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eldritch-thrumming · 5 months

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September 1986

It’s a Saturday when they finally make it up to Bloomington. Steve had to bribe Robin into taking his afternoon shift by promising he’d take three of her Monday mornings in a row. It sucked, but looking over at Eddie in his passenger’s seat, hair whipping around him as he head bangs to whatever music he’s got playing on Steve’s car radio, he thinks it’s probably worth it.

It takes them an hour to get there and once they reach the city limits, Steve has to turn down the music so Eddie can direct him to the store he’s been coming to for the last ten years.

“Used to come here as a kid, when I first moved in with Wayne,” Eddie tells him as he gestures for Steve to make a left at the light. “The guy who owns the place—Greg—is an old friend from, like, World War II or whatever. You know, that homoerotic male bonding trauma shit.” Eddie nudges Steve with his elbow, winking when Steve looks over. “Wayne’s the one who taught me to play, did I tell you that?” Steve shakes his head. “Well, he thought it’d be a good way to get out all that energy, I guess.” Eddie grins. “Greg used to give me these tapes of the local music scene, stuff he’d been able to record at live shows or people renting out his booth in the back. There was some fucking awesome stuff in there, some of the bands have even made it pretty big. Oh, take a right here and then another right at the stop sign.” Steve sees it before Eddie points it out, a big red guitar on the sign. “That parking lot there, Stevie.” Eddie makes a big show of pointing, practically leaning out of the passenger’s side window like a dog, as if Steve needs the help at all.

Steve pulls into a spot right in front of the store and puts the car in park. Eddie practically leaps from his seat, slamming the door behind him and bounding up to the double glass doors, not even waiting for Steve to climb out of the car himself before he’s pulling the door open and rushing inside. Steve just rolls his eyes, locking the car doors before he follows.

The place is exactly what Steve expected. A little bell twinkles overhead as he passes through the entrance. It’s a little dimly lit, due to the way the storefront is arranged, but Steve can clearly see the rows of guitars hanging from the walls, the bins of sheet music underneath. There are other instruments, too, a couple of upright pianos near the counter in the back, some electric keyboards, a whole section of violins. He can’t help but think about how Robin would love this place and makes a mental note to suggest they all come up here together sometime. Steve follows Eddie’s voice to the glass counter where the register sits, harmonicas lined up on shelves lined in velvet in the case below it.

“—my friend Steve,” Eddie’s saying, gesturing towards Steve as Steve comes to stand beside him. Steve looks up at the man he assumes is Greg. He’s older, maybe a little older than Wayne even, laugh lines around his mouth and an easy smile on his lips. He’s got a long grey ponytail to match his long grey beard. A green flannel hangs off his skinny frame. Eddie smiles at Steve, his hand brushing along Steve’s bicep as he turns to introduce him. “Steve, this is Greg.”

“Hey, Steve,” Greg reaches his hand out for a shake and Steve takes it. Greg’s hand is warm and dry, eyes sparkling, friendly. Steve feels safe here. “Eddie says he’s teaching you to play guitar. Not sure how much you’re gonna learn from ol’ butterfingers here.” He points his thumb at Eddie.

“Hey!” Eddie yells in mock offense.

Greg laughs. “When Eddie was first learning, he’d try to snack and play at the same time. Always the same thing, those Bugles, you know?” He holds his hands up in front of him, wiggling his fingertips. Steve nods, grinning. “Hands full of grease, couldn’t get a grip on anything.”

Steve’s grin widens when Eddie rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, okay, old man.” He lifts himself from where he’d been leaning on the counter, tapping is own fingertips along the glass. “How about you make yourself useful and do your job? Steve’s looking for a new guitar.”

“Awesome, man, first one?” Greg asks Steve.

“Uh, yeah, I’ve been borrowing a friend’s, but I’d like to get one of my own.” Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Nothing too fancy, I don’t know much about anything really.”

Greg grins again. “A real newbie, I love that.” He walks across to the front left corner of the store. “Obviously you want an acoustic, easier to learn on, especially if this dumbass is the one teaching you.” Eddie lets out a sound of offense. “These are your best bet. No bells and whistles, nothing fancy. You can get fancier once you know more.” Greg turns toward Steve. “Wanna try some out?”

Steve nods and Greg slides a stool over, gesturing for Steve to sit. He pulls the first guitar off its hook and hands it to Steve. Steve strums a few chords.

“How’s it feel?” Greg asks.

“It’s good,” Steve says hesitantly.

“Good but not great, right?” Steve nods. “Yeah, I could tell. That’s okay. You’ll know when you feel it.” Greg takes the guitar back from Steve, handing him a new one.

After about four or five rounds, Greg pulls the last one off the wall. It looks a little like Robin’s, but the wood’s a little darker, almost red, and the finish is a little shinier. Steve’s fingertips are buzzing when he takes it from Greg and feels the smooth strings under his fingers.

“That’s it, right?” Greg asks, smiling.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes out. “This is it.” He returns Greg’s smile.

Eddie meets them back up at the counter, wandering over from where he’d been sifting through the sheet music.

“Find one?” Eddie nods toward the case on the counter.

“Found a real good one,” Greg tells him, snapping the lid of the case open to show him.

Eddie grins, dimples on full display. “Wow, Stevie.” Eddie looks over at Steve, face soft. “Looks great. Very metal.”

Steve’s not entirely sure why that makes him blush.

read the new chapter of all of me changed like midnight. posted now

#steddie #steddiebigbang23 #steddie bang #steddie bigbang #steddie fic #steddie fic rec #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic

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flamingtouya · 2 months

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𝐜𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 — 𝐝𝐚𝐛𝐢/𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐲𝐚

word count: 1262

cw: none other than dabi's foul language

summary: dabi encounters a cat. i continue to spoon-feed this man happiness. based on this prompt by the lovely @scarlettcryptid ♡

Before he knows it, a quiet ‘Pss-pss-pss’ leaves his lips.

He tries it all.

Clicking his tongue, saying - whispering - “Here, stupid fucking kitty”, because god forbid someone hears. Slowly putting his hand out, some more ‘Pss-pss’-ing - anything that had worked on the neighbours’ cats when Fuyumi did it.

Here he sits; Todoroki Touya, a man stripped of all dignity at the sight of a fat cat.

The concrete is cold underneath his palm. Dabi welcomes April’s spring breeze, a strand of jet black hair tickling his cheek as he pulls the strings of his hoodie tighter. The dewy scent of the morning air is overtaken by the intense smell of steaming hot Yakitori, fresh off the grill, bought - not stolen - bought with his own, hard-earned cash money. (That, admittedly, he had stolen.)

You’ve got to indulge, the vendor had shouted, in the little pleasures! Treat yourself to life's delectable delights! Two plus two, Weekday special! Don’t miss out on-

“Screw you,” he’d told her, shoving the money on the little silver tray next to the register, scowling when she still served him with a bright smile, one that reminded him of Fuyumi’s excited grin every time she’d successfully pulled off a trick on her beautifully painted Kendama. Fuyumi would be so upset, he thinks, if she knew where he gets his food from these days.

He pulls the first skewer from the paper box, diligently inspecting a grain of Szechuan pepper. Dabi hasn’t laid eyes upon a spice in months - especially not one this pricey.

No, ever since he’s made a temporary home in the outer area of the city, it’s been nothing but dumpster diving and collecting restaurant leftovers for him. Stale bread. Expired cookies. Plain rice, cooked in an old bean can. Salted butter. Some Chili powder on top of his potatoes, if the old man at the soup kitchen was feeling generous.

Compared to the barely digestible nutrients his body runs on, the sight mere inches from his face is a divine gift.

After turning it over once more he finally takes a small bite, careful to pull the piece of chicken off the skewer with his front teeth. He’s become even more sensitive to temperature lately, and his teeth are the most annoying aspect. Not the sizzling of his flesh when he overuses his quirk, not the burn behind his eyes as they go dry. Those he’s gotten used to rather quickly. But when most of the food you eat is either cold or poorly reheated, the sensation of something hot is bound to cause major discomfort.

It’s not as bad as he expects. Neither the temperature sensitivity nor the taste. He begins to chew more boldly, savouring the harmonious balance between onion and garlic, sea salt and pepper, topped with tare sauce and just a hint of lemon. Say about the outskirt markets what you will, but those street food vendors do know how to grill a chicken.

Dabi doesn’t notice how quiet it’s gotten until something chirps behind him.

A cat.

A rather well-fed cat.

A cat that technically isn’t overweight, but its thick fur coat still makes it look a little fat.

Black with a white tummy and some spots of orange near its paws, sitting two arms’ lengths away. Its eyes follow the skewer as he moves it to one side, then the other, then dangles it upside down. Some grease drips onto the grass of the porch he’s sitting on. He finishes the remaining pieces of chicken and pulls out the second skewer, eyes shifting between his precious meal and the overly attentive cat.

Finally, he decides to pinch off a small piece, chewing at the spiced crust until it’s gone. He tosses the plain chicken towards the cat but to his surprise, it flinches and retreats behind a large flower pot.

The little fucker.

Wasted half a bite of perfectly good food.

Dabi turns his attention back towards his steaming Yakitori. Some time passes. He doesn’t know if it’s seconds or minutes that he zones out looking at the flowering apricot tree in the distance, but he’s pulled back to reality by soft chewing noises. Careful not to make another sudden movement he shifts a bit, just enough to look over his shoulder. Sure enough, the feline is greedily nibbling at the slice of meat. The two of them make brief eye contact before turning their attention back to their respective meals.

The sound behind him subsides shortly after and is replaced by a soft purring, one that he knows isn’t directed at him. He lets the cat have another piece from his third skewer nonetheless, this time giving it a gentle toss so it lands a few inches closer.

Still visibly tense, it takes a few steps forward and sniffs at the chicken before gulping it down in a few bites. Greedy shit, Dabi thinks, as he sacrifices yet another precious piece. He puts it down at his side, rubbing his fingers together. The cat’s attention is on the meat immediately, ears twitching as it courageously inches closer towards Dabi. He finishes the last of his Yakitori, never breaking eye contact with the cowardly little furball next to him.

Before he knows it, a quiet ‘Pss-pss-pss’ leaves his lips.

He tries it all.

Here he sits; Todoroki Touya, a man stripped of all dignity at the sight of a fat cat.

After a thorough standoff, the cat’s curiosity gets the better of it. It keeps its stomach low as it sneaks across the ground, stretching its long neck to sniff at the finger that Dabi used to pull the Yakitori off the skewer earlier.

“If you bite me, I’m sending you to the coat factory.”

As if that theory was being tested, Dabi feels a sudden nip at his fingers. Cursing, he pulls back slightly, only to see the mischievous fucker’s pupils go wider. He wipes the bits of chicken grease off in the dewy grass and offers his palm again, checking both sides of the street to make sure nobody’s looking.

As if to taunt him, the little furball pounces and takes a swipe at Dabi’s hand before he can turn his attention back to the porch. It chatters in surprise when the man pulls away just in time.

Fucker, as Dabi decides to dub this newfound enemy of his, darts toward his other hand where he’s drawing lazy patterns on the concrete. With its claws half out and its tail puffed up, it races toward the wall, around the flower pot and jumps back onto the lawn to take another playful swing at Dabi’s limbs. Minutes later, he’s got the little menace chasing his fingers in circles, losing balance here and there and rolling over ever so often.

He’s focused, eagerly following the cat’s every move, trying to predict its attacks by the flick of its tail, an ear twitch, pupils that narrow ever so slightly before it leaps forward.

He’ll never admit it. That for once, there’s a sudden lack of grief in his heart.

Only when the first ray of sunshine hits the outer edge of the garden does he let himself fall backwards. The cat is but a purring weight on his thigh, stretching its paws across his lap with the softest ‘Meow’. Eyes closed and arms stretched out, he inhales slowly and holds his breath until he feels his pulse slow down. Dabi doesn’t care that his hair is getting a little wet, doesn’t care that the grass tickling his ears stings a little, doesn’t care that he’ll probably have red marks on his hands for a while.

If he shuts his eyes hard enough, he might still be able to convince himself that Touya is dead.

#the strength it took me to not turn this into a 5k word dabi x reader could move mountains.#dabi #todoroki touya #touya todoroki #bnha #bnha fluff #dabi x reader #< u cant blame me. this tag is what gets the clicks going and im a sucker for validation #touya x reader #dabi x you #almighty brainfarts it is currently 00:29. good night <3 #edgelord #my writing #x

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gosmigenergy · 7 months

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KINKTOBER 2023 / Day Fifteen

( Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x F!Reader )

BOOT WORSHIP / SPANKING / LACTATION/BREASTFEEDING

Summary: After wanting to spank you for months, Frankie finally shares his desire.

Day Fifteen of @absurdthirst's Kinktober list.

Rating: Mature 18+

Warnings: Language, spanking, hair pulling, Dom!Frankie turns Soft!Frankie, P in V, unprotected sex (use protection irl please), no use of Y/N

Word Count: 2k

If he’s ever given the opportunity, Frankie’s hand will meet your ass and you give him too many opportunities to count. He thought you would have realised by now that he was an ass man but apparently not.

He pats you on the butt while you wait for your coffee, holding onto the counter top, bleary eyed. When the boys are over and you climb over their splayed legs to take a seat, he has a playful swat. He grabs handfuls upon handfuls of you when things heat up between the pair of you.

And it’s not that you haven’t notice, you just haven’t said anything, the notion has always felt somewhat loving.

There was one time however where he wasn’t so gentle.

You were on your hands and knees, searching for something under your bed. He clocked you, ass up in those ridiculously short pyjama bottoms and the temptation was too strong. You weren’t even aware he was in the room until the heavy handed smack. The force sent you forward, the shock causing you to hit your head on the slats.

“Francisco!”

That’s when he learned you only called him by his full name when you were pissed. He’d already bolted from the room when you managed to worm your way from under the bed. You rubbed your butt.

Sure it hurt but fuck, did it turn you on.

There was always an anticipation in you when his hand came to your ass, yet a slap like that never happened again.

“You missed a good fight,” he let you go in the house first.

“You all keep telling me that but I can’t watch him get beat up like that.”

The scrapping, the kicks and the punches were fine at first but the more time you spent with Benny, the more it hurt to watch him in the cage. Instead you waited outside or in the locker room for everything to be over.

Frankie plucks off his cap, throwing it aside with his jacket.

“He’s a big boy,” he cups your cheeks, “he can handle it.”

“I know. I just don’t like seeing him get hurt.”

He let you wrap your arms around him where you press your ear against his chest and listen to his heart beat. He kisses the crown of your head.

You yawn.

“Tired, querida?”

“No, just in need of a pick me up,” you stretch, walking away from him. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Want a late night snack?”

“I’m ok, thanks babe.”

You’d started to get into the habit of calling them all babe, he still wasn’t used to it.

After your shower, you gravitate towards his wardrobe, flicking through his shirts to choose which one to wear. You always went for the softest, the one that had clung onto his sandalwood scent even though he’d washed it hundreds of times before.

He’d just thrown the last piece of a grilled cheese sandwich into his mouth and was sucking the grease from his thick fingers when you join him. He looks you up and down, taking his finger out with a pop as he puts the empty plate on the table.

“So you’re the one who keeps stealing my favourite shirt.”

It was obviously you.

You pout, “Don’t you think it looks better on me?”

He watched as you smoothed the fabric over your figure, purposefully showing glimpses of the bare skin hidden underneath. You turn around just so you can lift the hemline enough for him to see the curve of your ass, no knickers in sight.

He leans back, arms blocking his chest.

“Of course it does.”

His eyes focus back on the television.

Playing with the cuffs in your fingers, you tentatively join him on the couch, knees to your chest.

“Are you mad with me?”

He looks at your doe eyes.

“A little…”

Sighing, he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“All I want to do is throw you over my leg and spank you but you don’t want that.”

Your heart skips a beat, the thought of it pooling in your belly and spreading between your thighs.

“When did I say that?”

“You didn’t,” he took his hand away from his face. “When I smacked you on the ass a couple of months back, you weren’t pleased.”

You take his other hand, “Frankie, that was just bad timing.”

“It was? You seemed angry.”

“It was the shock and the head bump. If I’m honest, I’ve kinda been waiting for you to do it again.”

His mouth was hanging open, brows knotted, “Really?”

You hum, nodding, teeth grazing your bottom lip.

“Huh.”

He stops talking, his mind working to formulate his next move.

The expectancy was tortuous, the passing seconds making you squirm then suddenly, everything went fast.

Frankie grabbed you firmly around the waist and hauled your body off the cushions. Intuitively, you went limp and allowed him to position you on his legs, your stomach pressing into bone. The shirt had already ridden up, the chill wafting onto your warm pussy and once you’ve caught your breath, you lift your head to look at him.

He stares at you hungrily.

His broad palm rubs gently, getting you used to the feel of his hand on your ass though you were pretty used to it being there. He waited for you to settle before he slaps you a few times but you barely flinch.

“You can go harder.”

He starts rubbing again.

“This is just the prep,” he gives some more slaps before groping, sinking his nails into the meat of your ass. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You scoff, “I thought that was the point?”

“Put it this way, I want you to be able to sit tomorrow.”

That you could agree with.

There’s a couple of final swats before he soothes you one last time. You swallow as you hear him take a deep breath, his hand no longer on the flaring skin of your ass. Closing your eyes, the impact comes fast and you yelp in response.

“You alright?”

His hand relaxed.

You nod enthusiastically, rearranging your position a little to get your ass up higher. He smirked at your eagerness, his other hand running up your spine and he watches the shiver take your whole body.

Then he gives another, then another over and over.

You happily take every welt, the heaviness rippling through your ass and your juices begin to flow. Each slap is met with a honeyed moan, your toes beginning to curl as your desire rushes through you.

Frankie is relishing in it.

How dutiful you are, taking it as hard as he’s giving.

As he continues, your nails claw into his jeans as you try to steady against the brunt, your head lulling as your head fills with nothing but him. The air as it’s puffed from his nostrils, his eyes observing every minuscule response and making the hair at the back of you neck stand on end, his cock growing and hardening into the side of your chest.

His next smack hits different.

It stings, the prickle spreading across your ass cheeks.

“Fuck,” you say through gritted teeth.

He does it again and you gasp, your chest shuddering as you breath.

“You good?”

You nod but he doesn’t see it.

Instead, his free hand trails towards your neck, fingers locking into a fistful of your hair. He pulls your head back and you feel the strain in your neck, you mewl.

“Querida?”

“Yeah,” you say breathily. “I’m good.”

You look to him out of the corner of your eye, heavy lids. He has to smile at how you appear, cheeks flushed, bottom lip swollen from your own teeth, drunk off his dominance.

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”

You hum.

He slaps your ass and watches your facial features go slack.

Carrying on his thrashing, he can see how your legs splay, how your pussy glistens, twitching as the ache travels. He knows you’re enjoying this yet your ass is beginning to disagree. It’s scorching under his touch, handprints blending into the same raised mark that spreads the width of your ass cheeks.

Your scalp was tingling as his fingers still pulled, the sensation flooding your back. It dispersed, vibrating through your limbs until you were vibrating.

The next spank hurt, your senses overwhelmed and then the next.

“Stop.”

He raises his hand but doesn’t swing.

“Stop,” you tap his leg, “stop, please.”

His hand loosens on your head and you turn to jelly, legs buckling as you fall onto your knees, forehead pressed to the outside of his leg. He lets you catch your breath, stroking your hair delicately.

You took your time, your presence coming back to the room, to him.

When you look up at him, he’s already gazing down out you, straight lipped but soft behind his brown eyes.

“Thank you.”

He chuckles, “You might not be thanking me later.”

You smile, knowing that that wasn’t going to happen.

Helping you up off the floor, he lays you out across the couch and tucks himself in behind you. He props up on an elbow, his other hand, running up and down your side in a soothing manner. You could go to sleep, if it wasn’t for a raging boner.

“What are you going to do about that?”

“Ignore it,” he grumbles.

“It’s pretty hard to ignore.”

“That sounds like a bad pun.”

“It wasn’t meant to.”

You work a hand behind your back, cupping his bulge through his jeans.

He groans, eyelids fluttering shut as he felt your fingers pull at the zipper. You coil a hand through the opening and knead his length, a spot already present on his underwear.

“Fuck me, Frankie.”

It’s what he needed to hear.

Opening his eyes, his hand fights to undo his belt and unfasten his button. He frees his cock from his briefs before hooking your leg over his, spreading you wide. Shuffling, he lines himself up, taking his cock in his fingers and pushing through your folds. He slowly rolls his hips and fills you to the hilt.

You sigh.

He slides back with ease, your juices helping him glide through your walls. He takes his time, thrusting you at a languished pace. Two of his fingers dance across your navel before pressing on your clit, your head falling back and he delivers kisses underneath your jaw.

Your hands come to the back of his head and you kiss him squarely in the lips, nudging your chin for entry. His tongue slips into yours before you get chance, stealing the moan that escaped you. Your tongues twist and curl together, chasing the taste of each other.

He circles your clit in rhythm to his thrusts, the bundle of nerves pulsating to your inner walls that clench around his length.

You chase his lips when he takes them away but your easily distracted when he snaps his hips a fraction harder. You cry and he only smiles, eyes dark with heavy lids. He drops his hand from his head and works it under your neck, hand slipping underneath his shirt to your breast. Your head falls back as he squeezes your breast and clit in unison.

You cry, eye screwing shut and you feel his breath hot by your ear.

He shushes you, holds you while your body convulses in orgasm, his t-shirt bundling in your hand.

Your cunt contracts around his cock.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he says gruffly, working against your walls.

With your tightness, he was far from finding release himself. A couple more deep thrusts and he felt his balls recede as he pumped into you, filling you with every last drop of his seed.

Sinking into the couch, his body loosens.

You scramble to unbutton the shirt and throw it open to feel the cooler air hit your skin, your stomach rising and falling as you catch your breath. The pair of you lay there, lost for words, unable to move in the afterglow.

After a while, he nudges his nose into the crook of your neck.

“Love you, querida.”

“Love you too.”

Frankie kissed your shoulder, his hand skimming your body before coming to rest on your ass.

#kinktober 2023 #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #kinktober

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whohasthecards · 3 months

Text

Work and Distractions (Ch 2)

Ch1 (Diners and Late Nights)/Ch 2

“You called me in, Admiral?” Seresin said, standing at attention in front of his desk.

“At ease, Lieutenant, you’re not in trouble,” Cyclone said watching the kid, moving the papers he was looking at to the side.

“Didn’t think I was, sir,” Hangman drawled.

Cocky brat.

Despite that, the sharp line on his shoulders softened.

“Due to scheduling conflicts, the earliest we can deploy you is a month from now,” he said, watching the younger man who gave no indication whether or not he was disappointed. “However, your instructors say that you’re eager to work, much more so than whatever your paperwork implies. Additionally, it seems like you have aspirations to move up the ranks.”

“I like having something to do, sir, being higher in the ranks allows that and prohibits that at the same time,” Hangman said evenly. “I love flying, sir, but I understand that I can not do that all the time, might as well do something else between that.”

Smart kid.

“Well, Top Gun is empty right now. Only you remain in the barracks. Everyone else is preparing for the next batch of Top Gun graduates, maintenance, and catching up on administrative tasks. Might as well make yourself useful,” Cyclone said, handing Hangman a folder. “The mechanics are doing maintenance on the jets, you know your jet based on the manual, but you’ve never delved deep inside of it, have you?”

“Not more than what was required of me, sir, the Navy wanted the mechanics to focus on that,” Seresin replied, opening the folder with details on what he would be doing for the day.

“Well, back in my day, pilots and backseaters were more involved in hands-on, plane maintenance. Are you going to let us old timers be better than you at that?” Cyclone drawled out, staring at Hangman in the eye.

Seresin’s brow furrowed before he snapped the folder shut and straightened up, “Back in your day you were flying what would be now considered a fossil, sir,” Hangman said smirking. “I’ll go report to the hangar.”

“Good man,” Cyclone said, the corner of his lip twitching when he noticed Seresin leaving the room with a little more bounce on his step.

—

“How did he do? Any trouble?” Cyclone asked, approaching Warrant Officer Walker who was watching the mechanics and Seresin from afar who seemed to be delving in underneath the jet.

Walker snorted, giving a small smile as he rubbed his chin, “Eh, he’s just like the other kids in these parts.”

“Oh?”

“Young, confident, full of shit, but a good kid, this one works hard,” Walker said, smiling at Cyclone. “I heard this one was the last winner of Top Gun, I gotta say I was a bit worried. I know those kids talk a lot of shit, but damn, did I almost think you assigned him to me as punishment.”

“Not like you to judge a man before meeting him,” Cyclone said, crossing his arms, brows furrowed.

Walker shrugged, “The rumor mill is a bit more crazier these days, or that kid just special. Plus, heard some of the comments he said to his classmates, well, the kid has a mouth on ‘im.”

That’s saying something considering they were all in the military.

“He still got that mouth, but it ain’t anythin’ bad, just the usual young men talking shit and making fun with one another. Nothing close to what little I heard from ‘im before,” Walker said.

He mostly supervised the cohort from afar, and the few times he was directly involved, was a few minutes, with the men all in their best behavior. However, he did read the reports, but reports are for report keeping, not for a reflection of real life.

“I see,” Cyclone said, frowning and crossing his arms.

He watched as Seresin crawled out from under the jet, arms of his flight suit tied at the waist, and white shirt covered in grease. He stood up and looked like he was pouting when he looked down at his grease covered hands. Hangman finally noticed Cyclone when he looked up, grinning and giving the Admiral a two-fingered salute.

Cyclone felt Walker’s eyes in the side of his head as Cyclone nodded at the boy to go help out the other mechanics.

“You like the kid, don’t ya?” Walker mused, before Cyclone could reply the other man clapped a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. “Bring ‘im around whenever, I’ll look after ‘im.”

Cyclone patted Walker’s shoulder in response.

—

“Is it true that you got engine oil dunked in your hair when you were an ensign?” Hangman blurted out.

Cyclone slowly raised his head from the paper Seresin gave him to look at Seresin with a raised brow. It was a week after Hangman started working with the mechanics, and if he wasn’t doing that, he was studying the documents used at Top Gun with him at the office. He was helping him sort through survey data, and the report Seresin produced was much more impressive than he expected.

Seresin simply stared back, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

“Where in the rumor mill did you find that?” Cyclone drawled.

“Warrant Officer Walker, Admiral,” Hangman said dutifully.

The vein in Cyclone’s forehead twitched, he should have figured that sooner.

Goddammit Lucas.

“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear, Lieutenant Seresin,” Cyclone said looking back down at the paper.

“That’s why I’m confirming the facts with you, sir,” Hangman said, lips pressed tightly together to prevent it from twitching upwards.

“I can neither confirm nor deny those allegations,” Cyclone said drily, flipping the paper to the next page.

However, he couldn’t help but smile when he heard the hold back a snort, grinning brightly at him.

—

“-- You should hear about the time Simpson here wrote 10 pages of bullshit tryin’ to justify flyin’ in shitty weather for ‘practice’--”

“It worked didn’t it?” Cyclone said glaring at Walker who simply smiled at him in response.

“You grouch at all of the young’ins bein’ little shits, but you weren’t much different weren’t ya, Admiral?”

“And you grouch at your mechanics being lazy, but at least they haven’t been caught sleeping on top of a jet–”

“Hey, it was durin’ my lunch break! You know, the time we suppos’ to be relaxin’ ‘stead of doing all that dumb paperwork!” Walker said lightly bumping Cyclone’s shoulder laughing.

Seresin looked past one of the turbines of the jet he was working on and leaned over to Ben, an aircraft mechanic around his age. “They always like this?”

Ben snorted as he pulled at one of the wires, “I’ve only been here a few months, but the others say they’ve been at it for years. They tight, man.”

“Huh,” Hangman said curiously as he watched an Admiral get his hands dirty helping Walker with something with the engine.

“Anyways, come bring that ratchet and bring your ass down here, I’m gonna show you something–”

—

“Come on boys and gal! Your favourite Air Boss ‘ere buyin’ a round o’ drinks. Even Almighty Admirals lose bets from time to time, yeah?” Walker said grinning as he hooked an arm around Cyclone’s shoulder as he was walking towards the mechanics still working on planes.

Hangman has never seen the Admiral look so dishevelled, with grease all over his clothes, and an annoyed scowl on his face. He looked at Ben who simply shrugged at him in response, also unsure about what was happening.

“I’m going to make you buy us all a round once we get there, Lucas,” Simpson hissed as he pushed the other man away as Walker simply laughed in response.

“Maybe you’ll be buyin’ ‘nother round once we get there,” Walker said grinning.

“If it’s pool, the Admiral got you beat 4 times out of 5, Chief,” One of the older mechanics chipped in.

“20 push ups for that, sergeant,” Walker said, wagging a finger at him.

—

“What. The. Fuck.” Hangman said jaw dropping as Cyclone ran the table clean in a few minutes. The last shot brought the last two balls in their pocket at the same time.

Cyclone smirked at Walker, “Next round on you. Unless, best of 3 to make you feel better?”

Walker rolled his eyes, “Nah, don’t wanna ruin the good mood, prick, okay boys! Next round on me!”

Ben nudged Hangman’s on the shoulder, “I’m gonna get a beer, want another one?”

Hangman shook his head, “Nah, it feels like a Sprite kind of night.”

Ben snorted, “You get free drinks and you’re ordering one of the cheapest drinks on the menu.”

Hangman flashed a charming smile, “I’m a charitable man.”

Ben rolled his eyes before heading towards the bar.

Hangman took a sip of the beer he had.

“Enjoying yourself, Seresin?” Cyclone said approaching him, still holding the cue stick.

“It was a great show, sir, very impressive,” Hangman said, tipping his drink at him.

Cyclone smiled, “You play pool?”

Hangman shook his head, “Not really, Jav- Lieutenant Machado started teachin’ me when we first got here, but I barely get a straight shot in.”

“Want to play a round? Teach you a couple of things?” Cyclone asked, tilting his head towards the table.

Seresin took another sip of his beer, his feet shuffling a bit. Eyes darting towards his other coworkers before looking at the pool table. The bar was pretty crowded–

“Maybe next time, sir,” Hangman said. “Give me some time to practice, so at least I gotta chance against ya,” Seresin continued, giving his signature smirk.

Cyclone’s eyes softened, “I’ll hold you to that, Lieutenant,” he said patting his shoulder. “Go have fun with people your age, shoo.”

Hangman rolled his eyes, “Aye, aye.”

—

Cyclone set a cup of coffee and a paper bag on Hangman’s desk, making the younger man look up from his computer to narrow his eyes at the Admiral.

“Coffee and an apple pastry I got from out of base,” Cyclone said nonchalantly.

Hangman scowled, “What data am I gonna analyze this time?”

Cyclone smirked, “You’ll like this one, it’s survey data among the perspectives of both active, reserved, and retired naval aviators.” He watched as Hangman’s eyes briefly lit up as he handed the packet to him.

“I mean, I suppose this may not be as interestin’ as Chief Walker’s activities,” Hangman drawled. “But I guess I’ll make some time for this.”

Cyclone snorted, reaching out and ruffling the boy’s hair as he headed out, “Make sure to eat before you start!” He called out, ignoring the boy’s squawk of protest.

—

“--It may be beneficial to conduct focus group discussions or 1-1 interviews to get a more in depth analysis of the survey data, Admiral,” Hangman reported, as Cyclone skimmed through the file he was just given.

“Excellent point Lieutenant, are you interested in participating in said interviews?” Cyclone asked.

“As an interviewee? Yes, as an interviewer? Nah, I prefer being in the air rather than stuck behind a desk, sir, reading the perspectives is interestin’, don’t get me wrong, but not my main thing,” Hangman said, shrugging before slumping down on the chair in front of Beau’s desk.

Cyclone smiled at him.

“Good work, Lieutenant, I’ll go through it all tomorrow, and send it out to other sections for analysis.”

“Of course, sir,” Hangman said, giving a small smile. “Just,” Hangman paused and bit his lip, “Maybe get a couple of others to proofread it just in case, yeah?”

Cyclone’s eyes softened, “Of course, kid, but I’m sure they won’t find much wrong with it.”

Hangman turned away, a light blush rising up his neck.

“Anyways, are you free tonight?” Cyclone asked.

Hangman looked at him curiously, “Yes-?”

“Want to play pool?” Cyclone asked, watching Hangman’s conflicted expression. “I know a pool hall nearby, it’s not as crowded as the Hard Deck. I told you I was going to teach you a few things,” Cyclone mused before stopping. “It’s not an order, Seresin, just an open offer,” Cyclone said.

“I-sure, where is it?” Seresin asked.

Cyclone smiled and gave him the address and time.

“Don’t wear your uniform.”

—

“Uhhh, so I don’t exactly know all the rules.”

“Well, there are the base rules, and then some house rules, which can make a game of 8-ball slightly different–”

“Sounds complicated.”

“You fly jets for a living, you’ll be fine, kid. As long as you can tell whether the ball is solid or stripes, you’ll be alright.”

—

“Keep your elbow steady, don’t move upwards, until after the whole shot is done,” Beau said coaching from the side, watching the blond stare at the cue ball in concentration.

Seresin slid the cue forward, the cue slipping sideways on the bridge hand, barely hitting the cue ball making it spin sadly to the side, 6 inches from where it started.

Seresin groaned as he straightened up and pouted. Beau took pity on him and took the cue ball, placing it where it was before.

“Come on, kid, you can do it, chalk the tip and try again,” Beau said, handing him the chalk.

Hangman took a deep breath and readied himself again. His form was still tense, trying to get used to his footing. He hit the cue ball straight into the solid ball, making the shot. Hangman straightened up and gave a cheer.

He looked so young.

“Good job,” Beau said, smiling. “Now what’s your next shot?”

#fanfic #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun fandom #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #dadclone #dadmiral #parental cyclone #beau cyclone simpson #top gun fanfiction

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mirkwoodshewolf · 1 year

Text

Creepy crawlies; Jack Kline x reader

*Author’s note*

Okay so this is a cute little drabble/small fic requested to me just recently by an anon who wanted some Jack Kline fluff. Took me two days but I came to this idea in the end so I hope you enjoy it anon as well as the rest of my lovely readers.

Warnings: Fluff, bugs, mentions of SPN episode 1x08 BUGS (that episode STILL gives me the heebie-jeebies).

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@queen-paladin

@queensdivas

@gay-and-ready-to-cry

_________________________________________________________

It was that time of year, well the first time we ever had to deal with something like this. And of course Sam and Dean had to bail out on a ‘case’ but I knew my brothers just wanted to get out of doing the one thing that everyone does.

Spring cleaning.

Ever since we found the Bunker and decided to make it our permanent home, this place needed a serious scrub down and clean up. Cobwebs, dust, new bed sheets, incense (mainly for me) to be put up to get rid of the ancient smell. So every spring, I try to ensure that this bunker doesn’t end up like it was when we first found it.

Of course that means my brothers always try to get out of it (mainly Dean I just think Sam prefers to do the minor cleaning instead of what I have in mind). And Cass…..well he chooses to go up to heaven every time I say it’s time clean up the bunker. The only person kind enough to help out around here is my beau Jack.

Using my powers, the bookshelf glowed blue and I lifted it up allowing Jack to vacuum underneath it while I brought in a swifer to swipe off each and every book from any dust bunnies.

“I don’t see why my brothers and Cas always try to bail out on Spring cleaning. I’m the one doing the heavy lifting.”

“I’ve noticed a trend that most people don’t enjoy spring cleaning because it’s so boring to do. That unlike normal cleaning, there’s an expectation for things to be so clean, that you’re supposed to see yourself in the floor. Which I don’t get.” Jack told me as he continued his vacuuming.

“I maybe a neat freak but I’m not Danny Tanner level of tidiness. All I want is to make sure we don’t neglect this place and end up in a dust field again. Seriously Jack you cannot begin to understand just how quickly my allergies began to act up when the guys and I first found this place. Bedridden for over a week, and that was before I got these powers.”

“I’m sorry baby. Had I been born yet, I would’ve stayed at your side to take care of you.”

“And that’s why I love you soo much Jackie-bear. You’re too sweet.” After dusting off the last book and once Jack was done vacuuming, he moved out of the way and I set the bookshelf back in it’s place. I turned and with a snap of my fingers and all the books, notes, files and even Dean’s plates he had left since breakfast all raised up into the air and went to their original places.

“You’re like Mary Poppins.” He said with a smile.

“Well if I am, then that makes you my Burt. Come on, let’s head for the kitchen. Lord knows Dean forgot to do the dishes, again.” He followed behind me and right as we got to the kitchen, there I saw dishes upon dishes stacked in the sink, frying pans still on the oven covered in left over eggs and grease. “That man never learns.”

“Why does he leave his dishes out like that?”

“Cause he’s lazy. Do you mind stacking the dishwasher while I deal with the grease pans and the oven?”

“Not at all baby.” I pecked his cheek while I walked over and wish a twist of my wrist, the frying pans lifted off the oven while the cleaning supplies came out from the top shelf cabinet on the island counter.

While the spray bottle filled with Clorox bleach squirted out a few good sprays and the rag did a throughout wipe down, I focused my attention on cleaning the frying pans of the oils and grease from the bacon and sausages Dean had made for breakfast and tossed the leftover egg crumbs into the trash.

“Do you know when the last time Sam took the trash out?” I asked Jack.

“I believe I saw him collect all the trash last night.”

“Well at least he can keep up with the chores. I swear maybe I could use these powers to control Dean and make him scrub all the toilets in this bunker.”

“As funny as that would be to see, I know you’d never use your powers against your brothers.” He said as he dried off one of my good cups with a towel and set it alongside the rack we had for the special dishware.

“Yeah, yeah. But for real, he should at least have the decency to at least rinse off his pans after breakfast. Grease that sits out for too long stains these types of pans, and it’s a hassle to clean up later.”

“I believe you (Y/n).”

“But at least I’m getting it done, otherwise it’d never—” I paused mid-sentence as my body completely froze. My heart raced and my eyes widened as I stared directly at it. It’s many legs all splayed out making it look like a living dust bunny on pointy legs.

The pots and cleaning supplies fell to the ground with a loud bang and I let out a scream and levitated myself into the air trying to get as far away from the little demon as possible.

“What?! What is it (Y/n)? Are you okay!?”

“Kill it quick!” I yelled at Jack.

“Kill what? Where is it? Is it a demon?”

“Yes now quickly before it gets away!”

“Where is it?”

“Over there!” Jack’s eyes soon glowed and he turned to where I was pointing but as he raised his hand, his eyes went back to normal color as he looked around confused.

“Where did you say it was?”

“What are you blind babe!? I told you over there on top of the oven! Kill it with your powers! Torch it! Torture it I don’t care just get rid of it!” he looked around until he seemed to have found what it was. He walked closer to it and he reached out his finger toward it.

“You mean this? But it looks like a dust bunny or a…..” but quickly it began to move and I let out another scream as I shot myself against the corner of the kitchen.

“Don’t touch it! Those bastards are fast now kill it hurry!”

“What is it exactly?” he asked me.

“A house centipede! Jack I’m not playing anymore please just kill it hurry!” I watched as the demonic centipede stopped crawling and was now just short of reaching a hiding spot behind the fridge. Jack looked between me and the house centipede and a smile came across his face before he started to laugh.

He was laughing. My own boyfriend was laughing at my own misery!?

“Jack Kline stop laughing!” I demanded.

“I’m sorry. Really I am but…..(Y/n), you have fought against real demons, archangels, werewolves, vampires, even my own grandfather. And you’re terrified of a tiny little thing like him?”

“Tiny? Tiny!? Do you see the legs on that monstrosity!? Now for the last time get rid of it before it touches me!”

“Okay, okay.” He went over to grab a cup as well as paper towel.

“What are you doing?!” I hissed.

“Getting rid of it like you asked.”

“Not like that! You can’t show mercy to those little bastards! Use your powers and kill the son of a bitch!” I hissed quietly.

“But you told me that all living creatures deserve a chance at life, didn’t you?” I groaned.

“Well yes but that doesn’t include bugs, arachnids, snakes, or any other kind of creepy crawlies!” Jack rolled his eyes and successfully captured the house centipede and he left the kitchen with it between the cup and paper towel.

A few minutes later he came back and he told me it was gone.

“You sure?”

“Yes, yes, I even took him away from the bunker before releasing him. Now can you please come down?” I let out a soft whimper but lowered myself back to the ground. He came over to me and wrapped his arms around me in a hug, allowing me to rest my head on his shoulder. “I still can’t believe you’re scared of bugs. How did I not know of this?”

“Don’t mock me! Besides you weren’t even there when it happened.” I shuddered remembering that day all too well.

“When what happened?” I took in a shaky breath before telling him.

“A long time ago, long before we knew that angels and God were even real, my brothers and I took a case in some realtor development spot. A neighborhood was being built on sacred Native American grounds. Workers were being picked off one by one, at first we thought it was ghostly activity but it was far worse. The entire place was cursed, and the curse was affecting all the insects in the town. By night fall, a swarm of bees had surrounded the family that was responsible for building the neighborhood over the sacred lands. I—I had never seen so many bees in my life. We had no way of escaping, we were completely trapped and had to last the rest of the night being stung and swarmed by bees. Ever since that day, I even see the shape of an insect and I just go back to that day. A defenseless, frightened child being stung and swarmed by bees and no way of escaping.”

Jack listened intently at every word I had to say. For months after that day, I had continuous nightmares of what happened. Even dreamt that it was other bugs attacking me from wasps, locusts, even spiders and ants. Ever since then I’ve been absolutely terrified of any and every bug in the world.

“Wow, I—I had no idea. I’m so sorry that happened to you. And I’m sorry for teasing you about it. I promise I won’t ever bring it up again.”

“Thanks Jackie-babe.”

“Anything I can do to help you?”

“I could go for some ice cream with chocolate syrup and some cuddles on the couch while we watch the Princess Bride.”

“As you wish.” He said quoting the movie before giving me a peck on the nose. I left the kitchen and brought out the blankets and changed my clothes to my comfy pjs while searching for the movie on one of the many streaming services we got.

When Jack came back with my ice cream, we cuddled up on the couch together, my back resting against his chest with his arms wrapped around my stomach and his head buried into my neck. I ate the ice cream as the movie began, I even offered a couple of bites to Jack as we lay there and watched my favorite comfort movie. Forgetting all about the demon-legged creature that traumatized me moments ago.

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tommyspeakycap · 2 years

Text

bad terms

you and derek didn’t end on good terms, so when he returns for a shock case, he’s wracked with guilt at everything he’s missed

luke alvez x reader with canon typical violence can u tell i’m rewatching criminal minds lol

It’s a simple diamond, resting flush against your ring finger on your left hand. It still catches your eye every so often, almost amazing you that it actually exists each time.

Amazing you that he exists.

Pen was hesitant about the new boy at first, having spent a few months being a man down without her very beloved Derek Morgan when Luke came into the team. She didn’t like him because he replaced Morgan and you felt the opposite, you liked him because he replaced Morgan.

You two did not end on good terms.

“Some of us actually have people that we care about outside of this team, (y/l/n)!”

“Derek!” Penelope tried to cut in. “Some of us have a life outside of this job, I have a kid and a wife, you will never understand that.”

“Morgan!” Hotch boomed, “Outside, now.”

A yawn stretches your lips, awaiting the coffee machine to finish dropping into your “worlds best mom” mug imprinted with a picture of Roxy and Spencer that Luke had gifted you last Christmas. “Morning my precious.” Garcia beams, heels clinking across the floor of the kitchenette in the BAU office. “Morning Penny G,” you try to jest back with the same amount of joy she somehow has at 8:45am, though your attempt is futile.

“How was your holiday, you need to tell me absolutely every single little detail right now and oh- OH!!! Oh my god is this the ring! (y/n) it’s gorgeous, who knew Alvez could actually pull it off.” She holds your hand, admiring the glistening diamond that was beautiful enough to strike you speechless and yet subtle enough to be comfortable and sweet. “It was so good,” you hum, a subconscious glint of happiness beaming out of your eyes at the thought of the week you spent off sunning in the Caribbean on sun loungers by the pool with Luke teaching you to surf on secluded beaches and eating fruit under the sunlight. On the second last night at the end of a candle lit diner on the beach, Luke took to one knee and asked you to marry him after nearly three years of knowing each other and two of dating. “He’s just perfect, I-“

“Well hello there,” JJ mewls as she sways over, “Someone best get the paperwork in for a credential name change.” She sings her voice teasing before she hugs you tightly and offers you her kind congratulations.

“I hate to break up the celebrations you guys,” Emily’s voice appears as she lingers in the doorway apologetically, “But we’ve got a case, and it’s a nasty one.”

Nasty indeed it was, incredibly violent and volatile. A family annihilator killing families of five, two parents three kids and even their pets were being wiped out. It was taxing on everyone, draining everything out of each and every one of you until the unsub was brought down. Your have bags under your eyes, grease in your hair and a little bloody stained under your shirt nails from scraping with the unsub in what would have been his latest victims master bedroom, You’d washed your hands, but hadn’t had a minute to scrub underneath your nails before you all loaded silently onto the jet, immediately taking respective seats and sat, again, in silence.

You curled up on the edge of the couch, case files spread next to you so no one could occupy that space with your case report on the arm of that couch, pen in hand with the top between your teeth as you stared absently as the harrowing photographs. “(y/n),” Luke coos softly, “We landed fifteen minute ago, baby.” He’s crouched down in front of you, gently closing the report file on your lap, sliding it onto the couch where the other files had also been closed without you even so much as noticing. How the hell you hasn’t realised that the plane had landed and each of the team had up and left with sympathetic looks in your direction. Each had held their tongue despite wanting to ask if you were alright, knowing it was better to leave you to the man who had picked up your broken pieces and instead of jamming them all back together, he nursed them carefully with his own splintered fingers so he could hand them back to you to help you tape them all together haphazardly. He made you whole again after your heart was left cracked and leaking by the abandonment of Derek Morgan, your honorary big brother and subsequently the man who hurt you the most with words that still haunt you.

At first you worried that he might’ve been right. Maybe you would never have more than your job. Maybe you would never be capable of love. All of those worries you had confided in Morgan before only to have him use them against you in his moment of weakness for which you have never been able to forgive him.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, but Luke shakes his head, reaching for your hand to smooth his over. “You’re alright,” He hums, “Let’s get home huh?”

Your nod prompts him to nod, muttering an okay to himself as he straights up. Luke helps you to your feet, clearing the case files into your bag. Your new fiancé holds your hand, fingers intertwined as you walked to the car together. He has the knack for knowing when you don’t want to talk yet, not even attempting to push you until you were safely at home when he knew you’d be more willing to talk. “Wanna wait here while I run up and grab our stuff?” The tall, tanned agent offers, prompting another almost silent ‘yeah’ from you before you peck a kiss against the corner of his lip which makes his cheeks twitch in a gentle smile as he closes the passenger side door for you.

That small action, the little peck on his lip even when you’re run ragged by secondary grief of watching entire families ripped apart in mere moments. The grieving parents, grandparents, sisters and brothers who could never have imagined this happening to them…it was awful. Even in that, you would remind him in the smallest and most silent ways that you were still you in there, frozen beneath something you would work through together, but there. He has these cases too, ones that shake him to his core and he needs you to look after him like he is doing for you today. Next week, he may need that from you and it’ll be a cycle that’ll exist for as long as you do this job, one that neither of you would ever trade for the vindication of putting these bastards away before they can take anything from anywhere else.

The elevator dings open, doors sliding to let Luke Alvez into the bullpen to scrape up some files from his desk into his bag, straightening out his desk a little. He pushes his photographs back into line, smoothing his thumb over the one of you cuddled into Roxy grinning like a fool under the Christmas tree in that very bullpen where the team celebrated Christmas with their families in the middle of a case on the 25th last year. You all took pause for merely a few hours to have a meal, give some gifts and then get right back go work. He loves that picture of you more than anything in the world.

Derek still feels that twinge of unease that floods him whenever he walks into the 6th floor now, faced with his own reflection in the glass doors before he presses his hand to them. The former profiler crosses the bullpen to make his way towards the office of his Baby Girl. He had heard through the grapevine (that being JJ) that this case was absolutely harrowing on everyone, so he wanted to visit like he infrequently does when cases are extremely tough. Being able to give some outsider support is almost always helpful and welcome. Yet, he has never once encountered you whenever he’s come to visit. You hide from him, leaving before he can get there and get gone before he ever lays eyes on you.

“Baby girl?”

Garcia’s head perks up, eyes watering already but immediately flooding when she sees him, rushing into his open embrace. After moments of silence enjoying each other’s presence, they separate and Garcia knows what he’s going to say before he even says it. The look on her face tells him that.

“You think I might catch her?” Derek says, his tone the same one of guilt dusted over with hope that he might get to apologise to you in a way that you had to answer. Not like those texts that you ignore or the calls that you never answered until they eventually stopped. “Sweet man of chocolate,” she lulls, rethinking her words before she says them, and deciding on hope. “If we hurry, we might.”

Emily is still in her office, Rossi in his and Reid at his desk when they emerge onto the raised platform to look over the bullpen. Derek’s eyes fall on his replacement who is logging off his computer, just finished straightening out his photographs. They begin descending the stairs, hyper aware to the fact that you weren’t there.

Derek was about to speak when the dark haired agent moves from his desk to another, folding some brown folders shut and stuffing them into his bag the way he had his own, letting out a scuffed laugh beneath his breath at the sight of your unfinished Rubik’s cube by your keyboard, his fingers dancing over it as he lifts it up to stuff it into your bag. You just couldn’t quite manage to finish one for the life of you. Dots begin to join up in Derek Morgan’s head, why would another agent be picking up files and fidget bits from your desk?

“What’s the story with-”

“Luke your car alarm was blaring in the parking garage,” Matt storms in at a ferocious pace. Luke’s head immediately snaps up, “I checked, passenger side window was smashed, door wide open and (y/n)‘s gone.”

Emily emerges from her office, face paling in the doorway, Rossi already had his phone in hand ringing JJ to get back here and the only sound to be heard amongst the echoing silence is the heavy clatter of an unfinished Rubik’s cube hitting the carpeted floor beneath the feet of terrified agents as a truly petrifying thought rings loud through Luke Alvez’s mind

What if you never get to finish that stupid, multicoloured little square?

A similarly terrified one thumps violently into Derek Morgan’s. What if you never get to hear in person how sorry he is for the words he said, and just how false he knows them to be?

#luke alvez x reader #luke alvez imagine #luke alvez imagines #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic #luke alvez fic #luke alvez x you

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ohnohargrove · 3 months

Text

You found yourself in Ambrose sometime last fall. It was now early June in Louisiana and you had fallen into your new role very well. Most days you stayed at home and did little things around the house like tend to the garden, read books that Bo had gotten you from the library in town or just simply cleaned up the place. Some days, however, you got out and helped the boys with whatever they needed done. You helped Lester with his roadkill runs, you helped Vincent in the workshop with his sculptures and paintings, and today you were helping Bo in the garage.

Bo always fixed up the vehicles that he acquired from victims. Most times he would only do basic maintenance on them and litter them around the town of Ambrose for a more authentic look. On rare occasions though, he would find something he really fancied, fix it up to peak condition and keep it for himself. You never saw him drive these vehicles around because he always told you it was too risky to get caught so you never really new where he kept them.

Today you had both fixed up a very nice Chevy z26. Whoever had it before had kept it in really nice condition so not much fixing was needed, but you two had still spent all day on it and the sun was hanging low in the sky. "Well Darlin', I think we got 'er. You wanna drive with me down to the warehouse?" he asked while wiping the grease off his hands. The warehouse? There was a warehouse? You agreed, curious of what you would find. You entered the car and relaxed in the bucket seat as Bo turned the key and the sports car roared to life.

The warehouse in question wasn't even a mile down the road from Ambrose. Bo explained to you that the old sugar mill used it to store their product so it wasn't very big, but it was big enough to house a few cars. When you finally got there, a few was an understatement. When you finally pulled into the expansive building there were at least 15 cars all neatly lined up. You new right then and there Bo was a sports car guy as an old Doge Dart and a Chevy Nova caught your eye, all shined up to perfection. As you were exiting the vehicle something in the corner caught your eye. In the low hum of the fluorescent lights you spotted something covered with an old sheet.

"Hey, what's that over there?" you asked. Bo let out a mix between a scoff and a chuckle. "What? That old thing?" he asked as he walked over. He pulled the sheet off and underneath was a Harley Davidson motorcycle. "Swiped this of some old guy who got lost up here. I ain't much for motorcycles, but damn this thing is pretty." You agreed. "I've never been on a motorcycle before. They seem pretty fun." Bo looked at you with a little bit of disbelief. "You're tellin' me you've never been on the back of a motorcycle before? Man, you don't know freedom, Darlin'. The sun on your face. The wind in your hair. The open road..."

He kind of got lost int the thought for a second and then looked back to you. You must've gotten lost too. He looked at the motorcycle and then back at you. "I'll tell you what. How about you an' me go for a little ride. It won't take long. Help me wheel this thing out into the open."

--*--

Bo was right about everything. The sun had set but the arrival of summer left a blue hue in the sky right before nightfall. It was starting to get humid but there was a cool breeze that felt good on your clammy skin, the wind amplifying the effect. Crickets were starting to sound off in the Louisiana woods as you both drove down the old roads that were no longer used since the new highway was built.

You hugged Bo from behind and had your head resting on his shoulder. You could tell he was in his element. When was the last time he rode a motorcycle? You couldn't help but think you had unlocked a forgotten joy within him. "Hold on tight Darlin', we're comin' up to some turns." You wouldn't even think of letting go. In that moment you knew you belonged here. You belonged with the boys in their strange little town filled with illusions. You belonged here to be the light in the gloom of death that hung over the town like a whisper. Most of all, you belonged here with Bo.

___________

I've had this in my head for a little bit since I hc that Bo owns at least one motorcycle but I'm just really lazy when it comes to writing. This is actually the first thing I've written in a while so please be nice to me.

#bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #house of wax 2005 #Spotify

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madstwd · 2 years

Text

"Part of the fun is possibly getting caught"

Daryl Dixon x F!Reader

Words: 1.3k

Season: 4

Warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI, voygeurism, riding, slight dom Daryl

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The sun almost blistered your skin as you worked on the cars. Something to focus your time on instead of the groans and rattling of the fence where hungry walkers watched you like their next meal. Little did you know they weren't the only ones watching you. From the guard tower stood the infamous Daryl Dixon, on his early afternoon watch, his skin covered in a light sheen of sweat. His hair dampened and out of place from the sweat. Daryl's eyes were trained on you, watching intently as your hips swayed to the music you were listening to as you worked. He had always found you attractive from when they were on the farm, however being one of Hershal’s daughters you had always felt untouchable to him. A forbidden fruit. One he desperately craved. He loved watching you work, a thing that he used to do as he carved his catch around the campfire, your body always sprawled out from underneath a tractor, grease and oil outline your figure, as you carelessly wiped the dirt away on your skin.

You were laying on your back, underneath one of the old police cars that were found in the prison. Making it your own mini job to attempt to get them running along with the multiple cars rick and the others had towed in as they went on runs. You were lightly humming underneath the car as you felt a foot tap against your own, shimming your way out from underneath caused your legs to slap against the concrete, your arm muscles contracting as you lifted yourself out from underneath. Your eyes fell upon the figure of Daryl, looming over you blocking the sun out of your eyes, he nervously gulped as he stood over you. The archer wasn’t expecting the sight to be so exciting to him. “Can I help you, Dixon?” You spoke, jolting him out of his gaze. “Yeah um wanted to know if ya would like any help” he spoke, picking at the skin around his fingers. You shrugged, wiping your brow to get rid of the sweat. “Sure” you smiled at him. Daryl moved himself to get ready to lower himself to the ground. His eyes being drawn to chest that glistened in the sun from the light sweat that covered your body. Few stray hairs sticking to your neck that curled around the nape of it. Daryl gulped as he lowered himself to the ground, his jeans rubbing his semi-hard cock. He watched as your thighs jiggled as you moved yourself back under the car, light hums leaving your lips like someone had pressed pause. He watched as you called out any tools you needed, often touching his thigh when you patted it to get his attention.

“Daryl. Daryl. Daryl” you repeated, your fingers scratching the fabric of his jeans as you desperately tried to get his attention. “Yeah sorry” he said, your voice begging for his attention drawing him out of his daydream. “What’s up with you? Have you drank enough today?” You asked him, sliding yourself back out from underneath the car causing daryl to blush and grow harder in his trousers. “Nothing- just- im fine” he stuttered. You quirked an eyebrow at him, his nervous stutter not hiding anything. “Come on, you can say anything. We’ve known each other long enough you dint have to hide anything anymore” you said, a comforting smile placed on your face. Daryl was picking at his fingers, his face not meeting yours. You crawled over to him, pinching his chin firmly with your thumb and index finger to force him to look at you. “Daryl- it's okay. I promise”

Daryl didn't need any more conformation, his body acted before he thought about it. His hands gripped your forearms firmly as he brought you close to his face, his lips slotting perfectly with yours. Your hands gripping his forearms as you deepened the kiss, pushing him back so he leant against a car. You lifted yourself into his lap. Daryls hands traced down your arms to your thighs where he squeezed them tightly. You both pulled back panting, staring into each other’s eyes, chest heaving. “Are you sure you want to do this now? Here? We could be seen, ``Daryl said nervously as he felt your hands fiddle with his jeans. “All part of the fun getting caught” you whispered in his ear. Daryl groaned slightly, his hips bucking against yours, desperately earning a soft moan from you. He lifted his hips as you pulled his trousers down to release his cock.

He watched eagerly as you pulled down your shorts and underwear, the breeze chilling the head of his cock making it twitch against his stomach. “Come on girl..before we get caught” he grumbled. The whisper almost lost to the sounds of the busy prison around him. You settled yourself above him, your body craving him. Daryl didn't let you tease him any longer, his hands found your hips pulling them down so your walls stretched around his cock. You began to buck your hips almost immediately, moving them creating waves of pleasure that coursed through you. His hands lifted up your shirt and bra, your tits falling out from underneath the fabric. Daryl's lips attached to your nipples, the sensitive buds already erect from the cold air. You moaned loudly, causing his hand to cover your mouth. Squeezing your cheeks slightly as he bought you closer to him. “Come on now, stay quiet” he grumbled in your ear. You nodded quickly, hair falling over your face. Daryl wiped it away with a smile placed on his face as he uncovered your face. “So beautiful” he exhaled, leaning his head back against the car behind him. His fingers digging into your thighs, your pants filling his ears as you thrusted yourself against him. Your heels digging into the ground causing you to lift and sink back onto him. Your walls spasmed as you thrusted faster, the increase of speed drawing you close to your climax. “Come on girl I'm so close” Daryl groaned. You moaned, your head falling on his shoulder. The change of position caused your body to angle down slightly, your clit began to rub against the small amount of hair that littered around his cock. You moaned again, biting on his shoulder to silence yourself as you thrusted. Daryl was shocked by the sting, a sensation a girl had never tried on him l, as much as it hurt it made him tingle. The idea he was pleasuring you that much, the same amount as you were pleasuring him. The feeling of your velvet walls contracting around his length, milking him for your own Desire. The gravel ached in his ass cheeks, the same gravel creating small cuts and grazes on your knees and your body jerked around him. Your thighs squeezed him. They began to shake and clench, the muscles still outlined by the oil and grease earlier. “I'm gunna-” he moaned. You nodded against his shoulder, eyes screwed shut as you felt the band of your own climax snap. The pleasure catching you with surprise, a moan slipped from your lips, the noise causing Daryl to pull you off him, lifting you forward to finish on his stomach as you felt his cum shoot up your back, his hips bucking as he rode it out.

Daryl hid his face in your neck as you both calmed down, his hands rubbing against your thighs soothingly. Despite the heat he enjoyed the feeling of you on top of him, your juices dampening his stomach. “Wow” you chuckled, smiling at him as you pulled back to see his face. “Round 2 in the showers?” You smirked, attempting to stand up adjusting your clothing so you could make your way to the showers. Daryl smirked back, hiding his cock back into his trousers before following you eagerly back to the lower levels of the prison.

Taglist:

@phoenixblack89 @thatsthewrongwallcraig @darylsgarden @paigeeeloise @flowercrowns-goodvibes

#the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead x reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl imagines

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driftward · 3 months

Text

Title: Gift Advice Characters: Zoissette Vauban, Estinien Varlineau. Regarding Riven de Fortemps Rating: Teen Summary: Estinien seeks advice from Zoissette, which is a little like the blind leading the blind, but at least they are blind together so there is that Notes: You'll want to be up to speed on @scrollsfromarebornrealm's body of work. In particular, this work is at least part of the context. ~*~

Estinien strode into the Gage Acquisitions vehicle bay, looking back and forth only briefly before looking up to espy his quarry.

“Zoissette. I was looking for you.”

Zoissette was high up, where one of the submersibles was suspended from the ceiling, with her suspended underneath it. She had a shirt tied around her waist, and looked over at Estinien as she reached into one of the many work pouches dangling off her belt.

“And you have found me. The first person today to do so without me having to yell down at them, in fact.”

“And how many of them were Ishgardian, I wonder?”

“Hmn. Point. Hardly anybody ever looks up, but we had dragons to contend with.”

“Indeed.”

Estinien watched as Zoissette swung around in her harness to access another part of the submersible, settling in before prying off a panel.

“I was hoping you might give me some advice. As a woman.”

“My first bit of advice is to ask someone else. I am crap at being a woman.”

Estinien snorted with a smile. “Despite that, you have insight and experience that I lack. And besides, you are courting a woman very much like my own. Perhaps one with a more vexatious temperament, but no less fiery a spirit.”

“I am telling both of them you said that.”

“Tell them what you wish, I have told no lies.”

Zoissette flipped her goggles up. “This is serious, then?”

“Indeed.”

“Alright. Give me a moment, I need to set the sump to drain.”

Estinien watched as she reached deep into the panel she had just opened, a hose in one hand, leaning way in to do her work. Her free hand occasionally went for her tool pouch as she did her work.

“I did not realize you had picked up the wrench.”

“I wanted to be useful,” she replied. “And my aether is still blocked. Maybe I work around that. Maybe I get used to being support. Right now, I am useful.”

“Thancred manages.”

“I know.”

The hose she was holding was transparent, and Estinien could see a black fluid begin to flow through it as she leaned back from her work. They both watched as it flowed down, slowly but surely, until it made its way down to a tub.

Apparently satisfied, Zoissette pulled the harness up until she abandoned it to perch on top of the submarine instead.

“So, what is on your mind?”

“As you may have guessed, this is about my lady, Riven.”

“I am still listening. Go on,” she said, as she began to inspect one of the submersible’s lenses.

“I had hoped… well. I had rather hoped for a lot of things, in our relationship. But just now, I was hoping to make a gesture that she would appreciate. Something romantic. And also, something that would help me feel a bit more… grounded, as I travel.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“No less than a token, similar to that which Y’shtola gifted to you. I see you wear it even now”

Zoissette smiled softly, and wiped one of her hands free of grease off on a cloth tied around her waist, before reaching up to lightly touch her fingers to the twin black carnations on her ear.

“But rather more similar to what Thancred shared with Aeryn. I look upon it, and I feel a sense of… longing, to have something like that of my own.”

“There is a story around that bracelet, you know. Maybe ask Thancred about that rather than Urianger.”

“I am aware of the history of that particular bauble and its implications. I intend to make my own story of the matter. A bracelet, between her and me. A show of devotion, and a reminder for me of what we have. I also believe she would appreciate it.”

“That sounds nice. Why do you want my advice, again?”

“On the matter of how I present it. I wish to have this … discussion… with her as I present the bracelet, to make sure I do not overstep my bounds as Thancred nearly did, to hear the tale. But I do want the matter and the moment itself to be meaningful. It seems like as not that there will be much travel in our future. I was considering presenting it during a voyage. Make a bit of a pleasant surprise out of the matter. Perhaps with a sunrise as an appropriate backdrop. I sense there is some poetry in presenting it during dawn while we both travel.”

Zoissette bit her lip as she stopped what she was doing, and turned her full attention to Estinien.

“Like, on a ship?”

“Aye.”

Zoissette set her tools down, and frowned. Estinien found a spot of wall to lean against, and made himself comfortable. He was well aware of the tells when Zoissette was thinking. She might well be a minute.

“Estinien.”

“Aye.”

“You know how sometimes you get a feeling, deep in your chest, and that feeling gets to be too big for you, and it feels like it is going to overwhelm you, and it pushes you to do something, do anything?”

Estinien grunted. “Often enough.”

“Right. And you usually handle it by taking to the clouds.”

He felt defensive, a bit. “It helps me to gain distance from a situation, and gives me time to clear my head.”

“Okay. Now imagine you cannot take to the skies for whatever reason. Or maybe you can, but you cannot stay away up there, because there is only one tiny little speck of land you can survive on, and you are going to have to go right back to it, and right back to where you had that big feeling and have it all over again except now it is worse because you know, you know, you cannot escape.”

Zoissette sat cross-legged on the submarine hull, and with an elbow on her knee rested her head in her hand as she watched his face carefully.

“Do you really want to do that to Riven?”

Oh.

Now that she had pointed it out, it did seem kind of obvious. Estinien sunk his face slowly into his palm, and groaned at himself.

“Aye, I… see your point.”

“Maybe just talk to her.”

“I had hoped for the surprise, to make the moment seem more special. That feels important to me. I don’t suppose you have any ideas?”

“You do realise Shtola asked me, right? I well and truly do not know what I am doing. Oh. Huh. She has… taken the initiative on a lot of our malmstones, actually. I should rectify that.”

Zoissette dug out a journal from one of her pouches and began to scribble in it.

“Maybe I could ask the Lord Fortemps for his advice. He treats with her as a daughter.”

“Counter suggestion. Maybe you could ask one of her sworn brothers. They know her better than anyone.”

Estinien grimaced. “We have a history, and this may be a moment where they may offer mischief, especially given that it concerns Riven. They can be fiercely protective of her, and given that history, I cannot say as I blame them.”

“Well, you are a dragoon, are you not? If they give you trouble, just have a good old knock down drag out fight with them and make up as best buddies afterward. I have it on good authority that is how the Fury’s misbegotten children sort out their differences.”

She grinned at him, and he barked out a laugh in response.

“This from the Holy Ground Corps that is too good for real fighting? Not all of them are dragoons, though, as well you know, and I would prefer not to antagonize them further. Though… do you think that would work?”

“I think it would make incredible Gil in the betting pool.”

“I forgot about your terrible love for the numbers of games.”

Zoissette just shrugged cheerfully, and turned her attention to inspecting another submarine lens. Estinien settled in to watch her for a bit, and eventually she stopped to stare at the ceiling.

Thinking again. She always did get so lost in the details. Well, that was why he had come here to her. Anyone could have pointed out the problems in his plans. She was like to give him solutions that he could work.

“Try them anyroad. Sebastian is your best bet, I think. I suspect he is least likely to be bull headed on the matter. Or if you like, I can talk to him on your behalf, get his insights for how she might feel about the matter.”

“I think I would prefer to fight my own battles.”

Zoissette nodded. “Try asking him, then. He is Sharlayan, though, so he likes to act like he knows everything. Try to look past that, compensate for some of his assumptions, and you can find good guidance in what he says. He will likely have his own suggestions as well. At the very least, he is most likely to steer you away from trouble.”

“And courting Y’shtola, I suppose you would know a great deal about dealing with a ‘know-it-all’.”

“Oh, I think Y’shtola only speaks precisely to what she knows. With her it is more of a problem that she thinks she knows the best of anyone in the room.”

“I am not sure I see the difference.”

Zoissette just gave him a little side smile, and Estinien decided perhaps some depths were best left unplumbed by the likes of him.

“For what it is worth,” she said, “I believe she is getting better at sharing. Not just her knowledge, but the burden of… responsibility, I guess? Hard to say precisely what I am trying to mean. But she is not like she used to be.”

“Are any of us? But I do appreciate your candor. And your willingness to speak plainly with me, even if my ideas are foolish.”

Zoissette stopped what she was doing, and looked over at Estinien.

“I want to be sappy for a moment. Is that okay with you?”

Estinien shrugged. “It makes no difference to me, but if that is to be the price of your advice, I pay it gladly.”

Zoissette nodded. “I appreciate ... this. You are one of the few people on the star I feel like I can really talk to. Not making assumptions about what I should or should not know, not taking offense just because I say something true.”

“Hmph. Unlike many who profess to truth, yours is never delivered with malevolence.”

“I am glad you understand.”

“As well as anyone could understand you, I think. Well, then. I thank you for your advice, and I believe I shall be taking my leave now. Good luck with that witch of yours. I suspect you’ll be needing it.”

Zoissette shifted around to make eye contact with Estinien, and gave him an honest, genuine smile.

“Goodbye, Estinien,” she said, her tone no less honest in its fondness.

Estinien bowed, and turned to pull on the lever that opened the hatch leading back out of the vehicle bay. He returned Zoissette’s look with a faint fond smirk of his own.

“Take care… Lady Vauban,” he said, chuckling as he quickly closed the hatch just in time to hear the clang of Zoissette’s wrench against it as she threw it.

#final fantasy xiv #zoissette vauban #estinien varlineau #biot writes

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promptthebear · 11 months

Note

Dude no way! I dint realise you wrote for slashers! Could I please request Bo Sinclair with 🐰“If I have to tell you again, I won’t be this nice.” Thanks!

Hello!

Sorry this took so long, but congratulations on being my first Bo request! I probably could've done something smutty with this prompt for sure, but did more of like an enemies to lover type vibe? Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

Easter Askbox Event- Bo Sinclair x Reader

CW: ****Toxic relationship dynamic!!!!**** It's Bo so obviously it's going to be unhealthy as shit. Swearing. Misogynistic name calling, but reader is into it. Reader is manhandled by Bo. Dom/Sub dynamic. Use of the word sir. Spicy but not explicit. F!reader, referred to in 2nd person as "you" Again, what it says on the tin, this is darker compared to my usual stuff you've been warned.

Bo was lying underneath his truck when you showed up. He heard you before he saw you, the sound of your flip flops echoing through the empty streets. He grit his teeth as the sound got closer, knowing that whatever you wanted now, it was most certainly going to be a pain in his ass. He’d made it very clear since your arrival that he wanted nothing more than for you to fuck off and leave him alone, but somehow you still weren’t getting the message.

A flash of pink in Bo’s peripheral, your diy pedicure, told him he was no longer alone. He ignored you anyway, carrying on with his repairs as though your presence didn’t make a lick of difference in his eyes. Hopefully, you’d realize he wasn’t in he mood and go bother Lester or Vincent.

“Bo? I know you can hear me.”

No such luck.

“So? Doesn’t mean I have anything I wanna say to you.”

His voice was slightly muffled coming out from under the car, but you could hear the annoyance dripping from every syllable. Huffing softly, you reached out and nudged Bo’s knee with your toe. When no response came, you did it again, a little harder this time.

“Bo?”

“Jesus H. Christ.”

Slowly, Bo began to work his way out from beneath the truck, grumbling and grunting like a bear being pulled from its cave. You took a step back, in part to give him some room and also to give yourself a chance to admire the view. Even in cut offs, busted up sneakers and a filthy tank top, Bo wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes. His toned arms and knife sharp jaw more than made up for his lack of fashion sense. If it wasn’t for his constant scowl, he might have been the most handsome man you’d ever seen.

“If I ever forget my name, I’ll know who to ask” he glared at you from beneath the brim of his ball cap “Someone better be fuckin’ dying.”

You tilted your chin up and squared your shoulders back slightly, before matching his glare with one of your own.

“You said you were gonna drive me into town today.”

Bo let out a sigh that seemed to come from the soles of his feet, muttered something you couldn’t make out, and leaned down to grab a grey rag from his toolbox. He began wiping the grease off his hands, and you watched the way the veins in his arms flexed with interest.

“I said if the truck was working, I’d take ya. But it ain’t, so that means you can either go ask Lester to drive you or start walking.”

“Lester’s out on a job” you shot back “And it’s too hot to walk.”

Bo shook his head and grinned, his teeth somehow blindingly white in spite of how much he smoked. You knew well enough by now, though, that for Bo, smiling meant the same thing as a dog bearing its teeth. This was a warning, one he’d be sure to make good on if you kept pushing.

“Tough shit for you then, darlin’”

You bristled visibly, which only made Bo smile even wider. He was toying with you now, and as always, you’d played right into his hands.

Gotcha.

“I told you, do not call me that.”

For a moment, Bo was too distracted by a drop of sweat that trickled down from your hairline to your jaw to answer. He watched as the droplet made its way down the curve of your neck and over your collar bones before disappearing between your breasts. You were dressed in a halter top and shorts that barely covered your ass. Looking at you made Bo feel all hopped up and crazy, like he was a horny teenager again. He wanted nothing more than to slam you into the nearest wall and fuck the sass out of you.

“I’m sorry darlin” he drawled, taking extra care to emphasize the pet name “Snapping your fingers may have gotten that little JV boyfriend of yours to jump to attention, but it’s gonna take whole lot more than the promise of a two minute fuck to get me to pay you any mind.”

“Please, you wouldn’t even last that long.”

Bo’s expression changed so fast, it scared you a little. You’d seen him fly off the handle a million times, throwing shit and screaming abuse at Vincent, but this was different. Something about the way his jaw tightened and the way his eyes flashed told you what you’d tapped into was deeper, darker. This was a whole new side to Bo, and you wanted to see exactly how far down the rabbit hole you could go.

“The fuck did you just say to me?”

His voice was a low and eerily calm, the growl of a predator who’d cornered its prey.

“You heard me.”

Silently, Bo lunged at you. You tried to sidestep him, but he was too quick. He caught you round he waist first, and pulled your body to his so quickly you banged your head off his sternum. While you were still blinking away stars, he grabbed a fistful of your hair, and yanked back, hard. Your eyes stung with delicious tears, and the smell of smoke and spiked sweet tea on his breath made you dizzy.

“I think I need to bend you over the hood of my truck and show you just how wrong you are. Of course, then anyone walking by could see how we deal with mouthy little sluts around here. Would you like that?”

You let out a sound that was between a whimper and a moan. It seemed to excite Bo even further, and he licked his lips before he spoke.

“Use your words, honey.”

You took a shaky breath, your body trembling with fear and arousal.

“N-no.”

A faint smirk played around Bo’s mouth. His grip on your hair tightened, and he brought the hand around your waist up to grab your jaw. You’d been trying to turn your face away, to get what little distance from him you could and now you were trapped. He was making you look at him, his blue eyes almost black.

“No…what?”

You stared at him, pupils blown wide, wondering what the hell he wanted. Then it dawned on you.

“No…sir.”

A deep, rich chuckle rumbled in Bo’s chest. He ran a thumb over your lips, the gesture weirdly soothing considering how tightly he was holding onto you. Then, without warning, he pushed you away. You stumbled and fell backwards onto the ground, your palms stinging where the gravel bit into them.

“Go on now, git.”

You stared up at him, your bottom lip trembling as the tears in your eyes finally began to spill down your cheeks. Humiliation and desire swirled in your gut. You felt hot, bothered and bruised, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to deck Bo in the face or kiss him.

“What the fuck are you waiting for? I told you to git. If I have to tell you again, I won’t be this nice.”

You scrambled to your feet, barely missing the spray of gravel Bo kicked your way. Still crying, you started to run back up the road. You could feel Bo’s eyes burning into your back, but you refused to turn around. You knew if you did, you’d go right back there and let him play out every twisted fantasy he had with you. But there was no way in hell you wanted him to think he’d won.

For now, you’d have to go back to your room, lick your wounds and satisfy yourself with your hand. Come tomorrow, you’d see if Bo was ready to make good on his threat.

#easter askbox event #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x you #slasher fic #bo sinclair #bo sinclair imagines #house of wax 2005

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inkyquince · 1 year

Text

Patreon Post: You are what you smoke... Fag (Whitney)

content warning: Gay-Repressed-Bully, Asshole and Creep Whitney, Stalking, homophobia.

All the fags in this school deserved whatever Whitney gave them. Fuck, they didn’t even have to have come out, they could just be wearing something or doing anything that he thought was effeminate, or too chummy with his friends. Of course he didn’t do anything to the girls he thought could be lesbians, other than call them carpet munchers and dykes. He didn’t really give a fuck if he was sharing a changing room with a lesbian, but he did care about being seen changing by a fag.

You had become his newest target. There were some rumours of you being a crossdresser, or even one person said you would suck off anyone who gave you enough money. Fuck, some said the gloryhole in the janitor’s closet was made by you. So, you got his special treatment. Shoving you against the lockers to get past turned into shoving you into them, harassing you at every turn, no matter if it was in school, in class, or outside. It didn’t matter. You didn’t have to be so fucking loud and out about it.

Everyone in his group knew how much he had it out for you. No taking it easy on the fag.

Some of them did find it weird the intense hatred he had of you. Not that they minded. Sometimes he had some fucking great ideas. Amazing ones. Though he did seem startled whenever they found him. Like when they found him digging through your things-

where is it where the fuck is it

- before bringing out your phone and tucking it away, kicking your bag away. Letting them trash your stuff as he scrolled through your phone-

Didn't you fucking take cock pictures like a normal guy? He found enough stray pictures of you that some of the others passed around. Fuck, maybe he can get that creep Kylar’s phone, that’s where the good stuff is gonna be, he just knows it

- before tucking it into his jeans and walking out. He even fucked with Kylar, that fucking creep who was fixated on you. Busted into his locker, took his phone, ransacked everything he could find.

Rubbed his cock raw, scrolling through Kylar’s phone, thumb sweating as he nudged it against the grease stained protective screen, finding more and more. Cum barely cooling on the screen as it lay underneath him, fist slowly jerking his erection, watching. The recording of you barely started, and it wasn’t even that risque, but Whitney was no better than Kylar right now. Just you getting changed in your room, just the flash of your cock had him cumming.

Another brilliant fucking idea was to grab you after school and strip you down for the dock workers. If you enjoyed being such a fag, you’ll love being taken advantage of. Left you to be fucked, and ran off, snickering and shoving each other. Whitney wanted to go grab his smokes before joining the rest at the pub for a celebratory drink-

Fucking his fist as cock after cock was forced into your mouth, sinking into your poor hole, and fuck you were loving it. Sucking away, eyes closed, as if you were deprived of fat erections for so long. Of course you didn’t mind. The dock workers wandered off, in a good mood, tucking their dicks away as one lagged behind and unlocked you before giving you his number. Too busy wiping your face clean you didn’t notice him. Stepping closer and standing over and jerking himself to completion, gripping your hair and making you look up at him as he came all over tha pretty fucking face.

Poor Whitney though. Apparently he was going to be cut out of his inheritance unless his grades go up, so he was stuck with a tutor every friday. They raised a glass to him before tossing it back and hassling the smallest member of their group to break out their wallet and buy the next round.

No one will notice him. Hoodie up, a crumpled ten pound note in his hand, walking down the stairs of the brothel. He knows you’re in one of these. Fuck. He asks the guy by the door. He’s used to these requests. Point out the one you’re in. Shove the rumpled note in, before also wrenching his jeans down and pressing his cock through. Hot tongue. Running over his slit. Ducking down to get his balls in your mouth. You’re taking your time more, unlike when you’re at school with the hole into the janitor’s closet, when you’re worried he’s going to burst in through the door, instead of being the one you’re slowly sucking off.

You, of course, knew the truth. Took you a while to realise, but not all facades remain air tight. It wasn’t too long he finally took a step further than anonymous blowjobs and jerking off into your face to humiliate you, break into your things.

It was just a hissed order to keep quiet as he shoved you into the pub bathroom, the place somewhat spare on the weekday night. You were stunned, really, how quickly he got on his knees and yanked at your trousers, desperately taking your soft cock into his mouth and beginning to slowly suck. Eyes shut, groans of appreciation and moans slipping past his lips.

“W-Whitney-”

“Shut up.” He grumbled around your cock, his hand coming up to your balls, squeezing them a bit before rubbing a knuckle over your hole. You shivered and slowly wound your fingers into his hair and that was all he needed.

Pressed a finger into you even as you hissed and kicked a bit at the dry entry.

“F-Fuck, not like tha-”

With an irritated grunt, Whitney pulled off your cock and pinned your legs back against your chest, his glower less intimidating by all the precum smeared over his mouth.

“If I lick your ass, will you stop whining?” He snapped and you just flushed before nodding. “Good. I’m going to make you cry for my cock, fag.”

#whitney the bully #dol #degrees of lewdity #nsft #quincewrites #patreon posts

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nerdypanda3126 · 10 months

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The Triumph of Luka Couffaine

This was written for the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers Round Robin event! @trixxiephantomhive, @mrsmayday @rierse, and I took turns adding onto this story with "bike" and "just accept it" as our prompts. Also, go check out the art by Rierse, they did a fantastic job!!

Summary: Luka brings home a project that Marinette isn't entirely thrilled with, at least until he asks for her help.

Read on Ao3

Luka had a soft spot for outcasts. Marinette had known him for long enough that she'd noticed it was a quirk of his, and she loved it about him, even before they were together. Then when they had started dating, she'd learned to take it in stride when he brought home one-eyed goats and stray deaf dogs and other "projects" that "he couldn't just leave."

But this had to be pushing it.

"Luka." She tried not to scold, really she did. "What on earth is that supposed to be?"

From where he was kneeling in front of what looked like a pile of twisted, rusted, metal junk, Luka grinned up at her from under his blue-tipped bangs. "My new bike. Great, right? And I got it for practically nothing. A few tweaks and she's golden."

Golden would not have been the word she would've used. Did he not see the parts falling off and the missing pieces, and the rust? She was pretty sure that as far as motorized vehicles went, rust was a very bad thing. But if Luka did notice, he didn't seem to mind as he beamed at his prize.

She glanced at her own Vespa, which she'd kept well-maintained since it'd been given to her four years ago, and then back to the… "bike" Luka had bought. There was some resemblance, now that she was looking for it. There was a place for a seat, although the seat itself was long gone, and that ball of solid rust a little below it looked like it was meant to be an engine, and there were two axles and hubs where the wheels would go…

"Well," Luka was saying, which brought her attention back to him. He was eyeing the bike more critically now, much like she had been. He wiped at his nose and it left a little smudge of dirt and grease behind that she had to admit was cute on him. It had no right bringing out the blue of his eyes like that. "Okay, so it needs a little more than tweaking. But the bones of this thing are rock solid. And underneath all of this is a Triumph Bonneville."

"...A what?"

"It's an old British brand, but super reliable. See the twin cylinders here?" He pointed to two rods on either side of what would be the seat, then grinned up at her again. "A classic Triumph, Marinette, can you imagine? Once I get it all fixed up it'll sing."

She hummed in what she hoped was a noncommittal way. "How do you know all this stuff?" she asked instead of answering him. He stood and dusted his hands off on his ripped jeans, then dusted the seat of his pants off, too, which, even after all the years they'd known each other, was still just as distracting. Moreso, maybe, because now they were dating and she could look at him now with all the love and appreciation she felt for him.

Luka shoved his hands in his back pockets as he smiled warmly at her, apparently thinking similar thoughts. "I picked up a few things, tinkering on my old bicycle down at the shop. I've always wanted a vintage motorcycle."

"I didn't know that," she admitted. He chuckled back.

"You never asked."

A flush of heat crept across her cheeks as she realized he was right. "So… you know how to fix this, then?" She stepped forward into his space and put her hands in his back pockets, too, earning her a mischievous raised eyebrow. "Because I have to tell you… right now it's…" She dared a glance at him, then bit her lip as she winced. "It's really ugly."

He laughed at that and wrapped his arms around her waist instead, holding her close to him. "Yeah, I know how to fix it." He leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead.

"I hope you've got your tetanus shot," she muttered, only half-meaning for him to hear her. She blushed again when he let out another one of those laughs, bright and open and beautiful, and nodded.

"Thanks for worrying about me," he said, adding, "I know you always do."

At the same time, she said, "I always do." They both smiled at the jinx and Luka glanced back at the bike with a thoughtful look on his face.

"I was hoping…" he started, pulling his gaze back to hers, "that maybe we could work on it… together?"

Together. Marinette ran the math in her head. This was at least months' worth of work, if not a year or two, and he wanted to do this. With her. She couldn't help the smile that lit up her face as she nodded. "I'd love you—to!"

She blushed as she realized her slip, and she knew Luka had noticed it because he always noticed everything, but he only smiled back, pleased, and pulled her into a tight hug before continuing to point out the features that his new bike would have.

She had to admit she was getting excited with him.

***

The next morning Luka woke up bright and early. His plan was to set up his tools for starting on the bike. 'I just need the solution, a screwdriver, a hammer, and a crowbar,' he thought to himself while waiting for Marinette to arrive.

She showed up around 20 minutes after their planned time and began profusely apologizing and flailing about.

"I'm so sorry, Luka. I know I promised I would try to get better at being on time, but I didn't get much sleep last night and—"

Luka placed a hand on her face and pulled her into a hug as he quietly chuckled.“I love you, Marinette. Can we get started?”

She returned the laughter and nodded. “Yep! Not entirely sure what you want me to do, I can barely ride my Vespa, let alone repair it.”

He stepped to the side and started looking intently at the bike. “Well, today we’re going to take all the rusted parts and soak them in a solution to see what’s just surface rust and what needs to be replaced or welded,” Luka explained in a soft voice, fully understanding and not judging her lack of knowledge.

“So… do we just put the whole thing in?” she asked almost jokingly, looking at his "bike" loveable scrap heap.

“Pretty much. Except we have to take it apart because some things like the engine and brake wires need to be unhooked and replaced.”

Marinette nodded and pulled out five large containers as he pointed to them. Luka carried the gallons of solution and they worked together to slowly pour it in.

They moved on to the next part of the day, which was getting the outside pieces of the bike loose.

“Thanks for helping Mar—” he said in a strained voice, struggling to loosen a siding panel of the bike while Marinette was standing above him using a crowbar to unwedge it from the top.

“No problem! This is difficult, but it's fun to work with you!”

Luka smiled, and began to lose himself in her beautiful blue eyes that sparkled like the sun—until BANG! The piece came loose and sent Luka to the ground with it. Marinette burst into giggles as she helped him up, and Luka squeaked out a quiet, "Ow—"

Luka knew at that moment that it wasn't going to be the only time an incident would send one of them into giggles.

A few days later and just a day after the soaking had finished, Marinette jokingly pointed the sandblaster Luka was renting at him. He screamed and jumped to the ground, knowing if she hit the on switch it would hurt. 'The device was made for smoothing down the bike, not him.' She didn't actually turn it on, but Luka was still planning his revenge.

A revenge which came into play a few days later, when they'd finally gotten to the point of washing the metal sides of the bike to put them away and start on the next part of rebuilding the bike.

The couple filled up the soapy buckets and pulled out their sponges. They were old ones that Luka stole from the kitchen, one bright green with a sunglasses print, and the other red and black striped.

"There was a sale on decorative sponges a while back," Luka explained to a giggling Marinette.

Not too long after the buckets were full and Luka was starting to rinse the bike, he smirked and whipped around, aiming the water stream straight at Marinette, causing her to scream and start laughing.

"COLD! COLD! Luka, that's cold!"

***

Luka laughed and dropped the sprayer innocently to his side. "Truce?"

Marinette pouted and didn't miss the way his eyes flickered to her mouth. "Truce," she agreed reluctantly.

"Great, now let's sort through the cleaned up pieces and take inventory of what we need. Can you help write things down as I count them off?" he asked with his hands held up in a pleading gesture.

She knew he struggled to read his own writing at times and smiled. "Of course."

So they set about sorting through what they'd done so far. Some pieces were okay after a soak and quick clean up, which had shocked her. She was sure this was more scrap than salvage, but he had been right, there was a lot about this bike that was still quite solid.

They made a list of pieces that needed more work to be functional, and a list for the pieces that were missing or completely beyond redemption. Both lists were… not short. Luka eyed the final count critically but nodded in approval. "Honestly? This isn't that bad. It might take some time to track down some of these things, or afford some of them, but I have some ideas on that front."

Marinette watched with adoration as he spoke passionately and excitedly about restoration projects and how there were whole groups of people who picked these kinds of old vehicles up to try to make them look good again. He talked about auction sites where vintage or restoration pieces could be gotten fairly cheap through bidding or at special events.

"I might even be able to get an in with some of the people I used to know from around the shop. So what do you think?" Luka looked at her expectantly, still enthusiastic and joyful.

She gave him a quick kiss. "I think you're amazing being able to see the beauty in this thing. I think this sounds like a lot of fun and I'm learning a lot. I'm so happy you asked me to help."

He beamed at her and suggested she change into dry clothes so they could go pick up some things. She pointed out that it was his fault she even needed to change but he didn't seem the least bit sorry. She rolled her eyes and went inside.

When she came back out in one of his shirts, his gaze lingered and she felt her face heat under his attention. "Well, where to? Do we take your truck or do you want to ride the Vespa?"

He laughed. "We probably need the truck, we don't want to carry that much on the scooter."

They took off for an automotive store and happily sang to the radio together, both passionately belting out the lyrics. Marinette found herself basking in the moment, warm and full of love.

When they arrived, Luka opened the door for her and took her hand to help her out but didn't let go as they walked in together.

Luka led her around the store excitedly, grabbing different things they needed for the next steps in restoring the bike. He asked her opinions or answered her questions where she chimed in.

"We might pick up paint if it's on sale. It'll be one of the last steps in putting the bike together but we can look." He smiled as her eyes lit up at the prospect of something more artistic to look at.

Marinette had been captivated by the different options for color and design. When she had found the metal flakes and pearl options, Luka had been reminded of Rose in the glitter section at the craft store. Marinette ended up grabbing a variety of swatches and samples to play around with colors and effects.

In addition to her samples, they ended up picking up polish, wax, sealant, some more solution, and a few smaller things that would help get the pieces they did have better assembled while they tracked down the bigger parts.

When they got back to his place, they set some of the stuff in the garage for later and went about replacing the few valves, screws, and wires they picked up. Doing that fastened different parts of the bike together or allowed them to make sure everything had a proper seal and connection.

"So this is a 1964, not the peak of the Bonneville bikes but still a really good model. We'll need to make sure we look at the right year when we're searching for parts since they aren't always interchangeable, though some might be." He pulled up some of the sites he was talking about before to show her some of the visual differences and why different models needed slightly different parts.

Marinette was feeling pretty excited herself by the time the day ended and she said goodbye. While she rode home, she felt the familiar buzz of inspiration and decided she needed to do something with the energy.

The moment she got home and settled, she had her sketchbook in hand. As she sketched a few different stray thoughts, she had another idea. She pulled out her phone and clicked on a contact.

"Hey, Nona. Yeah, I'm great, thank you. Hey, do you know anything about Triumph Bonnevilles?"

She smiled as her grandmother started off on an excited tangent. Maybe she could help get some more traction for finding the remaining parts, too. She was excited to run the idea by Luka and watch his face light up. If she could do something to make him happy and excited, it would only be fair.

***

Over the next couple months, they managed to fix up almost all of the remaining parts they had, and had even purchased several of the missing pieces. It was coming together nicely and it had been a great bonding project for them.

They were in the garage, Luka tinkering on the bike, Marinette sketching in her design book, when Luka asked, "Do you know how to ride a motorcycle?"

She raised her eyebrow at him. "Yeah, passenger at least. I've ridden with my Nona often enough. Why?"

Luka nodded "Good. I'm just thinking about the first ride on this thing."

"It's… not roadworthy? It's missing the seat and the tires still," she pointed out.

Luka gave her a secretive little smile and hummed noncommittally.

"Did you find them? Luka, is the bike almost done?" Marinette pressed, suddenly very eager to get an answer.

He just flashed that lazy boyish smile and leaned over to give her a quick peck. He could be awfully irritating when he wanted to be.

"Oh come on!" She grabbed his face in her hands and gave him a look but found herself losing her train of thought when he looked at her that softly.

"I might have a lead. We're getting close." He was speaking quietly, staring into her eyes like he was as lost as she was.

They were interrupted by the very loud ringing of her phone and Marinette sighed. She looked at the caller ID. Luka leaned over to see who had disrupted the moment. "Oh, Gina. Go ahead and answer her, tell her thank you for the last tip she gave me, it panned out really well." He waved his hand to shoo her to answer.

"Hey, Nona, what's up?" Marinette asked when she answered.

"Marinette, my fairy, how are you? How is your sweet blue boy?" Gina asked with affection.

"We're great. He said to thank you for the last tip you gave him, I guess whatever it was is going good so far."

"Ah! Marvelous! Benissimo! I knew my dear friend was reliable," Gina exclaimed.

Marinette smiled. "Did you need something? Are you calling for an update or is this a social call?"

***

Luka smiled as he worked, enjoying the sound of his girlfriend's animated voice as she chatted with her Nona. Gina had been an excellent reference for the project. And Marinette had been more enthusiastic than he'd anticipated, he really just wanted to spend time with her, working on something creative together, a project that could be both of theirs. She had design and he had music, but this would be theirs.

“Really?” Luka looked up as Marinette’s background chatter grew more enthusiastic, “Thank you SO much Nona! That will be perfect! Talk to you later, love you!”

“Good news?” he asked.

“Very, can I take the seat base and padding home today? I need to get precise measurements for the cover.”

“Sure, of course, I’ll help you get them home. Do I get to see the plan?”

Marinette smiled mischievously at him. “Hmmm, not just yet… unless you’re willing to share your news?”

Luka smiled patiently. “I can wait.” The tires Gina had helped him locate were perfect; she had a contact with access to vintage surplus—he had scored a near perfect match that had never been used.

“Hmpf. Of course you can.”

“C’mere.” He grinned at her little pout; they both knew he was far more patient than she was—she could keep a secret, though, even when she wanted to share. He had no doubt that whatever she was planning would be perfect.

Marinette hop-skipped over the parts lined up on the ground until she reached him and he pulled her into his lap. “I think this next bit is gonna need a little luck.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmmhmmm.”

“Where do you plan on getting that?”

“I was kinda hoping you could spare a little.” He bopped her gently on the nose then let his finger trail to her lips. He swallowed hard as she kissed his fingertip.

“I think I could manage a little.” Her eyes danced as she leaned in for a kiss. Best project ever.

***

It was gorgeous. Marinette ran her hand over the material that had arrived in the mail while she was out. Nona had found just the leather she wanted and expressed it over from Italy. It was supple, yet very durable—and the colors were perfect. Deep black, antique white, cerulean blue, and a perfect "Sass" green, ironically called "Serpente Nell’erba" or "Snake in the Grass." She had been determined to keep the retro feel of the bike while giving it a little more personality. She hoped to find a way to showcase the depth of character she saw in Luka in the colors and lines of the bike. Nona had approved of her design and she couldn’t wait to see it in reality. Marinette stopped short as she pulled the last of the leather from the box, there was something more. She grinned at the note, Stay safe my Fairy, and have fun! ~Nona, on top of something black and bulky. It was a riding jacket. Black with hot pink accents, and it fit perfectly. She took a quick selfie and sent a thank you text along with the photo to Nona Gina.

Marinette glanced at the seat frame in the corner and shrugged off the jacket. The frame had been sanded, cleaned, and painted, though it still needed a clear coat along with everything else, but it was ready enough to get her started. Getting the seat back to her place had been a little tricky; she and Luka had been reduced to gales of laughter as they tried out different configurations to get both of them and the seat and padding on her moped, and had finally found a functional, if awkward, arrangement that required her to drive rather slowly, but they had managed it. Now she had work to do.

***

They were getting close. Luka surveyed all the parts. Once the clear coat went on, it would be a matter of final assembly and fine tuning. Marinette had loved the painting side of things and had gotten really good with the automotive sprayer. The colors she had helped him choose were gorgeous and while the vibrancy was certainly more modern than the browns and tans of the '60s, the overall design looked good on the vintage bike. She had shooed him out of the tent, insisting that she wanted to paint the clear coat on the tank herself. He knew she was planning something, he just didn’t know what. It was the final piece to be clear-coated and he was trying to remember that he was the patient one. He worked at polishing and assembling everything that was ready. Reassembling all the spokes for the wheels was time-consuming and a little tedious. Marinette had gotten it into her head to create a pattern with the spokes, some classic chrome and some a glossy black—it was going to look amazing in motion, but was nearly akin to torture to get them all into the correct pattern.

The flap of their makeshift spray tent flipped open and Marinette exited with a glowing smile. “It’s amazing how much a difference the clear gloss makes!” she announced excitedly. “Want some help with the spokes?”

“Sure, Melody, this pattern is making me a little dizzy.” She dropped to the ground next to him and started laying them out in order so he could just grab and install. Huh, he should have thought about laying them out first. “We make a pretty good team.”

“Yeah, we do.” She nudged her shoulder into his arm with a grin and set to work.

They hummed as they worked, enjoying the time together while focusing on the task. And if their hands brushed and lingered as she handed him spokes, well, so much the better. He liked this, one goal between them. Even as they used their individual talents for different aspects of the project, it was thrilling to see it all come together cohesively.

***

Marinette tried to stay calm as she worked on the spokes. Luka was too observant to not know she was up to something, but she was trying her best to remain calm. They still had to assemble all the parts, it wasn’t as if she could keep it a secret till the end or anything, but she did want the glossy finish to dry so he could see the decal as it was meant to be. She had worked hard on the design, and searched all over to find a shop that could print it on the right material for an automotive decal. In the end the work was well worth it. She had gotten the decals to go on smoothly without any bumps or bubbles, despite how nervous she’d been of messing it up at the last minute. The decal featured a green cobra, perfectly matched to the leather on the seat, coiled around a branch of sakura blossoms and rearing as if it was about to strike, fangs bared. The blossoms were pretty, but the snake had just the right vintage flavor to pull the whole thing together. She was pretty sure Luka would love it. She hoped he would at least.

The wheels were done, the spoke pattern was mesmerizing, and everything that could be put together before the tank went on was ready.

“Can I see what you’ve done now, Marinette?”

“Yes! Of course. Let me just make sure it's dry…”

“It's been hours, I'm sure it's ready.”

“Okay, okay…” Luka grabbed at her hand as she fidgeted nervously.

“I know I’ll love whatever you’ve done, I trust you, can you trust me?”

She stilled. He was right, her nervousness suggested she was worried about his reaction and of course she trusted him to be both honest and appreciative of her work. She relaxed and tugged him towards the tent. “Yeah, come see.”

They flipped the flap open, pinning it back to let in the light and stepped inside. “Oh wow, Marinette, this is incredible!” She bounced, biting her lip as he traced the coiled snake and tapped the blossoms gently. “It needed this, a little piece of us visible. Mari, I love it.” She squealed and threw herself into his arms for a hug, trying not to knock anything to the ground. He caught her in his arms and took a step or two away from the finished tank before spinning her around in a triumphant embrace.

He loved it. She knew he would, but it was good to hear. The hug was nice, too.

***

Marinette stood waiting in front of the bakery. She could feel it, today was the day! Her jacket was stowed in her Vespa and she had wrapped the seat—she had struggled with some of the seams, but was happy with the final result.

“Hey, Marinette, let me take that.” She handed over the awkwardly wrapped bundle—the finished seat—as Luka joined her at the bakery. Maman and Papa fussed over them a bit as they arranged themselves on her moped with the seat. It wasn’t quite so awkward now that it was all one piece, and they were soon off.

Marinette gushed over the work he’d done after she left the night before and he was beyond thrilled when he unwrapped the seat. He was amazed at the quality of the leather, and the design was elegant and playful. “Marinette, you are a wonder.” She blushed furiously at his praise and pecked his cheek before nudging him to attach the seat to the bike. Once the seat was on, it was down to the last details, and those were quickly accomplished.

“I learned so much, Luka, I might be able to handle my own repairs on the moped if I ever needed them now,” she said as they attached the last bolt and adjusted the mirrors.

***

Luka was flabbergasted at how quickly it all fell into place. Marinette was rubbing a clean cloth over the chrome to make it shine and it looked amazing. Her grasp of design and color was fully evident once the machine was put together. He might have eventually finished the bike on his own, but there was no way it would have looked nearly this good without the creative eye and dedication of his girlfriend.

He scanned the area for the next step, "Now we just need…" and cocked his head in confusion when he didn’t see any more spare parts. Surely there was more to work on, right? He ran through his mental checklist as he fidgeted with the torque wrench in his hands.

Marinette laughed at his floundering. "It's done Luka, just accept it."

"Yeah, I guess it is." He was surprised to find that he was feeling a little sad about the end of their work together. The plan had been about the journey—more so even than the end result, as perfect as it was.

"Luka.” Marinette slid her hand into his and forced him to look at her. “This is the part where you tell me to hold on tight and we ride into the sunset."

Well, that sounded pretty good. He glanced around. "It's barely noon."

"Guess it'll have to be a long ride then." She pulled something out of her moped and pulled on a form-fitting leather motorcycle jacket. Damn, she looked good.

Luka smiled, and grabbed her so he could steal a kiss. Well, he tried to steal one, but she wasn’t resisting, so he gleefully took the kiss she offered him instead. Maybe the end of the project wasn’t so bad after all. "Wanna go for a ride?"

“I’d love you—to! I’d love to, and I love you, Luka.” Music to his ears.

He pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “I love you, too, Marinette.”

His heart swelled as she climbed up behind him and he reveled in the feel of her holding tightly to him. Time to chase a sunset.

#lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #pro lukamari #marinette dupain cheng #luka couffaine #gina dupain #motorcycle restoration

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tarnishedinquirer · 11 days

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Location: Earthbore Cave

While riding through the woods I came upon an improvised shelter occupied by two Misbegotten. They were pretty far from home, and judging from their packs, supplies, and how well camouflaged their shelter was, they were probably just running from the chaos rather than partaking in it. Unfortunately, they weren't too happy about my horse trampling their tent, and we had quarrel.

Once that was settled, I noticed something unusual in the distance. It was one of those candle trees, and just like its predecessor, this one summoned a spirit to lead me on a leisurely stroll through the monster-infested woods. I barely had time to wonder if these are actual spirits or just some sort of illusion magic before the thing walked straight off a cliff.

It was a small cliff though, leading to a thin strip of land that I would have completely overlooked if it wasn't for the golden ghost. Below, I found a cave that the voice informed me was the Earthbore Cave. Strange name, aren't all caves born into the earth?

In the first chamber, I found a treasure chest and a weak floor. It dumped me down into the darkness. When I landed, it was too dark to even see my hand in front of my face, and I soon found myself assaulted by unseen teeth. I pulled out my torch and discovered my foes were giant rats, but found it difficult to fight against such numbers in such cramped quarters without my spells.

I switched back to my staff and used the light of my spells to guide me. I could only see my foes by the blue-green light of glintstone, but that was all I needed. It seemed like they were neverending. Just when I thought I'd felled the last one, another would lunge at me from the dark. But eventually, I stood alone, and I could pull out my torch again to see the carnage around me.

I backtracked up a side passage, and found out all the chest carried was a pickled turtle neck. Due to principles of sympathetic magic, they were sometimes used as a folk medicine to increase virility. That's not the voice, that's just a fact I learned years ago. Wonder who would stash dick magic in a chest like this?

Continuing into the cave I was met with an ominous sight. A field of bones, many of them human. But I pressed on, past some more rats chewing on a fresher corpse. Instead of golden fog, I was met with a hole straight down into the earth, only dragging out the anticipation. I jumped down, thinking that whatever was down here must be an adept climber.

I said it'd be a cold day before I faced one of these things willingly. But here I was, damp and shivering. Idly, I recalled my plan to test St. Trina's lilies on the giant bears. Now I had flask after flask of them, but no recipe to turn them into something useful. Maybe if I sneak up on it...

It was every bit as nightmarish as I feared. It had a ferocity that a normal beast could not match. It tore through me like tissue. I remember feeling my guts spill out before I suddenly returned to life.

I don't talk about my failures much. I assure you, I have tasted death's lips many times on this journey. But this beast, this "Runebear," sent me to my end more than any other creature I've faced. Eventually I realized skill and spells alone would not carry this day. Indeed, my spells seemed to barely phase it, like its fur turned them aside at the last second. Well, if I didn't have Trina's lilies, I did have other means.

I made a flammable grease from smouldering butterflies and root resin, and coated my weapon in it because as everyone knows, beasts fear fire. It was still a tough battle, but it was only then I realized that I was better off dodging towards the beast than away. Its reach was extreme, but its high frame placed a safe spot underneath. At last, I drove my flaming sword into its heart, its blood hissing and steaming as it breathed its last.

There were two corpses in its lair, and on them I found a smouldering butterfly AND one of Trina's Lilies. I guess they had the same idea as me, but couldn't pull it off. Searching the contents of the beast's stomach revealed it had swallowed a Spelldrake Talisman at some point. Guess that explains why my spells didn't work.

Questions:

Where did the spelldrake talisman come from?

Who stashed a turtle neck in the bear cave?

PS: I thought about the name and realized that it was likely from the words Arth and Bere, which in different languages both meant "bear." Out of morbid curiosity, I asked Yura what the Reedlander word for "cave" was. He rattled off a couple, and one of them was "kuma." A word that I also recognized as meaning "bear." The bear cave was called bear bear bear. I long for death.

#elden ring #elden ring lore #in character #in character blog #in character post #let's play

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kanerallels · 10 months

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For day seven of @jacensyndullaweek!

Prompt: Free day

Rating: G

Read on AO3!!

“Remind me,” Trill said, “why am I the one helping you with this?”

Jacen looked up from his tool box, grinning at her disapproving frown. “Cause you’re nice. And you don’t want either of us to plummet to our doom next time we fly the New Dawn.”

“Fair enough,” Trill said reluctantly as he grabbed a pry bar and wedged it underneath a panel. “But shouldn’t you be asking one of your more mechanically inclined friends to help you with this? I don’t know much about ships. And I’m not nice,” she added.

With a loud clang, the panel popped off, and Jacen pushed it to the side. “You are a different kind of nice,” he informed her, examining the contents. “Pass me the spanner and the wire cutters, please.”

Grabbing the two tools, Trill handed them to him one at a time. As Jacen accepted them, he continued, “Besides, my usual assistants are busy. Poe is off being the poster boy for the Resistance with General Organa, and Ezra and Rex are still off planet.”

“What about Ivri?” Trill asked, wincing as there was a loud zapping sound from inside the panel. Jacen bit back a curse.

“Ow. Okay, so the problem’s not there.” Setting aside the tools, he grabbed the panel as he told Trill, “I don’t trust Ivri around the New Dawn, and I say that with love and respect. His methods of repairs on ships are a little insane.”

“Right,” Trill said, staring as he banged the panel back into place. “Nothing like yours at all.”

Shooting her a wounded look, Jacen said, “He uses the Force on all of it. He’s not hands on at all, and you need to be if you want your ship to run properly. He keeps his A-wing going, but we agreed a long time ago that he’d never work on the Dawn.”

“Fair enough,” Trill said reluctantly. She had to admit, Jacen’s half-Mirialan, half-Chiss friend was peculiar. She hadn’t known what to think when she’d first met him, other than she wasn’t surprised he was Jacen’s best friend.

After getting to know him a little better, she stood by that statement.

“Fine, I’ll help,” she told him, watching as he slid under the ship, popping open another panel and examining the contents. She paused, her gaze lingering for just a minute.

Jacen’s hair was bundled up behind his head, keeping it out of his face as he worked. He was dressed simply in gray pants and a tank top that showed off his tattoos. Trill’s gaze stayed there for a heartbeat longer.

She’d seen his tattoos before— back when they’d been in the prison camp together, when Ren had been stitching him up after the beating. She hadn’t taken much notice back then. She’d been too angry at him and too worried about what would happen next.

But now, she found herself curious. She’d found herself curious about a lot of things about Jacen lately. Which wasn’t normal for her, exactly— but she wanted to know him. To hear even the tiniest details about his life.

It was definitely silly, and she refused to think about why it was. But she indulged herself every now and then.

So, as Jacen hummed a tune to himself, examining the insides of the ship, Trill raised her voice. “Can I ask you something?” she said.

“You just did,” Jacen said, and she could hear the grin in his voice. “But I’ll give you another one— pass me that wrench first, please? The one with the tape around the handle.”

Trill sifted through the tools, and located the wrench wrapped in fraying blue tape. Passing it to him, she said, “I’m curious about your tattoos. Is it okay if I ask about them?”

“Hang on,” Jacen grunted, his voice tight with strain. “Almost— KARK!” His final word was accompanied with a loud clang, and a second later, he popped out from under the Dawn. The front of his shirt was sprayed with grease, and there was a matching smear across his forehead.

Looking satisfied, he said, “Clogged valve. We’ll have that fixed in a couple minutes. You want to know about my tattoos?”

“If you don’t mind sharing,” Trill said, feeling a little uncharacteristically hesitant. Are you nervous? Over talking to Jacen, of all people? She thought. He told a First Order admiral that General Fithyhoop was a person, for sky’s sake. Pull yourself together.

“I don’t mind at all,” Jacen said, grinning easily. Kneeling in front of his tool box, he replaced the wrench and started pulling out a couple more tools. “It’s a good question— they all have a story about them. How much do you know about Twi’leki tattoo culture?”

“Pretty much nothing,” Trill admitted

“I didn’t know much, either,” Jacen said. “But it’s tradition for certain provinces to get tattoos on their leks at a certain age. My gramps got them when he was… fifteen, I think? But plenty of the time it’s even younger. My mom was eight.” Lifting his arm, he ran a finger over the green, curving lines decorating his forearm. “That’s what these are, since I don’t have lekku.”

“They’re beautiful,” Trill told him sincerely.

“Thanks. They’re the only traditional ones I have, but I’ve always thought I might like to get more,” he said. “The Twi’leki people only get them for very important life events, though, so it’ll have to wait. My mom and dad got them at their wedding— Dad has Mom’s lekku patterns, and Mom has his jaig eyes.”

Twisting a little, he tapped the tattoo high on his shoulder— a patch of curving dots and lines, meshing around the shape of a wolf’s head. “This one, Ivri and I both have. Except his has a convor. And then we have this one.”

Jacen hooked a finger in his shirt’s neckline, pulling it down just enough to reveal a small orange shape. “Starbird,” he said with a grin. “Sabine designed it. It’s a Mandalorian style tattoo, so it’s almost more of a brand, not just ink. Here—” reaching out, he caught hold of her hand, lifting it up to press her fingers against his skin. “See? You can feel the difference.”

Caught off guard, Trill was interested in spite of herself as her fingers brushed the raised mark. “That checks out for Mandalorians,” she murmured. “Must have hurt.”

“Says the Mandalorian,” Jacen said. “But yeah, it wasn’t fun.” Trill started to respond as she glanced up— and met his blue-green gaze, startlingly near to her own.

Don’t blush, Trill ordered herself, even as she felt a wave of heat sweeping her face. Do. Not. Blush. But it was hard, standing this close to Jacen, so close she could feel him breathing. She could also see him turning slightly red himself.

Hastily, she stepped back, her hand slipping free from his. “Thank you,” she said, brushing a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “For telling me.”

“Any time,” he said, his voice sounding a little… breathless, almost. Maybe there are some things we need to talk about, Trill thought. Eventually.

But when Jacen spoke again, his tone sounded normal. “Hand me the screwdriver?”

“Sure,” Trill said, pushing the thought out of her mind. It wasn’t time for that conversation, not yet.

So she handed him tools as he worked, and they fell into an easy, comfortable rhythm— Jacen talking intermittently to either her or the ship, Trill shooting back sarcastic comments. It was easy to be around him, even when she wasn’t completely sure where they stood.

She thought their tattoo conversation was over, and had long since moved on to other subjects when Jacen asked, “Do you think you’d ever get a tattoo?”

“Hmm?” Trill glanced at where he was wiping his hands on a cloth, having finished his repairs to the New Dawn. “Oh— I’ve never really thought about it.”

“You should,” he said easily, dropping the cloth back into the toolbox. “I bet it would be a good look for you. We could even get matching ones or something— I’ve been thinking about getting a new tattoo.”

“Didn’t you say your parents had matching tattoos?” Trill asked, before she could think better of it.

He flushed a little before saying, “They had complimentary tattoos, not matching ones. Matching ones is a friendship thing, complimentary is romance.”

“Uh-huh. And don’t Ivri and his girlfriend have matching tattoos?”

“That is hardly the point,” Jacen said, turning a little redder. “I’m trying to ask you a legitimate question here, you know.”

Relenting, Trill said, “Alright, fair enough. I’ll think about it— I don’t even know what I’d get.”

“Well that’s easy,” Jacen said. “Just ask Sabine’s advice. Speaking of whom— I’m gonna check in with Mom and Dad, see if I can’t make them some dinner, and invite Sabine and the kids. Do you want to come?”

“Sure,” Trill said, heading after him as they made their way back to the main part of the Ajan Kloss base.

For just a moment, her mind lingered on the moment they’d had earlier— a moment which wasn’t unique. There had been more than a few of them lately, and there was a part of Trill that wanted to push farther, to figure out exactly what it meant.

But now wasn’t a good time, what with their battle against the First Order, and Jacen’s sister going missing. Now, she would focus on the next task ahead of her, nothing more.

Apparently, that task was dinner with Jacen’s family. And knowing the extended Syndulla-Jarrus-Wren-Bridger family as she did, Trill had a feeling it would be nothing if not chaotic.

She was already looking forward to it.

#this was such a fun event!!#i can't believe it's already done #jacen syndulla #trill gedyc #jacen syndulla x oc #jacen syndulla week 2023 #jacen syndulla week #star wars rebels #swr #writing stories is a kind of magic too

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skyderman · 9 months

Text

Dormouse Antique Emporium

Day 9 of @2soulscollide's August writing challenge words: >1000

Dormouse Antique Emporium sat on the corner of Hudson and Mill, where it idly watched passersby like a little old lady on her porch (and gossiped with the smoke shop next door about the fifth cafe to occupy the building across the street). The corner of Hudson and Mill was a remnant of the old town, where the road was still bricked and architecture stagnated, and where the modern city had grown up around it like weeds, threatening to out-compete the Old Guard. But Dormouse was as resilient as any grass, and stubborn too, despite it all.

The owner of Dormouse, or “caretaker” as she referred to herself, was one Ethel Thomas, ninety years old and not showing any signs of throwing in the towel yet. She knew exactly the value of everything in the store, and kept a careful watch over it all. Well, perhaps “watch” wasn’t quite accurate. Her vision had been gone for about fifteen years, but that had only increased the sharpness of her hearing. And she wasn’t alone, either. Her deputy, James, was a crumpled brown tabby that looked to be about as old as Ethel was, and twice as cunning. He patrolled the store diligently, and would report to Ethel immediately if anything was amiss.

James brushed my leg and let forth a meow that sounded like a radio catching dead air. I knew better than to try to scratch him; he’d only return the favor with toothy malice. Instead I greeted him with my voice and closed the door behind me.

“Is that Trey I hear?” said Ethel from her nest of a checkout desk hidden behind about three shelves of china and silver.

“That it is,” I said, folding my sunglasses into my pocket. James escorted me to Ethel’s counter. “Evening, ma’am.”

“I told you to stop calling me that, son,” Ethel complained as I pulled up a creaky wooden chair and sat down.

“Sorry,” I said, “I just can’t resist showing my elders respect.”

“Bah. You’re terrorizing me.” She broke into a wry smile. “So what’s the news?”

“Crisis averted, thankfully. As soon as Gina heard what the landlord had been asking for she went up there personally and gave him a good talking to. I heard there was a rather threatening umbrella involved.”

“So good old Frank’s will stay open another year,” Ethel chuckled. “That Gina is a storm, she is.”

“You can say that again.”

Ethel laughed and asked me about my family. Then she asked me to fix her radio, which I had taken a look at last week, but the damn thing had the durability of a glass panel being moved during a car chase. When I finished with the last screw, I noticed Ethel was giving me a funny look.

“What?” I said. “Is there grease on my face?”

Ethel hummed knowingly. “A whole streak of it.” She laughed like an aching tree when I pulled out my pocket mirror only to find that old hag had lied. Then she arched an eyebrow in my general direction, and I could feel the mystical waves of old lady energy filling the room before she even opened her mouth. She said, “Did you know you used to be a sea captain in a past life?”

“Huh?”

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

I had never heard Ethel speak so seriously before. Even the sarcastic comment seemed to hold a genuine weight underneath it. It felt like she was about to tell me something very important. Wow, I thought. She must have been really upset about the radio.

Hand close to her chest, Ethel pointed vaguely past me. I looked over my shoulder. There was a tall mirror, leaned against a beam, that had been there since I first discovered this place. It was ornate but not gaudy, full length with a golden frame. “There’s a reason I keep that particular mirror across from me,” said Ethel. “It’s the only thing I can see clearly these days. What do you see?”

I squinted at the mirror. It looked normal to me, completely at home among the fur coats and vintage furniture. Maybe Ethel was finally losing what little remained of her marbles.

“I see myself, I guess,” I said cautiously.

“No, no, look closer. But don’t stare at it. You have better eyes, you might have to unfocus them a little.”

I did as she said, and suddenly my image changed. Where once had sat a fashionable and handsome young man now appeared a man with a picturesque white beard and a somber face wearing a navy coat and ship captain’s hat. I could hardly believe my eyes. As I lifted my arm, so did the man. I waved and he moved exactly the same way.

I looked back at Ethel, speechless.

“Do you see it?”

“Um. Yes,” I managed. And then, “What?”

“I told you, Trey, past lives. Keep up.”

I looked back at my grizzled reflection. It was hard to tell under his captain’s hat, and because of the way I blurred my vision, but I could swear that he winked at me.

“That’s probably why you’re so good with the radio,” Ethel hummed, settling into her chair.

“You’re keeping a magic mirror?”

“Yes, yes, now don’t go telling anyone,” the old lady said. “Or I’ll ban you. Now do you have any other questions?”

I rubbed my forehead. “What do you see?”

“Amelia Earhart. And James was President Lincoln.”

“He’s what?!”

“See for yourself, son.”

Luckily, James was nowhere to be found. I’m not sure if I could handle Abraham Lincoln on all fours, slinking around an antique shop. I had so many questions, and turned to Ethel with my mouth hanging open.

But Ethel had decided she was overdue for her midday nap.

~~~

general writing taglist: @oakbagel @othercaliforniasaga @tonninseteli @creacherkeeper (lemme know if you want to be added or removed!)

#writblr #august writing challenge #short fiction #short stories #writing community #skyewriting #dormouse antique emporium

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