contentedly as he kissed along your inner thighs, working his way back to your dripping heat. He nuzzled his nose against you, taking a moment to take it all in, “already so much."

"Come on, honey," his voice was like liquid gold as he reached up and touched your breasts, cupping them easily in his large hands, "you've got another one in you. I know you do. Aren't you a good girl?"

"Mhmm," you arched into his touch as he rolled your nipples between his fingers. How this infuriating man got you to become a pile of mush in his hands you'd never know, but you definitely weren't going to question it. He leaned up and kissed your hips before burying his face between your legs, "I'm your good girl."

And with those words, he licked a long stripe up your soaked folds, still soaked from your combined juices. His nose, which you presumed was aquiline in nature, nudged your clit as he ate you like a starving man. You were the shining prize, glimmering in the distance, and he was the wrecked man crossing the desert to get to you.

This time you didn't even bother to hold back as you mewled and cried, tears of pleasure and overstimulation welling up at the corners of your eyes and sliding down your cheeks. Din hummed in content as he licked and suckled at you, making sure to focus on your clit as you came completely undone.

Reaching down, you carded a hand through his locks - curls - as you pressed his face against your aching core. You could practically feel him smirking against you as he slipped a few fingers inside to join his ministrations. Expertly curling his thick fingers, he quickly found the sweet spot that made your toes curls and you see stars.

"Almost there," he grinned as he gave you a moment of reprieve before diving right back in, "I can feel that perfect cunt squeezing around me. Taste so good, pretty girl."

"D-Din," his name falling from your tongue was like pure magic as he became transfixed by how it sounded. Your mouth dropped open in a small O as your legs shook around him. He pulled his fingers from you as he held down your hips in order to keep you from squirming away from him, "feelssogood - makerohstars - Dindindin."

"Come all over my face, pretty girl," his tongue darted into you for a few moments before he gave your clit a harsh suckle. That was all it took before you came again, screwing your eyes shut as he worked your through your orgasm, lapping up every bit of your juices, refusing to waste even a drop, "there you are - taste so fucking good. Perfect."

He was relentless until he was sure you were completely done and a practical ragdoll on the bed. Slowly, he pulled back from you, trailing light kisses up your body, stopping when he got your face. Almost as if he was able to see even in the almost complete darkness, he wiped away your remaining tears. He hesitated for a moment for leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You sighed softly as you rolled onto your side and scooted closer to the wall, making room for him. 

It was a big thing you were doing, boundaries had been crossed and blurred and any rules you'd previously had were thrown out the window. Neither of you were sure what came next.

But you did know that you didn't want him to leave - not yet anyway.

"Din?" you asked softly as he pulled the blanket over your spent body; he was surprisingly gentle for a man that had just sent you to heaven and hell and back. 

"Yes, pretty girl?" 

"Will you stay?" your voice was small as you prepared yourself for defeat and for him to leave.

"Yes," he whispered softly as he slid in under the blanket and next to you, "I'd like that."

"Me too," you admitted as he shifted and pulled you in his arms so you could lay your head on his chest, listening to the steady thump thump of his heart, "Din?"

“Hmm?”

"I'm in charge next time," you smirked lightly as you kissed his soft skin. He inhaled sharply but you could tell he was into it. The man might have just been in charge, but you had a feeling he might like being told what to do as well - and you were going to find out, "I want to ride you."

"Kriff," he groaned under his breath, "You're going to be the death of me, little brat."

"I'll make it worth your while," you promised with a small yawn, "I'll have you crying in no time - begging me for mercy."

“Mhmm.”

“You’re going to be a good boy for me, right?” it was your turn to put your hand on his throat and give it a gentle, but firm squeeze as he stiffened at the feeling, “I know you’re a good boy, Din.”

“Fuck.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #star wars #din djarin x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #ahhhhh #shes here!

[blockgamepirate]

thing about the red festival: i've been watchign a lot of techno's bedwars stuff lately and like techno tends to overestimate his opponents bc they have access to the same tools he does so obviously they should be able to use them in the ways that seem obvious to him, right? and him theoretically fighting at the red festival would be like,, extreme bedwars (single point to defend, if the defense gets hit you lose), and he is REALLY REALLY GOOD at breaking defenses in bedwars (1/2)

(2/2) idk if bedwars specifically is canon to dsmp!techno, but it definitely informs cc!techno's style and he's clearly not deliberately holdign back in pvp. so techno is probably looking at the red festival and seeing all the very obvious and easy ways (to him) that his enemies could kill tubbo and him because figuring out how to break through defenses to kill a single point that's unable to defend itself is like exactly what he specializes in

Dude, that's actually wild because I was thinking about talking about bedwars in the follow up post too! Although my angle was gonna be about how this is basically like one of those times where his bed gets destroyed early while all the other teams still have their beds, so they can afford to die and respawn but he can't. Also his teammate has absolutely no gear, somehow even less gear than you get by default in bedwars. And every other team is streamsniping and could be crossteaming on him. (Although in reality the festival crowd was not quite so unanimously on board with Schlatt of course. And some of the ones who were might have chosen not to meddle anyway.)

But your point is really good too, with Tubbo as the "bed". From Techno's point of view the others could easily take him down if they wanted to and he could do nothing to stop it, and they could kill Tubbo even more easily. In fact it's worse than a bed because Tubbo is killable even with projectiles and you can't cover him in blocks because you need to get him outta there. AND he won't even help you respawn. xD

Would they actually have been able to react that fast if Techno HAD tried to do a rescue mission? Maybe not, it seems kinda unlikely they would be organised or skilled enough, although they did have Punz and Purpled. The difference between the usual Technoblade bedwars video/stream and this is that some of his opponents actually are that good.

I feel like that's the thing, you only need two actually good PVPers for it to become extremely risky. He might have been able to handle the entire rest of the crowd AND Schlatt and Quackity all alone, but I'm really not sure about Punz and Purpled if both of them decided to go for him and Tubbo. At the very least it would have been trivially easy for that tag team to kill Tubbo.

(Of course in character c!Techno doesn't know most of these people's skill levels)

And honestly even small things could have an effect, someone could just by chance manage to hit an arrow shot, Schlatt and Quackity might have time to put armour on if he shoots the crowd first, or conversely if he kills Schlatt and Quackity first, the crowd could armour up, and then he can't get quick kills, and then in the time it takes him to kill Schlatt and Quackity, Purpled and Punz might be able to reach the podium... I mean it's true that Techno has a nigh infinite catalogue of insane clutches on his channel, but there are also times when he doesn't clutch, when something goes wrong and he's overwhelmed or makes a mistake and goes down in the end.

So it's not like it's a bad call to overestimate his opposition rather than risk underestimating it. He has a better chance at survival that way around. And during the Pogtopia arc he was playing a very risk-averse character. I think it might have been partly about wanting to maintain his reputation as unkillable, and partly because it just provides more tension for the content than if his character just didn't fear anyone or anything and easily defeated everyone every time. But it also makes sense for a character like his, someone who must have had too many close calls to count along the way, someone who knows that battles are chaotic and you can't get too cocky.

(Either way it's what contributed to the theories about him having only one life afterwards (which I think was absolutely the right call to make for his character, because it just works for the way he clearly wanted to play his role in the story, I just wish we'd gotten the confirmation sooner and in a less awkward way.))

But yeah, I don't think the two of them escaping was impossible, Techno has survived wilder situations. It's just that insane clutches are called insane for a reason. Usually they don't happen. You can't rely on them happening.

#technoblade #dream smp #red festival #asks #magicalmanhattanproject #long post

[spencersawkward]

if you feel comfortable with it, I’d love a prof Spence where reader is a student and goes to office hours to initiate ~smutty goodness~ but Spencer is reluctant at first bc his job but they flirt more and eventually sleep together

me n my professor kink when i saw this: 😏 anyway yes i am quite comfortable writing about this lol. i took some ✨creative liberties✨ with your request so i'm sorry if it isn't exactly what you wanted! 

summary: reader is a student in Dr. Reid’s class, but she’s been something of a poor student-- office hours are the only solution.

relationship: Fem!Reader/Professor!Spencer

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, fingering, rough sex, super brief hair-pulling, creampie, dirty talk, spanking, age gap, degradation-- he gets pretty dominant oops.

word count: 4.5k

masterlist

popping in a piece of gum, I make my way to the back of the hall. there are a few people here already, but it's a little early. I'm never early. in fact, I'm usually late; my other class is on the other side of campus, and getting here involves a lot of embarrassing speed-walking.

but here I am, five minutes ahead of schedule and actually in a decent seat. as I flip open my textbook and pull my laptop out of my bag to prepare to take notes, my gaze slides down to the corner of the room, where Dr. Reid is standing up with a pile of papers. he walks over to the girl in the front row, handing her the stack and gesturing for her to pass it along.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. he's a total luddite. the first day, Dr. Reid spent about ten minutes rambling about the importance of reading from a physical book rather than online sources-- which, although I definitely agree with, means a lot more lugging around folders and organizing all the readings he gives out. if he wasn't so hot, I would have switched into another course.

and I know it's wrong to be daydreaming about my professor slamming me into a wall while he discusses the intricacies of quantum theory. the complete cliché of it is embarrassing. but still, I just can't stop thinking about him: how his fingers would feel around my throat, the smooth wooden surface of his desk against my cheek as he bends me over and pulls my panties to the side--

"glad to see you've decided to join us, today, Ms. Y/L/N." Dr. Reid's voice startles me out of my thoughts. he's standing towards the front of the room while students file in. his hands are resting in his pockets with his eyebrows pleasantly raised.

"glad to see you've noticed." I retort, too irritated with his comment to care about being polite.

a couple people look at me. even though I'm generally not on time, he tends to just glance my way when I walk in and leaves it at that. I know he doesn't like it, although I personally don't care. I hate this course.

he seems visibly surprised by my response but doesn't reply, gaze lingering on mine before he turns to speak to a student trying to get his attention. I bite back a smile. fucking asshole.

as usual, Dr. Reid writes in his thin, messy lettering on the board while wandering around the front of the room. he's quite fidgety, even though his voice doesn't betray any sort of nervousness. it's like he's naturally overactive.

every word out of his mouth is enunciated, sometimes spoken faster when he gets particularly impassioned by the subject. he's interesting to look at, too. messy curls and a nice suit, stubble that straddles the line between refinement and ruggedness.

I type quickly, but it isn't fast enough and the strange illustrations he does on the board only complicate things. I try to write them down in my notebook, but my handwriting is jagged; sometimes it's hard to read. when a student raises her hand for a clarification, I take the opportunity to catch up.

my head jerks up as soon as I'm finished and he's looking at me while he speaks. even from so many feet away, the intensity strikes me. he's gesticulating and crossing the room. I hold eye contact.

I wonder if he dates often; a couple of the girls in my row always stare at him throughout the lectures. he seems to be completely unaware of the effect he has on people. sometimes I'll see him in the hallway and he has his nose buried in a book, or a to-go cup of coffee, or both. either way, there seems to be no more room in that head of his for romance.

which, naturally, makes me curious about how he looks when he's on the edge of orgasm. if that composure is replaced with a contorted pleasure. I want to break him.

it's like he can read my thoughts, because Dr. Reid averts his gaze. my stomach twists with a strange anticipation. he avoids looking my way for the rest of the time.

towards the end of class, I start to pack my things to go. I have three papers to write, and my utter lack of interest in this is making me eager to leave. I shove my textbook into my bag the second my professor starts to make closing remarks.

"don't forget that we have a midterm in two weeks!" he says in a slightly louder voice as people start to move around. "if you have any questions, my office hours are posted on the bulletin board outside."

at this, my eyebrows rise. I forgot about the midterm. I have a study calendar set up for all my subjects, but I've purposefully been putting this one off. I'm not super into math. and it doesn't help that most of my time is spent not listening. when I am, it doesn't make sense.

as I stand up and gather my stuff, I hear someone clearing their throat a couple feet away. my head turns to see Dr. Reid leaning against his desk.

"Ms. Y/L/N, can I see you for a second?"

my heart stutters in my chest. is this about my attitude? he's never asked to see me outside of lessons before.

I frown, making my way to him with a deliberate pace. the tension in the room builds as I watch the last of his students shuffle out of the room. my head turns from the door to him; my breath catches a little in my throat at the set of his jaw. part of me hopes I get yelled at.

"I'm concerned about your participation in this class." he says. his voice isn't cruel, but it is brutally honest— which is worse. participation? I feel my fist clench at my side. my professors don't usually say anything if you aren't doing things up to their expectations; if you aren't, then they give you a bad grade. simple as that.

"is this about me being late?" I ask. he lets out a sigh before answering. he sounds disappointed.

"you're constantly tardy, and when you hand in your homework, you barely seem to have put in the effort. it's messy."

"messy?" I start to get annoyed. I'm only doing this so that I can get my degree. it's a fucking requirement. even though I'm not the biggest fan of mathematics, I still do my best and hand in my assignments on time. plus, the latest I arrive is five minutes-- it's not like I'm stumbling in halfway through the lesson.

"you've never come to office hours to ask for help or explained your lateness, which I, as your professor, would have appreciated." he scolds. honestly, I don't know what to say. my eyes narrow.

"I have my studio class on the other side of campus." I explain. "I should have emailed about that and I'm sorry, but I'm also not being lax about my work."

he goes around to the other side of his desk and glances up at me while he organizes some loose documents to pack away. he looks way too good when he's exasperated: his hands tighten around the papers, his eyebrows come together in this cute way. his tie is a little crooked, too.

"are you struggling with the content?"

"sometimes, yeah. but I can handle reaching out for help if I need it." I reply. he's pissing me off with these questions. I can see from the expression on his face that he's surprised by my reaction.

"really?" he slides some books into his messenger bag. that was definitely sarcastic; I know it was. "because it doesn't really seem like you have."

"I like to find help on my own." I shoulder my bag and cross my arms over my chest. there's no way he's gonna talk to me like that and expect me to not respond in kind.

"I'm reserving a slot on Wednesday evening for you," he looks up and holds my gaze. hazel irises that dare me to challenge him further. "I want you in office hours so that we can figure out how you're gonna catch up before the midterm."

"fine." I turn on my heel and leave. I know I'm not supposed to talk to my professor like that, or even to behave with such apprehension. but something about him makes me angry in the kind of way that settles in my stomach. I hate that he's right. I'm not going to do well on that damn test if I don't get some help.

but that doesn't mean I can't have some fun with it.

when I rush into his office on Wednesday evening, the sun is just starting to set through his window. there's a pinkish glow that smooths over Dr. Reid's desk as he glances up at me. I had to run to get here.

"you're late." he nods to the clock on the wall. I roll my eyes.

"only one minute, though. I had another class."

he sighs and folds his hands on his desk. "how are you doing today, Ms. Y/L/N?" a strangely polite question for the look on his face. he's frustrated with me.

"I'm quite well, Dr. Reid." I smile brightly, slightly excited by the anger on his face, and sit at the chair in front of his desk.

"I didn't know you were interested in art." he says simply. I'm confused for a moment before I remember that I told him that the course before his is a studio lesson.

"I didn't know you cared."

"do you make a habit of that?" he quirks an eyebrow.

"of what?" my expression is saccharine.

"being rude to people who control your grades."

"unless you're considering being unethical in your practices and allowing your personal opinion of me to influence my grade, then no." I counter. he's silent for a moment, taking in my words like they've left a mark on him.

"well, you'd most likely fail if I asked you to leave my office hours right now. whose fault would that be?" he fidgets with his hands and leans forward just a bit, his voice dropping to a lower tone. I bite back a smile.

"you wouldn't."

"and why is that?" he baits.

"because you're not a shitty professor, Dr. Reid," I lean back in my chair and cross my legs. "as angry as you are, you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you kicked me— a struggling student— out of here for giving you a little attitude."

"a little attitude?" he scoffs. "you've spent the whole semester completely ambivalent."

"not completely." I shrug.

"Y/N, you draw all over your tests and leave at least one problem half-finished every time. you obviously aren't learning." he chuckles mirthlessly. I concede this point; I like to doodle when I'm bored. and there's absolutely nothing more boring to me than numbers.

"okay," I sit up and rest my elbows on the edge of his desk, staring at him. "then teach me."

Dr. Reid holds my gaze for a long moment. we're suspended, it seems, as his lips part and he finds himself speechless. the way I said the words obviously has another layer to it-- he just has to decide whether or not to take the bait.

"what are you struggling with?" he clears his throat and sits up a bit straighter in his seat. that answers my question, I guess. I poke my tongue between my teeth gently, but then pull out my notebook and flip it to a page with some problems outlined on it.

"these." I toss the thing onto his side and he begins to run through the assignment. I watch him pick up a pen and start to explain the steps, slipping into his usual educational tone. his shoulders relax a little as he writes.

I can't see right from the angle I'm at, so I stand and come around onto his side. I hear him pause his speaking for a moment at my proximity, but he doesn't move away.

"does that make sense?" he asks me once he's finished running through the first problem. he basically did all the work. the professor's head turns to gauge my reaction to the explanation, but his eye line is right at the hem of my skirt-- which is already pretty short. for all his attempts to be subtle, he gulps and looks up at me.

"mostly." I brush a piece of hair behind my ear and pretend to scratch at a spot on my upper thigh, dragging the edge of my skirt with it until he can see the smooth skin beneath, practically begging for his touch. "can I ask you a question?"

"sure." he keeps his eyes almost too focused on mine. I try to hide the smile tugging at my lips. now or never, I guess.

"what's your policy on professor/student relationships?"

"my-- my what?" this time, he's audibly scattered when he turns to me. his eyes are wide, dark. even he can't hide his feelings.

"you know," I run my fingertips over the tweed shoulder of his jacket. I can sense the tension beneath his clothes. "like, your policy on fucking a student."

"I--" his cheeks turn pink. he's flustered, albeit not rejecting my touch. "I've never had to think about it before."

"hmm," I look off to the side as if considering this point. his chair is fully turned to face me now, and I'm standing in front of him, almost completely his for the taking. all he has to do is close the gap. "well, what are you thinking about it right now?"

"it's wrong." he stumbles over the words.

"why?"

"well, I mean, you're a student--"

"for a semester that's almost over." I cut him off. he opens and closes his mouth. I take a deep breath, toying with the hem of my skirt. "I know you've been looking at me during class."

"w-what?"

"you're pretty good at hiding it, but you call on me a lot and you get all messed up when I hold eye contact too long during lectures." I say.

he looks down and back up apologetically. he's just sitting there, lap wide open. so I do what any sane girl in my position would do: I climb into it, straddling him and resting my arms around his neck. he sucks in a breath.

"you pretend I'm such a pain," I lean down by his ear, my core drawing over his pants. he tenses as I speak. "but you like that I'm your little problem."

"Y/N..." he trails off, but his hips are bucking up into mine.

"see?" I look between our bodies at his movements, then at him. I smirk as I look into those lust-darkened eyes. after a moment of him not speaking, I straighten. "look, I'll leave you alone if it really bothers you--"

as I start to get off his lap, he grabs me and pulls me back down. the force hits my center at just the right angle and I let out a slight mewl. he hears the sound and before I can register the pleasure, he grabs my face and yanks me closer to kiss him.

god, he feels so good. I rock my hips against his while our lips pass over each other hungrily. so much tension built up over the past few months, so many thoughts I've had of him, now coming to fruition. it's amazing.

"not so 'wrong' now, is it?" I chuckle against his mouth.

"shut up." he orders. one moment of broken contact to slide my top over my head and throw it on the floor.

I sigh as he starts to kiss across my jaw and down my throat. "I like when you talk like that, Dr. Reid."

one hand grips my hips tighter and he releases a groan against my skin.

"is that why you're such a fucking brat in my class?" he bites my collarbone and I moan. "because you want me to put you in your place?"

"mhmm." I hum. his fingertips move under my skirt, sliding up my thighs and toying with the waistband of my panties. he teases me by grazing my slit over the fabric, inhaling sharply at the wet patch.

"sitting in the back of my room, fucking dripping..." he mumbles to himself as he starts to rub me.

"touch me." I breathe out, trying to gain the friction that I need.

"not if you're gonna be a brat." he removes his hand and I let out a frustrated noise as I try to find the pressure I need elsewhere by grinding down on him. he grunts at the way I pant into his mouth, trying to kiss him with every chance I get. his lips are so smooth and sweet against mine. there's something affectionate about it even in its ferocity.

"I'll be good." I practically beg.

"that's what I thought." he slides his tongue over his bottom lip as he watches me whimper on top of him.

"come on, Spencer..." I use the name for the first time and he grabs my face in his hand, squeezing my cheeks.

"not my name, sweetheart." he stares into my eyes expectantly and I smirk.

"you're fucked up, doctor."

"so are you."

after he says that, he lifts me off his lap and stands up, pushing between my shoulder blades until my face is pressed onto the desk. I let out a needy whine, wiggle my ass back in hopes of finding his crotch, but he's not willing to give me that, yet.

instead, he gently touches my skirt, flipping it up so that he can see my ass. immediately, he starts to knead it. my palms are pressed flat against the desk with anticipation, silently thankful that my panties are still on. I think I'd be dripping down my thighs if they weren't.

"are you gonna be more respectful?" his voice is low, one hand tracing over my back. I shake.

"mhmm."

"I won't spank you if you don't use your words, sweetheart."

"yes." I choke out, no longer wanting to give any sort of resistance. I had no idea there was this side of him, and I love it.

he loves it too, apparently, because his hand comes down sharply on my ass. I yelp at the contact and he runs his fingers over the point of impact, rubbing the flesh gently.

"too hard, baby?" he checks.

"harder." I beg. I can't see his face, but I can sense his smile as if it's my own. his palm hits me again, and I gasp.

"you like being punished?"

"yes." strangled and desperate.

he slips his finger beneath the fabric of my panties, collecting my essence and letting out a quiet moan when he feels me. I push my hips against his fingers, partly expecting him to remove all the pressure, but he doesn't bother waiting.

he slips his index inside and I gasp. starts to push in and out, his silence proving his arousal. I can practically feel his eyes on me. the pace increases a bit and he slides in his middle finger. I buck against the desk.

"oh fuck!" I cry out as he starts to go faster. he curls them against my walls and I arch my back.

"two fingers and you're already breaking?" Spencer chuckles as he moves inside me. he keeps one hand on my ass while he does it, starting to finger me at a ridiculous speed while I pant and moan and cry.

"I--" I gulp down air. "I need you in it."

he bends down by my ear, never breaking his rhythm. my legs are shaking from the force. "you need my cock?"

"yes," I feel myself closing in around him. "god, yes."

"you're lucky I wanna fuck you so bad." he mutters. I grin as I hear the clink of his belt coming undone, the sliding through the belt loops, the sound of him stripping down to nothing. I can feel my excitement on the inside of my thighs, spread around by his reckless fingers as he removes my panties and skirt.

he grinds himself against my pussy, coating himself in me, while he releases low, longing moans. I suck in a breath when the head pushes in, every inch pushing me open a little more. I don't have the ability to form words, so I bite my lip and grip onto the edge of the desk until my knuckles turn white.

his breath stops for a moment before he groans.

"so ready for me."

he's not even all the way in, and he has to pause to let me adjust. when he taps the inside of my thigh for me to part them more, I do it quickly and beg him to fill me up. I can barely take the pressure between my hips, but it burns in an inviting way.

"keep going." I direct him. he runs his hands over the curve of my waist and starts to thrust into me at a rate that leaves me panting. it's not too fast or slow, just impatient and needy. every sound that spills from his lips turns me on more.

"where'd the attitude go, huh?" he digs his hips into mine. his cock hits my cervix and I squeak against the wood, but he holds my back down. I don't even try to argue with him, too overcome with the pleasure that's coursing through my limbs. he starts to build up his speed. "don't have much to say when you're getting fucked?"

"Dr. Reid--" I moan.

he plows into me so hard, the desk shifts on the floor and he grabs my ass with both hands.

"take it, baby. fucking take it."

I get up on my elbows to look behind me, just to glimpse how he looks as he gets closer. his curls have fallen more in his face, and his shirt is gone. I want to touch him desperately, to feel the lovely skin of his torso and arms and everything else, but he keeps me down for the most part. all I get is the sight of his mouth open and his hips moving quickly against mine.

"look at me, there you go." he grabs my face and holds me there, our eyes locked. mine are welling at the sheer overwhelming pleasure inside, but his are dark and intense. they search mine for something I can only hope to offer.

"that feels so good, Dr. Reid." I pant. he bites his lip as he watches my mouth hanging open in lecherous shock.

"I bet it does," he explores my body. "coming in here, hoping I fuck you like you deserve. you're lucky I'm going easy on you."

"thank you." I whine.

"you might need some extra lessons, yeah?" he grunts out, moving into me with a bruising force.

"yes, please." I whisper. my voice is practically gone at this point, my mind entirely focused on the knot building in my stomach.

"what was that, baby?" he pulls my hair gently.

"yes— fuck— yes, please, Dr. Reid."

"what a beautiful girl." he smirks. I whimper when he runs his fingernails down my ribcage. I can feel it coming from the way he starts to move tumultuously, every thrust pushing harder and seeking more release. it's fervent, how he takes me and grips my hips like the force itself will push him over the edge.

"I'm so close..." I breathe out as I try for as much friction as I can.

"show me," he drops down so his stomach is flush to my back. "show me how you cum, Y/N."

the way he says my name-- husky and warm and full of lust-- causes me to snap. I cry out as he reaches around to clamp a hand around my mouth, climaxing and pulsing around his dick as I drop down against the surface again. I want him to finish inside, so I do my best to keep him here. and his thrusts are getting more staccato as he chases the sensation my walls create.

"can I fill you, angel?" he asks. he's breathing right by my ear, and the feeling is sending shivers down my spine. I love how his weight feels.

"yes." I moan and he slides his fingers into my mouth. I suck on them while he orgasms, jerking into my pussy and letting out unholy sounds of ecstasy. he says unintelligible things in the throes of his orgasm. pounds into me until I'm sure I won't be able to walk tomorrow.

"jesus christ, Y/N." he slows to a stop. when he pulls his cock out of me, the absence makes me whine. I miss his body already.

"oh my god." I clench my hands into fists as I try to catch my breath. I'm still bent over the desk as though I've been completely sapped of all my energy. I suppose I have. he doesn't touch me for a moment in the spirit of letting me recover from the small shudders still running over my skin.

"that was great." he says after we've both had time to fill our lungs. I push myself onto my elbows again.

"correct." I grin and straighten up more until I'm standing. he stares at me, at the cum now dripping down my legs, entranced.

"let me get you something to clean up." he snaps out of it a little. I can't stop looking at him, either, in love with the way he moves and the way he breathes after exerting himself on my body.

"come here." I bite my lip. for some reason, despite what we just did, this is scarier than everything else. he steps closer and I reach up, kiss him softly. part of me worries that he'll pull away and be terrified. maybe that he'll tell me that I've read too much into this.

he's much gentler than before. our first kiss was full of need and primal desire, but this is more affectionate. I remove myself from his embrace.

"okay, you can go now." I giggle. his fingertips linger on my waist and he smiles. I push his shoulder. "I literally have your cum all over me-- go."

"fine." he starts to put his clothes on.

"does this mean I get an A?" I joke. Spencer shakes his head.

"nice try. when we're done cleaning you up, we're gonna sit down and figure this out."

I let out a whine, and he kisses my cheek before looking me in the eyes. "it'll be fun. I promise."

"math is not fun."

"I can't believe I like a girl who doesn't enjoy such a beautiful subject." he rolls his eyes and I giggle. he's perfect.

#spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #dr. reid #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #professor reid

[landinoandco]

Mick Schumacher x reader

A timely confession

Request from @gpiggy98

Warnings: fluff:)

Word count: 1.8 k

Rating: Teen and up

When Guenther had announced that Mick Schumacher was going to be joining the team - the whole of Haas were ecstatic. There were many ways to describe him, his kind and nurturing nature, his dedication to any job he sets out to do and his gentle manner that could put anyone at ease. As gutted as you were to not be Romain’s assistant going into the 2021 season, getting Mick was definitely going to make up for it. The day you were scheduled to meet him, to go over the pre-season press plan - you were excited to show him around, introduce him to the team and talk about the new challenges you were going to be facing together. What you hadn’t expected was the inability to form a proper sentence whenever he came near you - which, as his assistant proved to be less than practical. 

“Hey, it’s lovely to meet you.” Mick had said when Guenther had introduced you that day. 

“I - uh - likewise. I’m really looking forward to working with you this year.” You had stuttered. Never in your career before had you stuttered when introducing yourself - a pink flush creeped up your neck betraying you completely. Fortunately for your sake, Mick smiled innocently and shook your hand, when he clasped your hand in his you couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter. 

Guenther watched on in amusement, obviously thoroughly enjoying the experience of you making a fool out of yourself. 

After the tour - in which you had tripped over your words a fair few times - you said your goodbyes and trudged angrily up to Guenther’s office. Slouching on the chair in front of your desk, you sighed loudly. “What a day.” You uttered, pinching the bridge of your nose with your thumb and forefinger. 

“How did it go?” Guenther asked, passing you a glass of water. 

“I kept tripping over my words, to be completely honest with you it was slightly traumatic.” You replied honestly, taking the glass gratefully and taking a sip. 

“You get the chance to work with Mick and you call it slightly traumatic?” Guenther mocked, the corner of his lips turning up. 

“Tomorrow’s a new day - maybe I’m coming down with something.” You wiped your forehead in anguish. 

As it turns out you were coming down with something but unfortunately it wasn’t really something that could be cured in a matter of days. You finally worked out what was wrong when Mick had asked you to grab a little bit of lunch with him before the first race in Bahrain. You had to keep reminding yourself that it wasn’t a date, it was for work and only work. 

It was a well known fact that Mick was a heartthrob, a real life Prince Charming who drives cars for a living. His crystal blue eyes were seemingly easy to get lost in - perhaps that was half your issue. The way he was so softly spoken, lulled you into a trance. His mannerisms resembled that of a golden retriever pup and after that you realised - you were falling for Mick Schumacher. 

You were sitting in a terraced cafe, looking over the city landscape near to where the track was. Picking on chips, as Mick asked about your career up to this point. 

“What made you want to become an assistant?” He asked, passing you the plate of chips. 

You picked one up and waved it at him, “I’ve always been in love with the sport and what better way to experience it first hand than work with the drivers. I could never have been one so join them, I suppose.” 

“Did you ever race as a child then?” He asked, leaning onto his elbows, a lopsided grin plastered onto his face. 

“I did for a while.” You nodded and took a bite of your chip. 

“Maybe, during the summer break, we should go go-karting. Show me some of the good tracks in the UK.” He declared, completely oblivious to the effect it had on you. The familiar pink tinge that had gotten too used to creeping up onto your neck, the corner of your eyes crinkled as you gazed into his eyes. 

“I would really like that.” You stayed transfixed, gazing longingly at him. If only he knew how you truly felt or even better - if he felt the same way. You knew he never could, at the end of the day he had been given an opportunity to drive in formula one and you knew he wasn’t going to let a girl he worked with distract him from that. 

You cleared your throat and tore your eyes away from him - as much as it pained you - and stood up but as you turned back around, you realised that he was still watching you, his eyes glinted and the corner of his mouth quirked up. 

“I suppose we should think about getting you back, wouldn’t want them thinking you’ve gotten lost.” You said, forcing a smile onto your face. 

A few weeks later and it was time for the race in Imola, the rain was pouring down and the team’s strategists had re-grouped to come up with a strategy to fit in with the weather. Unlike for people at home, watching a wet race as part of a team was never enjoyable - the tensions thick throughout the race. Over the few weeks that you had been working with Mick, your feelings only grew stronger but since the season was well underway you found yourself spending more and more time with him. It was an impossible situation that you wished upon nobody. 

You had never been good with nerves and that was clear as you paced up and down his room. 

“Liebe.” It was his new nickname for you. “Why are you so stressed. When you start stressing, so do I and do you really want me to-” You stopped pacing and sat next to him, he placed his hand on your shoulder in an attempt to calm you. If anything it made you worse. 

“I know, I’m sorry Mick.” You exhaled shakily and looked around the room. You had seen a fair few wet races in your time and not all of them had ended nicely, in fact the majority of the time someone ended up in the wall. “Racing in the rain always makes me nervous.” You looked down at your lap, toying with your fingers. You looked at him desperately, “Just promise me you will be careful.” 

“Damn,” He whispered, “You know I was really considering driving off the track today. A little off-roading never hurt anyone.” He laughed at your horrified expression. “I’m only teasing, Liebe. You know I will be careful. Extra careful so I won’t get a telling off from you - or Guenther.” You allowed yourself to chuckle slightly, he nudged his knee with yours and tried to catch your eye but you deliberately avoided it, nibbling on your lip and furrowing your eyebrows. 

He placed his finger under your chin and lifted it to meet his gaze then placing his hand either side of your face. Breath hitching in your throat and your heart having an absolute field day, you blushed profusely, once again unable to look away from his intense gaze. 

“What’s on your mind?” He asked,  you could feel his breath fanning across your face. You shut your eyes, hands clammy and you didn’t know whether you could trust your voice. 

“I care about you.” You managed to stutter, your eyes still closed. At least this way, you couldn’t see his expression when he realised. 

“I care about you, Liebe, but you already know this-” He began carelessly. 

“No, Mick.” You opened your eyes, his brows knitted. “I care about you more than I should.” Your tone was hushed, his eyes flickered with realisation, his mouth curved into a beaming grin. He moved his face so your lips were only a tantalizing distance from each other, “Why didn’t you say so sooner.” His lips brushed yours as he spoke and when you didn’t answer he closed the distance. Capturing your lips with his, it was like two puzzle pieces had been put together. 

There was a knock at the door and the pair of you jumped apart - a voice called out: “Mick it’s time to head to the track.”

Reluctantly he got up, brushing down his race suit and held out his hand to help you up - instead of letting go once you got to your feet, he proceeded to pull you into his chest. “We shall talk about this after the race, Liebe.” He kissed the tip of your nose and walked out the door, leaving you lost for words behind him. You could still feel the ghost of his lips on yours, relishing in the events of a couple of moments ago - playing it over and over again in your head. 

It was a tense 2 hours in the Haas garage - the race far from lacking action; with Latifi crashing into the wall on lap one then on lap four Mick losing the backend of his car whilst under the safety car and crashing into the exit of the pitlane. Fortunately with a new front wing he was able to carry on and finished the race 16th. They weren’t the only two to crash as Bottas and Russel came together - even Hamilton ran off the road. Imola was proving to be savage in the rain. 

As soon as Mick crossed the finishing line, the whole garage relaxed, hugging and cheering. He had matched his result from Bahrain and managed to finish in front of Nikita. As far as Haas was concerned - it was a successful day. As his assistant you were to meet him at Parc fermé to take him to his weigh-in and post-race interviews. As soon as he saw you he took his helmet off and wrapped you into his arms, your feet coming off of the floor. You giggled and placed your hands either side of his face. 

“I was as careful as I could be.” He assured, a smirk toying at the corner of his lips. You shook your head at him, your mouth curved into a wide smile. 

“You did a good job.” You said to him, he wrapped his arms around your waist - pulling you closer into him. Then he dipped his face and connected your lips, rain falling around you. It was atmospheric and cheesy all at the same time.

There were wolf-whistles and cheers around you, as passing drivers walked by. You pulled your face away, both of your cheeks resembled tomatoes but it didn’t really matter. You knew you could never be happier with Mick by your side.

They say home is where the heart is and as long as you were with Mick - you were home.

#f1 #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher imagine #mick schumacher one shot #mick schumacher fanfic #f1 x reader #f1blr #f1 2021 #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula one one shot #formula one fanfiction #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one #mick schumacher

[theladyismyshepard]

Oh wow you guys, almost 600 followers? I am confusion, but I appreciate all of you more than you’ll ever know! You guys are what keeps me inspired and going and to show my gratitude, I’m here to (hopefully) give you everything you’ve all been asking for

Well This is Still Awkward

Part 1

You were still frozen to your seat, unable to comprehend, much less control your legs. Denial was a son of a bitch and surely if you sat completely still and stared blankly into nothing, your girlfriends would come walking through and embrace you as if nothing happened... right?

You couldn’t hide away in denial forever, not when you could hear Daniela wailing from behind the thick door of Alcina’s office. Not when you could hear Cassandra’s voice raising, only to be silenced by an even louder one. Not when you could hear Bela pleading with her mother not to do this... they were losing the argument. You couldn’t help but to start trembling in your chair at the prospect of being stolen.

Lady Dimitrescu had said that she would return to fill you in on what was to happen now and that almost sounded like a threat to you despite her assurances that no harm would befall you. If this woman could hurt her daughters like this... How could she possibly care what you had thought or felt about the issue? You swallowed, unsure if you were up to every demand the Lady might have for you, and you had the distinct feeling that any objections from you would only make your life harder.

The door to her study opened with a groan, and you stiffened when the Lady herself ducked through the doorway, already finished with dealing with her daughters. You practically felt like a deer caught in the headlights when she straightened and her gaze settled on you, and the fond smile did nothing to calm your racing heartbeat. Her eyes dropped to look at your chest as a result, and you gulped as you watched them darken.

“I am terribly sorry if I kept you waiting for too long, my dear.” said the Lady, and if you looked closer, you could see the exhaustion that showed just how truly tiresome her daughters’ arguments had been.

You opened your mouth, ready to argue yet again, but something flickered across her eyes that had common sense screaming at you to snap it closed and ignore the way your teeth clacked together. The satisfied smile on her face showed she approved of your quick learning, and you couldn’t help but to frown, already understanding the difference in your relationship with the Lady and the relationship you had with Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela. She didn’t bother returning to her desk, instead choosing to tower over your seated form.

“Are you hungry, dear?” asked the Lady, her eyes surprisingly kind as she looked down on you, and that was worse... it had you diverting your gaze.

“Cassandra fed me,” You replied almost petulantly, and if she caught your attitude, she chose to ignore it.

“Oh that is even better, that means we can get straight to it,” said the Lady, unaffected by your tone. “Follow me, please.”

“Yes, my Lady,” You said monotonously, denial and bargaining giving way to just straight numbness.

You moved to stand, your head already ducked down, but a hand was quick to grab your shoulder. It wasn’t a violent grip, but the firmness of it told you to hold still and give your attention, and when you did, you could see the pinch between her brow as she frowned at you.

“Please, call me Alcina,” she insisted rather earnestly, and it had some sort of tension resolving inside of you. “You may call me so anytime you choose.”

“Thank you, Alcina,” You said, her name drawling off your tongue for the second time as you were quick to remember your manners.

“Now,” said Alcina, clapping her hands in what you could call a “chop chop” fashion. “Shall we continue with the day?”

“Yes, Alcina,” You nodded, and her smile brightened and it had your rigid shoulders marginally relaxing.

“Right this way then, dear,” guided Alcina, her hand returning to your shoulder, but gentler this time as she ushered you forward and out of the office.

As you passed through the threshold, the paralyzing thought struck you that you would run into Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela at some point, and you honestly couldn’t decide if you wanted it to happen sooner or later. Everything had happened so fast it was hard to believe that just that morning, you were waking up with Daniela pressed against your body. Less than an hour ago, you were eating and throwing playful banter at Cassandra before she was going to take you into town! Why did this feel like goodbye?

You felt your breath hitch as apprehension gnawed in between your rib cage, leaving you breathless and unable to focus on reality around you let alone formulate words. Your heart was thumping wildly in your chest and if you didn’t know any better, you’d swear you were having a heart attack. But the way your stomach felt too large to be contained in your small frame and the way dots littered your vision, and the way you needed to get the hell out of here, you knew you were possibly headed towards a full blown panic attack.

“Where are we going?” You could barely hear yourself you were diving so far into your own head.

There must have been a tremble in your voice, or maybe it was the way it sounded so disconnected from you, but Alcina turned her concerned gaze on you and the hand on your shoulder cupped your cheek. You two had come to a stop right in the middle of the hallway, and you still felt too exposed. While you ached for your girlfriends, you couldn’t possibly look at them as you gave into their mother’s whim.

“I am just taking you to my quarters, do you think you can make it there?” pressed Alcina, watching you like a hawk, and you swallowed and nodded quickly, determined to shake off the panic that was intricately weaving itself inside of your chest, captivating every inch.

“Lead the way,” You said, giving a nervous laugh to mask the fact that your organs were so seized with anxiety that it had you nauseous.

“Are you alright?” Alcina couldn’t help but to question, and you nodded (her hand slipping from your cheek) giving her a rather halfhearted smile.

“Oh, yes, I’m fine, just ready to hear my duties,” You insisted almost desperately, unwilling to speak lest tears fill your eyes at the mere mention of the root of your problem.

And yet again her brows furrowed as concern shone in her eyes as well as a little exasperation. If you didn’t know any better, you could swear that she was on the verge of pouting, but she refrained as she brought her hand to your shoulder. You refused to acknowledge the way your muscles relaxed underneath the small, deliberate circles she began drawing there. Instead, you focused on the crick that was about to form in your neck if you were to continue staring up.

“I would hope that with time, you don’t see this as a duty.” implored Alcina, and all you could do was finally turn away to look at your feet, but you gave a single nod. “I meant it when I said I see something special in you.”

There it was again, an insinuation of something special... It was beyond you what she had meant by it, but you found whatever “it” was to be a nuisance seeing as it got you into this mess. You weren’t even sure what your new relationship with the Lady was exactly, so you supposed it would be in your favor to just smile and nod along rather than argue. It certainly didn’t do her own daughters any good. But there was just one question that refused to be held back behind your teeth. So you craned your neck one more time and let it free.

“What exactly is it that you want from me?”

Rather than look offended or angered by your question, Alcina adopted a thoughtful expression as she dove deep into her own head to pick the right answer. She gnawed on her bottom lip nervously and you couldn’t help but to be thrown by how human it had made her look. Her eyes met yours and you found that you couldn’t take the intensity behind them.

“I want you to love me,” Alcina whispered oh so courageously, and you squeezed your eyes shut tightly and let your head hang.

I already love three Dimitrescus.

You were smart enough to keep that to yourself, and you turned towards the direction of her room, showing your willingness to comply still, and while it wasn’t quite a display of affection or approval of her words, it wasn’t the outright rejection that swelled and expanded in your chest, ready to burst forth, but too afraid to take shape. So you decided to continue on day by day, step by step, minute by minute. Who knew how things were to play out.

You took a single step forward before turning back over your shoulder to give Alcina a look as if to say “Are you coming?”, and you felt warm when she wore a fond smile in return, directed solely at you. She straightened her posture, determined to put the moment behind you as she continued on as if she didn’t just say what she said, and you were all too willing to let her.

Her hand was glued to your shoulder the entire rest of the way to her bedroom, and only dropped it to open up the door and guide you through before ducking low to allow herself entrance. It was warm, the hearth in full blaze as you stepped deeper into her room. The door closed behind Alcina with a small click, and it had the knots of anxiety returning to your gut. You knew she claimed to have wanted your heart, but that also entailed your body, and it had your frame wracked with tremors.

“Please, you may take a seat,” insisted Alcina, and you automatically plopped down into the large chair with your back facing the fireplace.

“Yes, my-”

Alcina clicked her tongue, and you quickly bit yours, catching your reflexive mistake. Your face burned.

“I did not mean it as a demand, and from this moment forward, nothing is meant as such unless I say otherwise.” said Alcina, taking a seat in the chair opposite of you.

“Then what are my duties?” You questioned, your brow furrowing at having it that easy. “Surely there is more that I am meant to do for you around here.”

“There is nothing that I necessarily need from you as far as house duties are concerned seeing as I have maids for that purpose.” said Alcina, pursing her lips, and a streak of boldness had you daring.

“Then what makes me yours?”

The way her eyes flashed dangerously had you paralyzed in your seat, and it didn’t help when she slowly raised herself up from her own chair, and without even taking a step forward, she bent over, both of her hands landing on either side of you, gripping tightly at the arms of the chair. She was so close that you could smell the overwhelming scent of smoke coupled with the hint of perfume that attempted to make itself known. At that proximity, you could see every line on her face, from the ones surrounding her smirk, to the ones crinkling at the edges of her eyes... and that didn’t even include the stretch marks that threatened to disappear below the plunging neckline of her dress.

“That would be this, darling.” drawled Alcina, and before you could protest, her face was buried into the crook of your neck.

And then she bit down hard. It was so piercing that it drew enough blood to dribble down your throat, but it was obvious that you didn’t have to concern yourself with the cleanup, not when there was a wet tongue that went hand in hand with the teeth buried into your flesh. Your eyes hurt from how wide they had grown, and your mouth was open in a silent scream. One of her hands had come up to grasp the whole opposite side of your neck, locking in you and any sound you thought to make. Your hands flew up to push at Alcina’s shoulders, yet she didn’t budge, too focused on her mission... of what? Marking you? Showing how interested she was in power play? Was this possibly even for her daughters?

You eventually gave up on your weak attempts at deflecting her, and your hands fell limply into your lap, and she hummed her approval into your neck before she withdrew enough to flatten her tongue against your neck and giving a single long, slow lick, and she granted you the sight of her leaning back and savoring the taste of your blood on her mouth. You felt dizzy.

“My, my,” whispered Alcina, going as far as to lick her lips clean. “You are the delicacy that I always imagined you to be.”

How long have you thought about this?

You didn’t have to look into a mirror to know that your throat was bruised. From the dull throbbing, you practically felt marked. And there was Alcina’s endgame it seemed, and it left you with a sickness in your stomach as you thought of the looks that would surely cross Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela’s eyes when they caught sight of the claim. You were betraying them, and right before their faces with their own mother no less! How could you possibly get yourself out of this family affair?

“Did you have any more questions?” drawled Alcina, finally sitting back into her own chair, and her smirk was setting you on edge. “I am always happy to answer appropriately.”

I don’t have the time, and you don’t have the patience.

You simply smiled albeit tightly, and asked, “What happens now?”

She was leaned all the way back into her chair, her elbows resting on the arms before she was hooking her fingers together, her index fingers gently tapping almost thoughtfully. Her eyes remained on you, they always did, and they almost always seemed predatory, like she was several steps ahead of you and you didn’t even realize it. What possibly had you so different that you were capable of captivating an entire family of cannibalistic women? Finally, her mouth opened to speak.

“You are by all means, mine, and the only demand that I have for you is that you know this fact.” said Alcina, and you knew to take her very seriously.

“I can assure you, that is something I can’t forget.” You promised almost sarcastically, but you knew to tame the sharpness of your tongue, lest it get you into trouble. “But what do you want me to physically do for you?”

The sudden touch of wickedness to her grin had you blanching at the way her mind went with it, and it was you who threw it out there no less. The ache was returning to your stomach, and you sincerely hoped that your face wasn’t expressing everything your mouth was wanting to. If she was picking up on your hesitance, then she made no indication of it other than smoothing out her smirk and lifting her chin.

“There will be time for physicality later, my dear,” she swore, and you shivered beneath her gaze. “But for now, I want to know everything about you.”

“You want to... talk? About me?” You were suddenly full to the brim and bubbling over with questions it seemed.

Alcina’s eyes softened as she detected the incredulity in your tone at the mere thought of having a full blown discussion surrounding you of all things. If she picked it apart any deeper, she’d sense the insecurity underlining your voice as well, but that was for a different time you supposed. You weren’t even sure if you could string together a conversation long enough to last more than a couple minutes if it consisted of nothing but yourself. The Dimitrescus were the ones with insinuations of something “special” or something “more”, not you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to think so.

“Yes,” started Alcina softly, her lips barely moving. “I want you to share what makes you... well, you,”

“What if there’s nothing to say?” You finally choked out, your brow pinching with worry. “What if you all find out that I’m not really as interesting as you think.”

With how quick you hung your head to hide your eyes, you missed her frown in response. But you did manage to catch her hand reaching to curl around your own, and you decided to relish in the surprising comfort it gave you rather than fight it. But once a hint of the thought flickered across your mind, it wasn’t long before you were comparing the way her hand enveloped yours rather than linking and fitting like a puzzle piece that was meant to be connected.

Like Bela’s.

Like Cassandra’s.

Like Daniela’s.

Your eyes squeezed tightly shut, but just as a single tear betrayed you by spilling from your eyelid and dripping down your cheek, the hand not holding yours cupped your chin and tilted your head up until all of your emotion was on display for her.

“You could never bore me, if that is what you are afraid of,” assured Alcina, looking you squarely in the eye to convey as much meaning as she could, and you couldn’t help the warmth flooding your chest.

“Well, this place has been such a big part of me that I can hardly remember who I used to be before.” You said rather meekly, ashamed that you couldn’t separate yourself from anything Dimitrescu anymore.

“Oh, my love, we have all the time in the world to help you remember.” Alcina cooed, now cupping both of your cheeks and you could’ve sworn you saw a glint of affection swirling in her eyes.

If your lower lip trembled, she made no comment of it as her eyes flickered to your mouth before glancing to the side and pulling away altogether. Her back was straightened once again and her hands were in her lap as she regarded you with a look you couldn’t decipher. Your only option was to sit and wait until she gave you some insight into what was playing through her mind. Fortunately, it didn’t take all evening.

“You miss my daughters.” It wasn’t a question as much as it was a statement of fact that she couldn’t ignore any longer.

“Very much so,” you pressed almost desperately, and you couldn’t understand the ache surrounding your heart when her shoulders slumped. “I was very happy with the three of them.”

“They are endearing girls, I love them equally for all of their charming behaviors.” Alcina agreed, and the smile that curled the corners of her mouth so easily had you knowing that her admittance wasn’t even begrudging. “I can see why you fell for the three of them.”

You could hear the drawl on the one word and knew exactly for what she was getting at, and you blushed a deep scarlet. Maybe it did seem weird from the outside looking in, but the relationship you had with her daughters gave you a relief that was astronomical. You had never known peace nor acceptance as you did basking in their light, and you were afraid it was flickering out.

“I love them,” You forced out, voice tight enough to get stuck in your throat. The mark pulsed when you swallowed.

You knew it wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but it was what you needed to say, and you couldn’t afford to pick apart and figure out the way your heart seized once hurt clouded her expression because of you. Instead, you chose to focus on how hurt her daughters had been, weeping in the hall for your relationship. You needed to see them.

“As they love you, I have been informed,” muttered Alcina, almost petulantly as she recalled her previous argument with her daughters. “They were capable of seeing something more to you than the other livestock that supports our winery as well.”

Everything about the Dimitrescus puzzled you, and it always left you scratching your head when you attempted to figure out what was so captivating about you, when it was clearly every single one of them that were so special. The power hidden beneath their skin and coursing through their veins was something to behold, and when they transformed into hoards of insects before you, you couldn’t resist catching onto the few not quick enough to get away, and the exceptional part was that you could distinguish who the insect was a part of.

You knew everything about Bela and how weighed down her shoulders were from taking on the world for her family. You understood Cassandra and her unwillingness to admit that she required a special kind of attention that she secretly felt neglected of. You basked in and guarded the comfort that came with Daniela’s almost childlike naivety. Your love for every one of them was obvious.

“In the end, someone is going to get hurt,” You deduced, pointing out the obvious. No matter how the story ended, love was going to hurt one, if not all of the Dimitrescus.

“If you are to take just one thing from this, do know that life is always here to test us if nothing else.” Alcina noted dryly as she reached for something on her side table before she hoisted herself from her chair.

She was putting some distance between the two of you and it was something you were grateful for. The clicking of her heels indicated where she was headed to, and you were aware of her presence with sense of sound alone. You didn’t have to glance over to know that she was hovering in front of the fireplace, her glassy eyes barely absorbing the dancing flames. The sharp, distinct clink of her lighter flicking open caught your attention before it snapped close with a clunk, and you sat rigidly in your seat, hands clasped tightly in your lap as Alcina audibly exhaled a puff of smoke. You waited patiently, but her following silence pushed you to wrack your brain for what you thought she might be waiting to hear.

“Does heartbreak feel worse when you have forever to hurt?” You whispered, wanting insight into Alcina, but also extremely timid to take the one step that was too far.

You finally craned your neck to glance over your shoulder and towards the hearth where she stood. The muscles in her back were so rigid they were stuck in knots that you could practically see from where you sat. Smoke billowed in the air before Alcina with every exhale, and that was the only sign that she was breathing at all, and you couldn’t help the guilt that began gnawing on the bones in your chest. You came into the castle and wrecked the family from within, and all you had to do was be yourself. You were getting so wrapped up in your own mind that you had to quickly zero back in on Alcina’s response before it missed you entirely.

“Forever is a long time to dwell, and contrary to belief, time hardly heals when the mind keeps it fresh.” sighed Alcina, her shoulders finally slumping forward beneath the weight she was carrying. “No matter how hard you push heartache to the back of your mind...”

“You have all the time in the world to circle back to it,” You finished for her, your eyes falling to the floor as you felt too unworthy to even glance in her direction. “I’m so-”

“There is nothing that your consolation nor your pity can do for me.” Alcina spat, and your teeth snapped shut with an audible clack as you bit back anything else that you thought to say. “Actions have always spoke louder than words, my dear, now what have you got to show me.”

You know what she’s wanting from you, she’s already said it, but matters of the heart couldn’t be forced, no matter if death was the only other option. As Alcina had basically just said, you could play the part of her lovesick puppy with words of false promise all day, but when the night fell along with your reservations, it wouldn’t be love that laced your touch. However, that didn’t stop your heart from yearning for this woman’s happiness. She deserved to feel the wholehearted acceptance of pure love, but was that really your job to take care of?

“I don’t want to hurt you,” You promised, your brows creasing with concern as you tried to convey how earnest you were with your eyes alone.

And how funny the situation was now, how the tables have turned... Now, here you sat with the ability to destroy the nearly invincible woman before you, and you could do it with mere words alone in a way that a sword, gun, or dagger never could. You felt sick at the power, and what were you to do? Alcina had made it perfectly clear to you as well as her daughters where she stood on stealing you away — your hand subconsciously rubbed the mark on your throat — but here you were to watch the aftermath as time helped realization to dawn on her. The extent of her feelings were true and legitimate, but she also showed a callousness that cut her daughters deep, and you think she was questioning if it was all worth it. Your mind drifted back to something she had said.

Time hardly heals when the mind keeps it fresh.

It would hurt Alcina to live the rest of your lifetime watching you spend it happily with her daughters, just as much as it would hurt Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela to lose you to their mother. It was hard to wrap your mind around; it was nearly laughable it was that ridiculous, but it was your life now, and it didn’t exactly feel like it was in your hands.

“Then don’t,” said Alcina, and you honestly couldn’t tell if it was an order or if it was a plea, but it added the pressure all the same.

“Will you ever let me see them again?” You asked, almost legitimately afraid that she would hide you away from her daughters forever.

“You would still be in the castle, would you not?” countered Alcina, arching a brow as she gracefully returned to her seat, placing her tobacco pipe back onto the side table.

“What do I do?”

When Bela cries to me... When Cassandra persuades me... When Daniela begs me... When I want to give in...

“You listen to me,” said Alcina simply, emphasizing her nonchalance with a shrug. “When you feel like it’s all becoming too much, just listen to me when I say I love you.”

But does love give you possession?

Alcina was walking the fine line between love and obsession, and it was all you could do to keep her swayed from the “obsession” side of the scale. You found that you only liked it when Daniela showed her obsession over you, and you didn’t have the mental capacity to juggle two sanity-impaired Dimitrescus. Daniela.

You cleared your throat in a futile attempt to dislodge the lump that formed there, and you briefly wondered if it was your entire argument that was stuck, choking you and itself down. Alcina had an answer for every one of your questions, and while it was a bit irksome, you also felt the fight leaving your body and leaving you slumped. Reality was finally sinking in that you weren't going to be able to talk your way out of the situation now, and you cursed the false hope that had bloomed in your chest. Now it was just prickling your lungs like thorns and it was difficult to breathe past.

"I wish you were happy... with me." Alcina faltered, sighing heavily, and the sound alone was like a punch to the gut. "And I think you could be with time."

But I want to be happy now. And I was.

"Where are your daughters?" You croaked, emotion finally getting the best of you, and if you were cracked anymore, you were surely to break into pieces.

"Wherever they want to be," Alcina answered rather aloofly, and while your brain was aware enough to detect the icy tone underlying, you also found that you were shutting down and not caring about actions and consequences.

"I need to see them, right now," You pleaded, and something told you to protest against her already opening mouth. "Please!"

The desperation came off of you in waves, and maybe it did smell kind of pathetic, but sometimes happiness comes from saying, "fuck it", and from the widening of Alcina's eyes, you could deduce that no mere mortal has had the courage to say it before you. And you almost wished to take it right back, to eat up the words and keep them as your burden when the hurt was so evident and clear in the Lady's eyes at your urgent demeanor. What cut you even deeper was when you caught the exact moment the pain masked itself with anger, and you suddenly understood her that much more.

Alcina was a woman who knew how to give, you've seen as much when she interacted with her daughters. She would give the moon and wouldn't hesitate to give the stars as well if that wasn't enough. She gave her time and her patience to the Dimitrescu winery that supported the castle and their status, and you knew it wasn't for her benefit alone. Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela had become Alcina's drive, and it was possible that she had grown exhausted of giving up everything she had to them once it came to giving up her heart.

Alcina was a woman who knew how to take as well. She took opportunities for what they were, and she was crafty at taking what she wanted, but she also unfortunately took a lot of shit. She accepted it with a tight smile from Mother Miranda and every time, the smile felt too wrong to be marring her face. She took the "family" dynamic between the four houses with a grain of salt, though that wasn't to say she was above petulance when she was hidden alone in her bedroom with her notebook. All in all, she was a woman of give and take, and somehow, you had wiggled your way like a parasite through her hard exterior, and she was now a woman allowing herself to put her own happiness first. You could respect that in itself. But now you’re ruining it.

“They really are very special girls,” repeated Alcina, her fingers tapping orderly on the arm of her chair as her eyes narrowed. “I understand how hard it must be to stop loving them.”

“And I won’t!” You clapped back without too much thought to the volume of your voice. “We had plans today! And tomorrow! And after that! This hurts me!”

Alcina’s face was stoic as she refused to emotionally acknowledge your words. She was eyeing you like she was questioning what her next approach should be, and she wasn’t willing to share until she had the upper hand. But you also suspected that she needed time to compose herself once more before she could try to reply. Alcina was more complex than some could fathom or even handle, and you almost wished she had gotten to you first, but you couldn’t deny that your heart was pulling in three different directions already and you loved it. But you also couldn’t deny the impulsive urge to hold and comfort the woman before you who was breaking silently inside.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone!” You exclaimed louder than you’ve ever been, all energy gone, released into a single sob.

Your shoulders slumped and your head hung as tears filled your eyes before spilling over down your cheeks. The weight was finally overwhelming, and you were crumbling beneath the pressure pushing you down. There was no thought to anything aside from Bela, Cassandra, Daniela, and Alcina crying for you and lost love, and it left your chest so achey that it scared you. Was there really a gaping hole there or did it just feel that way? You were drowning in your own sorrows so much that you didn’t notice three different insects squeezing beneath the crack under the door, nor did you notice Alcina place a comforting hand on your knee. Only when you felt small legs crawling in your palm, up your neck (over Alcina’s mark) and into your hair did you reflexively jerk.

You knew not to swat at them however from experience with their insects, and you were able to discern that Bela was sending you comfort in your palm as she did when she held your hand. The insect on your neck was Cassandra and you knew that because she always buried her face into your neck when either of you needed comfort. Daniela was nestled in your hair seeing as she always loved running her fingers through it. Each offered their love in their own ways, and that’s what you loved about your relationship with all of them.

“Their care and protective instincts over you is astounding,” mused Alcina, watching the three insects latching onto you. “They have never... loved anyone this way.”

You smiled warmly down at Bela sitting still in your hand before you allowed yourself to hear the melancholy in Alcina’s voice and glance into her eyes. She looked absolutely pained, and your heart broke that you put that expression there. The walls she surrounded herself with only allowed her to grow attached to her daughters, and you want to throw up at the thought that she fell for you and you threw it right back in her face. You were so unworthy to even be in her castle let alone her presence.

“Neither have you,” you whispered, too drained to speak any louder now, but also afraid that if you did, the statement would be even more loaded than it was.

“And what to do about that, hm?” countered Alcina, putting the ball back into your court, and finding enjoyment in the way you squirmed.

Cassandra’s insect bit into your neck, just over the bite mark that was already there. She would always enjoy showing her dominance over you, and you were sure she had something to prove to her mother at the moment. Of all the sisters, Cassandra would be the most stubborn one to crack, so you didn’t know why you expected her to grant you to her mother so easily. Your fingers twitched as you held back the urge to scratch the little insect away from your flesh.

And Bela was there, circling your fingers in an attempt at possible affection. She was the sister you went to when you needed comfort and good old fashioned sympathy. She seemed like she always understood your pain, and she was good with words of love and consolation. The way her hand squeezes yours to convey her support had you missing it when it was gone.

And naturally Daniela refused to be pushed to the side and she was back to running through your hair, tickling your scalp, and while it was less enjoyable in her insect form, it was Daniela, and you would never refuse anything she asked of you. And most of the time, all she wanted was to be enveloped in all things you. So really, who were you to deny the both of you the comfort she was trying to give with making her presence known to you.

You couldn’t imagine your life without the dynamic you and the sisters had gotten comfortable with. There was plenty of trial and error to get to the security of where you were, but you wouldn’t have changed anything about it... just like you were having trouble letting it change now. So what were you doing entertaining Alcina? Better yet, what were you going to do now that you had her hooked?

“You deserve someone who loves you fully and completely... You don’t deserve to always be paranoid about your lover pining over your daughters.” You said gently, your eyes thoroughly sorry and pleading. “I don’t think I can love you the way that I want to see you be loved, not with Bela, Cass, and Dani always being there to think about.”

Something in Alcina’s eyes flickered when you spoke, and while you were deathly afraid of what her response would be, it didn’t prepare you for when she suddenly moved, quick as a flash, and one of her hands were on your shoulder and the other was tangling in your hair. You were too startled to recognize that her fingers brushed Daniela’s insect from your hair. A gasp barely had time to escape your lips before Alcina was capturing it with her own. Your eyes widened as you felt the force behind the kiss, the desperation, the love, but you also felt the fear locked within that she refused to let out, lest she come across as weak, but here it was, everything presented to you, and you had to close your eyes from your mind in a whirlwind. From the mixture of hard pressure and soft lips, it had you frozen with her hands on you, not accepting but not pushing away; entirely unsure.

Alcina’s door slammed open and while your nerves screamed at you to jump away from sensory overload, her grip tightened around you to keep you in place long enough for the new occupants of the room to get a clear view. And the familiar growl, gasp, and cry had you ill as you were finally released far enough to turn away and look into Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela’s eyes. Cassandra looked angry, but you could see the pain she was trying to mask. Bela looked betrayed and a little sick, and was unwilling to look at her mother, her eyes unswayed from you. Daniela had tears in her eyes as she looked between you and her mother, her eyes darting to your mouth, and then her chin wobbled when she saw her mother’s lipstick smeared across your lips. You opened your mouth, and after a moment of opening and closing it like a floundering fish and still failing to come up with anything appropriate to say to ease the tension, you sighed, eyes shut tightly as you refused to even look at the problems happening before you.

“Well... this is awkward,”

——

I’ll decide to end it there because I love to torture. I think I might be inspired to slowly add more to this over time

#bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu's daughters #lady alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu’s daughters x reader #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #resident evil village #resident evil 8

[buckyownsmylife]

woman’s world - chris evans smut

The one where Chris pisses you off during a panel, but then finds a way to apologize

Warnings: age gap, famous!reader, oblivious Chris, smut, unprotected sex

Chris’ P.O.V.

The panel had gone well, or as well as it could go when everyone was trying to push the idea of Y/N and I together. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to pursue something with her - quite the opposite in fact. I was completely infatuated with the young actress, but the problem was just that: she was young. Too young for me, probably. So it was becoming harder and harder to deal with everyone commenting on how great we would be together when it was already all I could think about, and there was nothing I could do to make it come true without looking like an absolute predator.

Still, there was no denying that my favorite part about this particular press tour had been getting to spend time with her. She was just the perfect company, especially in a situation like this, which frankly could easily become tiresome and irritating. She just had this way of being able to read me and know what I needed, so she’d easily take over when she noticed an interviewer was getting on my nerves or overstepping some boundaries. 

She was quickly becoming my favorite person, but unfortunately, the rest of our cast had noticed as much. And so that meant that for the last day or so, I’d forced myself to pull away from her, deliberately sitting as far away as possible and not even glancing her way whenever there was a camera around. I even managed to have a quick reaction when the panel moderator joked about us being the perfect couple, and I was proud of how my cry of “She’s a kid, for God’s sake!” had made everyone laugh, even my friends who had been keen on insisting I should ask her out. 

So needless to say, I was in a good mood. Such a great mood, in fact, that I’d decided to ask Y/N to come back to my room so we could grab a beer and watch some movies. Asking around for where she had gone, someone pointed in the direction I thought I’d seen her head to, and after a couple of seconds, I managed to see her in the middle of the sea of people. Then it was just a matter of smoothly dodging everyone trying to lure me into pointless conversations and then she was already within ear reach. 

Or so I thought, at least. I tried calling her name countless times, but she didn’t look back once. In fact, she even quickened her step, and soon enough I had to physically run so I could follow her into the elevator that could take us to the floor where we were staying. 

I didn’t think too much of it, considering she probably thought I was someone else and was doing the same as I was: trying to dodge anyone who wanted to make us stay a bit longer on the crowded floor where the convention was taking place. But then we were inside the elevator and she didn’t even turn to look me in the eye. 

More importantly, when I reached out to rub my thumb on her wrist, to signal that I wanted to hold her hand, the response I got was a harsh, “Is this your way of subtly hinting that you want to hold my hand? Because it’s quite cute, but I’m not in the mood for that at all.”

The attitude caught me by surprise in such a way that I was only able to snap out of it once the elevator’s doors opened, but before I could ask what the fuck was going on, she had ran out of it, walking towards her room with determination.

Oh no, she wouldn’t. There was no way I was letting her hide in her room, angry at me, when I didn’t even know what I’d done wrong. I sprung into action, running after her and managing to hold the door just before she was able to slam it in my face.

“What’s going on?” I cried out, pushing my way inside the room as she just stared up at me with hurt eyes and a pout on her lips. “What did I do?” Y/N huffed, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms while looking away from me, before I managed to pull her closer by her wrists when I pried her arms open again. “Talk to me, c’mon.”

She glanced at me with furrowed brows, quickly averting her eyes before looking back again with an unamused expression. “You’re really gonna act like you don’t know.” Anxiety coursed through my veins at a scary pace. It was clear that I’d hurt her, but I had no idea how!

“I really don’t know!” I cried out, begging her to answer me, so I could make this better. I couldn’t bear the thought of offending her, of possibly losing her… and her friendship. Since that was all I could get from her, I was gonna fight with everything to keep it. “Please, let me make it up to you.”

For a second, it seemed like she would relent. But when her eyes met mine again, it was clear that whatever she saw on mine reminded her of the reason that she was mad, because just when I started to smile, she caught a second wind, pulling her hands from me and turning her back. 

“I don’t know why you’re so adamant about making me feel better. I thought I was just a kid to you.” And then, suddenly, it made sense. Flashes of what had happened not even an hour earlier played in my head, this time her face being the focus of it all. Perhaps it wasn’t perceptible for everyone else that her smile faltered when I shouted that idiotic thing, but to me it was.

To me it was, and still, back then, I didn’t see it. I chose not to see it, because I was so scared to deal with the truth. Instead, I ended up hurting her. And that was literally the last thing that I wanted. 

“I-I’m sorry,” I immediately offered, raising a hand to scratch the back of my neck. “I just… I didn’t want them to start creating any narratives about us two together, you know? I mean… You know how they can get. And I can’t be… We can’t be... associated… like that.”

I knew I had screwed up even before it became clear that she wouldn’t answer. Despite how cautiously I’d tried to phrase it, it ended up sounding weird even to my own ears. And when she didn’t turn around to look me in the eye again, I didn’t know what else to do. I felt myself deflating, my heart beating desperately against my chest, terrified of losing her simply for being my stupid self.

“C’mon… You know what I mean,” I breathed out, trying to approach her and resting a hand on one of her shoulders, but she simply shook it off. “C’mon, Y/N, don’t be like that.” I made myself flinch with just how poorly I was handling that situation.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I didn’t know what to do or say. Don’t be like what? “Like a child?” I asked, my tone icy enough to layer the tension in the room with one more level of awkwardness, and I didn’t need to see Chris to know that he was a mixture of nervous and confused, at the very least.

I knew it because I was, too. I was completely thrown off by my own behaviour, as weirdly as that sounded. I didn’t know why I was so defensive, except that I did. I did know it, I just didn’t want to admit. 

“Well, this child wants to be left alone. I’ll talk to you later, Chris.” And I stormed off into the bathroom, only stopping to take a breath when I was sure the door was locked behind me. I needed to put some distance between myself and him, otherwise I was gonna lose it - even worse than I already did. 

But it was too late to keep on ignoring my feelings. I was forced to deal with the reality of them, at least with myself, since I knew - especially after today - that there was no way I would ever get to reveal to Chris that I’d fallen for him.

To him, I was just a kid, and that’s all I would forever be.

Weirdly, I didn’t feel like crying as I took off my clothes and stepped into the shower, decided to wash away all of the bad feelings that this day had brought me. I just felt… disappointed, like a kid who’s been dreaming about a Christmas present only to find out they’ve been given socks. I’d been hopelessly trying to ignore my feelings for Chris, but at least a small part of me still fed into the ridiculous idea that he could possibly reciprocate those sentiments.

Now that it was obvious it would never be the case, it was like a small part of me had died on that stage.

By the time I got out of the shower, some twenty minutes later, I decided to put on a loose shirt I had kept around from some ex and take a nap until it was time to be social again. Certainly my friends would want to hit the bars or at least grab some dinner, and it would provide me with the perfect occasion to apologize to Chris.

Yes, that was perfect. That would get me a few more hours where I could manage to fabricate some resemblance of control before I had to see him. And then it would all go back to the way it was: me, pretending I don’t have a crush, while he kept seeing me as a kid.

I was so lost in my own thoughts that I didn’t even notice the massive body hidden beneath the covers in my bed until I went to uncover it so I could slide in.

“What the hell are you doing here? Get out of my bed,” I chastised, but Chris only gave me those annoyingly effective puppy eyes that had me groaning. “No. You don’t get to do this. I’m still mad at you, go to your room and we’ll talk about it later, but for now, just let me wallow in peace.”

But still, he didn’t let up. I tried to climb on the bed, but he was now smack down on the middle of it, still pouting with those perfect full lips of his. 

“Get. out. of. the. Bed.”

“Not until you tell me what I can do for you to forgive me. C’mon, baby girl, just let me make it up to you.” When I didn’t answer, making sure to avoid his eyes, he simply reached out and grabbed me by my hips, forcing me to sit on his lap. “Please?” He quietly begged, one hand cradling my face while the other maintained its grip on my hip. 

The movement had caught me by surprise, and my mouth fell open as I realized that because the shirt had ridden up, I was sat panties glued to Chris’ jeans. And if that wasn’t enough to throw me into a ridiculously horny state, the fact that I could feel just how hard he was certainly did.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Don’t be shy,” he pressed, and my eyes snapped up to meet his, finding a hazy lust that reflected mine and a very, very naugthty smirk that didn’t help my current about-to-get messy situation. “Tell me how I can make it up to you.”

I could hear my heartbeat in my ears as I took a sharp inhale, thinking about what I was about to say. Could I really do this? Should we even do this? I still wasn’t completely sure about what the hell had happened, but one thing I was certain of, and that was that I really wanted him to, “Kiss me.”

For all the reservation I expected Chris to have about this, he didn’t hesitate a single second before pulling me to meet his lips, and it was everything I thought kissing him would be like. His lips were soft and as patient as he seemed to try to be, there was an undeniable edge of neediness in the way his tongue swiped my bottom lip, begging me for entrance.

“You’re not gonna let me in, honey?” He whispered against my lips, warm breath making me shiver in his arms before I was able to gather my thoughts.

“I don’t think you deserve it.” I shrugged, but by Chris’ teasing smile, I knew I had just given him exactly what he wanted. In a quick move, he had me sprawled on the bed underneath him, while he hovered over me with dark eyes that I never thought I’d get to see outside of my dreams.

“Let me show you why you’re wrong.”

Chris’ P.O.V.

I started by rubbing the outside of her thighs until she opened her legs enough for me to settle in the space between them. I paid close attention to the way her breath hitched even with the softest of touches, incapable of stopping the grin that made its way into my face.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking sensitive, baby.” She whined as I lowered myself to replace my fingers with my lips, slowly making out with the delicate skin of her inner thighs. “You see? This is why I was scared to reveal my feelings for you. It’d be so easy to ruin you.”

By the way she bit on her lower lip, I knew I had reached my goal of making her even more bothered with what I had said, and slowly, I ran my hands up her legs and grabbed her hips to pull her further down, closer to my mouth. I ran my tongue over her lower lip, just barely gathering the excess moisture, and despite how clearly affected she was, Y/N managed to grab my hair and whisper, “I think you’re full of it, Evans.” It made me smirk, but before I could even offer a comeback, she just continued, “But even if you’re right… I’d like nothing more than to be ruined by you and only you.”

A sharp inhale later and a competition of stares, I pounced on her, devouring her little pussy like I’d wish to do so many fucking times before. She was sweet, but her moans were even sweeter, and the combination of sounds and taste and smell only served to intoxicate me, make me even more thrilled about finally having this gorgeous woman underneath me.

As her juices dripped from my jaw on the bed, she kept caressing my head, keeping me closely connected to her like I would ever dream of stepping away from this moment. I wanted to stay right here forever, away from people’s judgements and the overwhelming fear that she would think this was a mistake after it was over.

And right here, as my nose brushed her clit as I plunged my tongue as far as it could go inside her hole, she came right before my eyes, her honey dripping onto my tongue as I came up to toy with her clit before at last parting with her taste.

“You’re so fucking sweet,” I pointed out, stealing her lips with mine so I could share her taste with her, so she’d know I was right. “You’re sweet all over. Shit, I really want to fuck you.” My voice became nothing but a whisper, and soon her hands were cradling my face, thumb playing with my bottom lip before I sucked it. It was true. I craved to feel her from the inside, know what it was like to possess her in that way, too.

“Then fulfill both of our wishes. I really want to be fucked by you.”

Godfuckingdamn. This girl was just perfect. I knew right then, I’d made the right choice by deciding to stick around. When she appeared wearing nothing but that shirt, I forgot all of the reasons that were holding me back from simply taking her, and even now, they didn’t seem all that important anymore.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Your wish is my command.” I heard the words and braced myself to finally feel his cock inside of me, but still, the second that its head managed to fit, a long, drawn-out moan revealed just how impossible it was for me to restrain myself as Chris stretched me open around his member.

“Fuck!” Chris shouted, and it surprised me so much that it made my eyes widen as I stared up at him, hands still holding tightly on his muscular shoulders. “Sorry! Sorry.” He repeated as he bottomed out, forehead resting against mine as he seemed to catch his breath. “I just… I imagined your moans, but hearing them is a completely different thing altogether.”

The sentence had butterflies flying in my stomach and the reality of the situation suddenly hit me. I was lying in bed completely naked with a still fully clothed Chris Evans on top of me, and his cock was filling me in ways I’d never been filled before while he kept releasing these breathy little moans that had my heart skipping a beat every damn time my mind registered them.

“Good to know I’m not the only one who has been dreaming about this,” I settled for whispering in his ear before sucking on his earlobe, and a shiver passed through his body, making me giggle.

“Yeah,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss me quickly before deciding to do it again. “But I’m even more glad that this is actually happening right now.” What could I add to this? I didn’t think there were any combination of words possible. So I resigned myself to feel it, memorize every single thing about this moment when Chris started to pull out only to push back in again. “Let me take care of you,” he whispered, and in that moment, I’d let him do anything to me, just as long as he kept fucking me like this.

His thrusts felt like waves washing over the shore, bringing the tide of desire higher and higher and I could feel it reaching the point where it all changed, the point where my life would turn upside down because I would know what it felt like to cum around Chris’ cock, and the anticipation was enough to have me writhing on the unmade sheets of the hotel bed.

“Shit,” Chris chuckled, and I opened my eyes to find him staring at me with a soft look on his. “You’re unbelievable, sweetheart.” I could see the desire in his darkened pupils. I was sure it mirrored my own. “So beautiful, and you take my cock so well.”

Hearing him talk dirty was everything I’d always wished for, and I could feel myself getting even wetter around him, whines and whimpers escaping my chest as I held him closer to me.

“Fuck, I really wanna buy you a collar with my name on it. Make sure everyone knows I own you now.” The words, paired with the warmth of his breath had me clenching around him, and I fucking melted when I heard him meanly chuckle at my state - the state that he had caused me. “You want it too, huh?”

I really, really did. I’d never been one for external marks of possession, but something about this, about Chris and I, really had me going crazy for his proposal. Maybe because a part of me thought he would never want to admit this had ever happened. I thought he would try to deny it, and so to hear him wishing to boast about it… It really had me going crazy under him.

“Say it.” His voice cut through the haze, making me realize I was actually about to cum again. It took me a while to understand what it wanted, just enough to have him ordering again, in a tone of voice that made every single part of me tingle, “Say you want everyone to know that you’re mine.”

“I do. I want everyone to know I’m yours and only yours, Christopher.” I don’t know if it was the desperation in my tone, my use of his full name or the fact that I came again, but that finally had him losing the control of his movements, quickly pulling out of me and jerking himself off until his cum was painted all over my stomach.

For a second, it was only our labored breaths in the bedroom, staring at each other like we couldn’t believe this had really happened. “Still think I’m a kid?” I had to laugh, biting my lower lip while trying not to show that I actually was really nervous about his reaction now that we were done. But his eyes softened, a quick kiss deposited on my lips before he cradled me in his arms, cum and all, and answered, “You’ll always be my little girl. I just want to do some very adult stuff to you.”

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